The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between adolescent and adult males and the power imbalance of these relationships. Like so many of my stories, this is a voyage and return. If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you like it and feel free to respond. Fourteen runs through five progressions, with frequent interludes. If you would like to comment, contact me at eliot.moore.writer@gmail.com. |
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Thanks so much to Philip Marks for this chapter’s contributions and the background conversations that bring the story onto the page. I also want to add a shout-out to Mischief Night who answered my call for a proofreader. Mischief at night indeed; Mischief reviews each new chapter and (such a sport!) is working through the posted parts. Thanks to those who keep Philip and me updated on your interest. The story anticipates most of your concerns. |
Panama City, Panama
June 26, 2018
“Okay, all that transit nonsense is over,” Anton announces gratefully. What was the point in paying the agent’s fee if he could not leave everything up to the woman? The particulars of transiting the Panama Canal took three days of Mary’s and Anton’s time. For all that work and money, the pair of sailboats still had to wait two weeks before their turn would come.
Anton blames this delay on his MPA board of directors meeting. He hoped that Daniel would stay in Panama City with Fourteen. Unfortunately, his partner sees the chance to visit home. Home is far too close to Chicago. At least they will fly north together. That leaves his young and somewhat underage crew member on his own. “I can give you a ticket to Ohio. I think you have earned that much since San Diego.”
“No, I’m good.”
Anton gives Fourteen a shrewd look.
“Oh my god!” Fourteen waves his arms in mock exasperation. “One time I took your sailboat for a joyride! One time I fired off an illegal firearm! Okay, twice! It was just a harmless date, and the Mexican Navy was really nice about it. Sure I got run out of Topolobampo, but seriously?”
“It’s your life,” Anton decides. He only has enough anxiety for Daniel at the moment. “The marina,” and Anton points to his eyes and then at Fourteen. The marina will watch over Sirocco while Anton is gone. Fourteen narrows his eyes and repeats the gesture back at Anton.
“How sweet you are,” Anton observes. “I could put you in my mouth and you would dissolve.”
Universidad Tecnológica de Panamá
“This is everything I hoped for and more in a study abroad experience. I’m from Montgomery.” “Alabama?” Fourteen asks the young woman sitting beside him on the subway bench. She nods vigorously. “It’s free here. I mean, university is free. For foreign students, even. I was hesitant at first to go to Panama because it did not seem like an obvious choice. I was nervous about leaving everything behind, but gosh it turned out to be the absolute best decision of my life. Everybody is laid back. Right?” Lucy leans around Fourteen to get Fred’s reaction. “Oh yeah, incredible experience,” Fred agrees. “You saw the Pearl Islands?” Fourteen nods his head. “Lots of field work in my program. I was out there, also Reserva Hidrológica Filo del Tallo, amazing! You should see it!” Fred was from Virginia Beach. Very Gareon Brantley, Fourteen thinks. The two Americans abroad are not a couple, just friends with Ricardo slouching on the bench across the aisle. |
Panama City is not a tourist town. Surfacing from the underground transit, there are apartment blocks with cramped-colorful balconies. The four of them stand by road construction, traffic barriers, and temporary fencing waiting for a taxi. The college party is Lucy’s idea. She showed up at Sirocco with Ricardo and Fred. The party was across town near the technical college they all attended. “You want a smoke?” |
The apartment is hot and crowded. This is Hollywood-vision, rave-crowded, with a babble of Spanish and English getting tossed at Fourteen. He loses track of all three companions very quickly.
“Jeremías, here, you have to try some shots.” | ||
It is a sloppy pour into the plastic cup Fourteen is holding. The pretty girl looks no older than he is. It is hard to know unless he asks. Nobody seems to care that he is still in high school. Sort of, theoretically, Fourteen concedes as he tosses the tequila back. | ||
“You forgot the salt!” | ||
“La tequila è così zoppa. Questo è Panama, dovresti bere il rum.” The tall man beside Fourteen slops half his glass into Fourteen’s plastic cup. | ||
The rum tastes better. He decides Mary Rule’s choice of spirits is better. He turns to say this to the tall young man, but he has vanished into the crowd. Fourteen is left with the pretty girl and her friends. The girl does a shot of tequila. Ethel is Mexican, he thinks. “México, Guatemala, El Paso?” He points to each of them in turn, asking for confirmation. | ||
“Jeremías, you need to do it right!” | ||
Fourteen finishes the rum and coke. The pretty girl with the big breasts pours two fingers into his empty glass. Ethel dribbles tequila on the back of her hand and a friend shakes salt over it. She holds up her hand, so Fourteen runs his tongue across her skin. The tequila tastes better the second time. He bites a wedge, then drops it in his cup so the next shot of tequila splashes over it. | ||
“Hey, Jeremy! There you are!” | ||
Fred ruffles Fourteen’s hair. He punches Fourteen’s shoulder, which launches the citrus wedge somewhere on the floor. Fred follows that up with an affectionate headlock. | ||
”You’re falling behind! Have another shot.” |
♪♫♬ I get a little bit nervous around you, Get a little bit stressed out when I think about you ♪♫♬ Get a little excited ♪♫♬ Baby, when I think about you, yeah ♪♫♬ Fourteen’s phone is ringing. He digs into his pocket, ♪♫♬ I get a little bit nervous around you, Get a little bit stressed out — and it is Mary Rule. “Jeremy.”
“Hey, yeah. I’m at a party. Ricardo brought me to a party.”
“Okay, do you know the address? Who is Ricardo, by the way?”
“Yeah, no, I don’t know where I am.” He turns to the crowd and yells, “Where am I?” This generates a lot of laughter. He turns back to his phone. “I don’t know. Nobody knows.”
“Jeremy,” the concern cannot be strangled.
“Say hello to Mary everyone!” Fourteen holds up his phone so Mary can hear the noise.
“Jeremy!”
”Oh my god! I love this song!” Fourteen slips his phone back into his pocket and begins dancing toward the center of the living room where a group of women are beginning to hop and gyrate to the music. He is surrounded by them, catching glimpses of smiling faces, encouraging faces. There is a man dancing with the group. Fourteen tries to dance with him, but everyone seems to be dancing with each other — or nobody, so he twirls away. | I got this feeling inside my bones ♪♫♬ It goes electric, wavey when I turn it on All through my city, all through my home ♪♫♬ We're flying up, no ceiling, when we’re in our zone ♪♫♬ I got that sunshine in my pocket Got that good soul in my feet I feel that hot blood in my body when it drops I can't take my eyes up off it, moving so phenomenally Room on lock the way we rock it, so don't stop ♪♫♬ | |
♪♫♬ I can't stop the feeling So just dance, dance, dance I can't stop the feeling So just dance, dance, dance, come on Ooh, it's something magical It's in the air, it's in my blood, it's rushing on ♪♫♬ Don’t need no reason, don't need control ♪♫♬ I fly so high, no ceiling, when I'm in my zone | ⬇️ | |
So just imagine, just imagine, just imagine ♪♫♬ Nothing I can see but you when you dance, dance, dance ♪♫♬ Feeling good, good, creeping up on you So just dance, dance, dance, come on All those things I shouldn’t do ♪♫♬ But you dance, dance, dance And ain't nobody leaving soon, so keep dancing I can't stop the feeling ♪♫♬ So just dance, dance, dance I can't stop the feeling So just dance, dance, dance ♪♫♬ I can't stop the feeling So just dance, dance, dance | His shirt is off and the sweat trickles down. Half the time, Fourteen looks at the ceiling gyrating above his head. The rest of the time his eyes come in and out of focus on the faces dancing with him. The tequila is a serious buzz. He is lost in this crowd of friendly faces talking at him or simply caught up in the music like he is… ain’t nobody … So keep dancing …. “I can’t stop the feeling ♪♫♬ So just dance, dance, dance” The girls are singing it along with him and the tangerine swirls away from Fourteen’s cyclone-dervish. | |
➡️ | ➡️ | ➡️ |
♪♫♬ Feeling good, good, creeping up on you So just dance, dance, dance, come on (I can't stop the feeling) All those things I shouldn’t do ♪♫♬ But you dance, dance, dance (I can't stop the feeling) And ain't nobody leaving soon, so keep dancing ♪♫♬ Everybody sing (I can't stop the feeling) Got this feeling in my body (I can't stop the feeling) Got this feeling in my body (I can't stop the feeling) ♪♫♬ Wanna see you move your body (I can't stop the feeling) Got this feeling in my body Break it down Got this feeling in my body Can't stop the feeling ♪♫♬ Got this feeling in my body, come on | ”Feeling good, good,” He is singing it to Jeremy. ♪♫♬ “So just dance, dance, dance” A young man dances back into Fourteen’s awareness. It might not be the same young man he might have been chasing about the tight space. There are more strangers trying to dance or simply get from one side of the room to the other. Fourteen grins at the young man, then he is swept away. And Fourteen is dancing up against two young women he might have talked to, earlier. One slides close to touch his chest. “Got this feeling in my body Can’t stop the feeling.” ♪♫♬ Everyone is singing to Timberlake and Jeremy. | ➡️ |
➡️ | ➡️ | ➡️ |
“Oh wow! You’re like literally blowing my mind!” The mushroom cloud expands away from Fourteen’s head in jazz hands.
“It’s ridiculous!” The young woman dismisses the proposition with an exhale of undergraduate impatience. There are four of them on the staircase.
“No seriously, it makes sense.” Fourteen is talking a bit too loud. He forgets the drink in his hand and some of the soda slops out toward the middle of the circle. “It’s like grinding through a game with the wrong avatar. Only, only the way is steep. You get it? Really impossible. So you have to back off and try another way. You see?”
“That makes no sense.”
“No, no!” Fourteen insists. “Okay, look at it this way.” He points at a man slumped over, half asleep. “He is like the dungeon master, not paying attention. You’re, I don’t know, a fairy.” Fourteen pauses to take a drink. “What were we talking about?”
➡️ | Jeremías! It’s your turn again! | ➡️ | ➡️ |
"Ese chico se va a caer". | ”Watch where you are going!” | ➡️ | Fourteen stumbles at the bottom of the stairs. His mouth tastes of bile. He leans against the wall for a moment to regain his balance. A man stands chatting. Oh god, he is so fucking hot! Fourteen has to tell himself. He stumbles up to the man, interrupting the conversation. Fourteen rips the man’s shirt open. “It looks prettier that way.” |
➡️ | ➡️ | ➡️ | "¿Estás bien?" |
Fourteen heaves again over the apartment balcony. | “He is really wasted, girlfriend.” “Oh my God!’ | ➡️ | "¡Eso no es nada! Te daré cinco dólares si lo haces de ida y vuelta." "¡Eso no es nada! Te daré cinco dólares si lo haces de ida y vuelta." |
Fourteen judges the distance. The two men are talking about jumping from the small balcony to the neighbor’s balcony. It is about a five-foot gap with nothing all the way down in between. In his drunken stupor, he decides to try it. “Hold my beer.” Fourteen climbs up on the handrail using the wall for support. He judges the distance and bobcat leaps across to the other balcony. There is a moment of swaying on the railing as he regains his balance. He swings around to face back. The second jump really puts how high up Fourteen is into perspective when he looks down at the middle of the jump. He lands safely on the rail and people grab at him. Fourteen hops down in the next step. "¡Eres un pequeño bastardo loco!" |
Lucy and Ricardo catch up to Fourteen in the kitchen with his shirt. He hugs them both. Fourteen is feeling affectionate-connected to these people.
The thing about déjà vu is that it is never exactly the same. There is some dimensional shift between the memory and the iteration. Ricardo could be Sergio Ochoa showing him the sights of Puerto Vallarta. It could end the same way. The déjà vu is more like sharing the taxi with Rafael Martinez and the gay boy’s small posse, Yolanda and Araceli. Ricardo is no flirtation, and neither are Fred or Lucy.
While Anton jostled to get Sirocco and Gravity in a shared transit, Daniel and Fourteen explored Panama City looking for a guitar Fourteen could fiddle with. Flamenco Marina was hard by Perico Island. Fourteen found his land legs jogging for the first time since the Pueblo. He tried a run along the long length of Amazon Causeway. The constant swimming was no preparation for the swelter or the sun hammering down on him. The next day, he tried running through trees up the spiral road coiling up Perico Island. From the crowning lookout, Fourteen tried to pick out Mary Rule’s sloop anchored in the harbor.
Fourteen met Ricardo the first day limping back along the causeway. Ricardo worked at the marina’s fuel station. He looked more like Rafael-privilege than Raul-hungry. With little else to do, Fourteen spent an evening Karting and playing paintball. Ricardo was twenty, a university student, and utterly uninterested in teenage Fourteen.
“Heeeyyyy, Ricardo! I’m gay, just saying.” Fourteen nods his head at this solemn pronouncement. Then he turns to the crowd. “I’m gay!”
➡️ | ➡️ |
➡️ | “You’re like most Americans, |
”you are drinking tequila shot down as quickly as possible after a lick of salt and chased with a squeeze of lime,” the quiet man tells Fourteen. The party noises seem muted behind his voice. “The tequila is an afterthought; a nearly-unpalatable means to a drunken end.” The university student has serious glasses and a revolutionary stubble across his cheeks. “One hundred percent agave tequila is made for sipping and savoring from a snifter, like a good scotch. No lime or salt is necessary to mask the flavor.” The man’s rugged look and soft voice seduce Fourteen. Fourteen’s head buzzes pleasantly. He has a thirst. “After every sip or two you can dip a wedge of lime into a little salt and suck on it if you want to.” Fourteen reaches for the young man’s shirt. |
The roof is dark. People have come for the night air, a look at the surrounding buildings and some privacy. Someone is sucking Fourteen’s cock. It is probably a man, because Fourteen likes men. At this point, the man’s mouth on Fourteen’s cock is just an evening afterthought. He flings his head back so he can look at the light pollution reflecting off the clouds. He takes a sip of beer just as his orgasm comes.
➡️ | “You’re going to fall over, little dude!” | Fourteen loses his balance and falls backward off the seat and onto the floor. It doesn’t stop there. He proceeds to tumble twice toward people’s shifting feet. “What the fuck!” someone starts yelling. Fourteen turns to her and says, “Stop censoring my art.” | ➡️ | ➡️ |
Four-story buildings clad with terra-cotta walls broken by broad white stripes. The four companions stroll past the entrance-curtain of tinted glass. They sit together on the flight of steps while Fred and Ricardo share a vape.
Fourteen and Lucy walk on toward the octagon gazebo with its eight white columns supporting red tiles. It sits amongst trees and cropped grass at the end of a brick path. In daylight, this will be the hub of student life. Lucy perches on the encircling iron railing. Fourteen stands beside her.
“Go with the flow and enjoy every moment for what it is,” Lucy starts dreamily. “Choose joy in every moment, even the seemingly tough ones. There is always something beautiful and new to see and learn in Panama. Do you see that, Jeremy?”
Fourteen vomits on the terra-cotta tiles.
He is still buzzed when the three university students take him to a pizza place. He is drinking water from the pitcher and talking too loudly. The three friends indulge the teenager until two officers in blue ball-caps approach the table. Fred, Lucy and Ricardo shift uncomfortably.
“Rookie Blue! You’ve come back to me!”
Fourteen flings his arms wide in greeting and leans across the table stretching his arms out as if he wants to hug the young police officer.
"¿Azul novato?" the young man puzzles.
“Oh Rookie Blue!” Fourteen sits up. His shirt is open, so he starts to shrug it off. Fred and Lucy have him bracketed in. As the shirt slips free from one tanned shoulder, Fourteen’s companions quickly set it back in place. Lucy starts trying to button up Fourteen’s shirt. “Love you, ♪♫♬ Rookie Blue. ♪♫♬”
“We’re sorry officers. He had a bit too much to drink,” Fred apologizes in Spanish.
“You think?” the older police officer replies sourly.
Fourteen is turned toward Lucy as she works on his buttons. “I’m going to suck Rookie Blue’s dick,” he confides seriously to the young woman. “Then, I will suck yours.”
“What are your names?” The officer is unimpressed with Fourteen. He watches as the boy drinks from the water pitcher again. Ricardo jumps in with explanations. Three students from the technical college. “Where is the party?” Just a party, everything under control. Their young friend had a bit too much to drink. Ricardo fervently hopes Jeremy does not spew across the table. “Where does this one belong?”
“Flamenco Marina,” Ricardo explains. “I work there. Jeremy is on a sailboat waiting transit east. Just, showing him our city,” Ricardo ends lamely.
“I’m a badass, motherf—,” Lucy clamps a hand over Fourteen’s mouth.
“Of course you are, Jeremy,” she soothes him.
This is Panama City. The world tramples through and leaves a bit of its foreign currency behind. Almost two million tourists and then the sailors off the ships. The drunk kid is to be expected. “Should we take him in?” the young officer asks his senior partner.
"¿Así que puedes interrogarlo en el asiento trasero? ¿Quizás sin ropa, Rookie Blue?"
The young officer winces. Rookie Blue is going to stick to him. He can hear that in his partner’s voice. He is not sure the young American is conscious. He sits glazed while the man beside him holds him up and the young woman buttons his shirt. The officer thinks him very cute, drunk for sure. International incidents, too bad. “You better get your friend back to his boat.”
“And there you are in all your glory.” Mary comments very unimpressed.
Jeremy is sprawled face down across the bench in Sirocco’s salon. His clothes are scattered across the floor. From the aroma wicking off his hard young body, Mary can see Jeremy partied hard. His pale bare bum invites a spank.
“Well, what’s to do Katie girl? With all he’s been through, the boy has leapt three or four years forward in his young life. He’s not going to be dragged back to fifteen now. The wonder is he hasn’t taken more of a tumble than this. He is a cat with nine lives, this one.”
The temptation is too great. Mary smacks Jeremy’s bare tush. “Wake up, boyo.”
Jeremy resurrects from the dead, because he is young. There is a bruise on his forehead from leaning into the toilet. A few more give testament to the spill from the chair. Jeremy seems to be considering his indigestion as he blinks his bleariness at Mary. He lurches off the bench and climbs the gangway into the morning sunlight.
Jeremy slithers across the deck and sticks his head over the side of the ketch and vomits three or four times. One hand clutches the safety line and he has a foot on the cockpit bench.
“There’s a fine sight to greet an old woman in the morning.”
Jeremy retches once more; just the taste of yellow bile left at the back of his throat. He tries to spit it out. Jeremy twists back toward Mary Rule watching him from the cockpit. “I’ve had compliments.”
“Oh just haven’t you,” Mary replied, “and so pleased with yourself you are, I can see that.”
Jeremy slumps heavily on the deck, his feet resting on the cockpit bench. He rests his arms on his knees. Lord, that takes me back! There were her own university days, and yes, there was Woodstock, although the liquor flowed more freely at Sackville dorm parties. Jeremy looked like her high school classmates and the Monday morning boys of her high school teaching years.
She tosses Jeremy a pair of shorts about the moment he realizes he is naked. Not even a blush for me, the adolescent Adonis. He slides them on and tucks himself away. The wonder of young bodies. Mary thinks it is like watching a video in reverse. The shattered plate lies on the floor, then it leaps back up to form back into its whole. She can just see everything begin to knit itself back in place.
Fourteen is running an inventory on himself. Memories return but not the sequence, too much has been redacted. There are body memories as well. There was no sex. Well, not much, Fourteen has a memory of the rooftop. He cannot regret his first blow out. He needs more water.
“There’s time for you to shower while I look about the place.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We are heading back to sea.” That’s a certainty.
“I’ve got to watch Anton’s boat.”
“He’s berthed it here in this pricey marina just so they will do that for him. I’ve had a word with Francesco and Campana Doria out at San Jose Island. Let’s talk as we go, eh?” This draws the pixie smile out of Jeremy.
“I think I was going to see my friends this evening,” Fourteen floats the alternative. He drank too much, that’s a fact, but the three friends accepted him for who he is. Fourteen is drawn to their casual inclusion and the anonymous young world they share with him. He is fifteen-free and he likes to dance shirt-free to Timberlake and K-pop.
“Is this what you want? Endlessly butting heads with cautionary tales?” That is as close as Mary cares to come to telling the young fool that partying hard with adults was the surest way to end up rolling his fast car on an icy winter road. Best to keep him moving. “You can catch up with friends when we get back to make the canal transit. Clean up while I sort things out.”
The boy steps off Sirocco’s swim deck in his shorts. Mary would not trust the waters, but the twelve-year-old girl who dived off her father’s trawler into the icy North Atlantic would understand. Mary pulls the perishables out of Sirocco’s fridge. Jeremy pads past her as she intrudes on his pilot berth space. She sees how little the boy has. It can all fit into a backpack.
Pearl Islands
June 27, 2018
The storm kicked up in the anchorage in the afternoon. Gravity was vulnerable, lying with the other boats in eight miles of fetch. “It’s blowing near constant,” Mary commented to Jeremy. The wind held all the boats in the anchorage bow to the waves. As the wind began to die, the small sloop was more vulnerable to the steep waves. If Mary could not hold the bow to the waves, Gravity would take the waves side to, and there would be some massive rolls.
“It’s crazy!” Jeremy grins from where he is hanging towels out to wash in the steady downpour.
“How does it check out down below?” Mary asks him. “Everything that is not sea-stowed is going to get sea-stowed in a minute. It’s going to be all over the floor. These are grand times to be alive,” she adds.
Mary was worried about the waves knocking Gravity on its side. They had set the stern anchor, but it was a light one. A strong tug either way and it would start to drag the small sloop around.
“Are we good?” Jeremy asks. He is looking off toward Cavalieri Dell’onda. The longer sailboat meets the waves better than Mary’s Dufour.
“Now that the wind is dying down — it’s only blowing twenty — the waves are going to calm. I’d like the wind to stay strong enough to hold us nose to them for another half-hour at least.”
“Give them sort of a chance to chill,” Jeremy agrees. “The weather was mostly fair coming south with Anton.” Another look towards the Dorias boat offers no glimpse of Paolo. “Everything is stowed properly below.” It always was between the two of them. “Will the rain last?”
“I’d say so.”
“I’m going to have a shower at the bow, then.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Mary smiles.
It was a long sail to Casaya Island in the Pearls. It was not as early a start from Panama City as Mary would have liked. Mary and Jeremy shared the heat and predictable rain while they settled into a ship’s routine. There was a squabble over berths. Mary won the day and so Jeremy took the V-berth. She did not tell the boy, but since Kate’s passing, she avoided the bed they shared together. Mary was content to sleep on the bench in the salon. Sailing solo, she needed to be close to the helm anyway.
The next morning was a pre-dawn departure. Mary liked the cool and watching the sun rise. Tropics are nice to visit, she told Kate, I miss the North Atlantic. “Too damn hot!” Mary remarked to herself. Leaving pre-dawn, a person was not likely to die of heat exhaustion when she up-anchored. Mary made Jeremy sail the four hours to San Jose Island. She did her best to keep her peace while he went about his business. “Good,” she told him, and the strapping boy glowed with the pleasure of it.
Gravity is still pitching on the waves and her sloped decks need care. Jeremy wears his boat shoes and little else. The days are so hot that any time he sweats, the sun hits his skin boiling hot. When the ocean is glass, Jeremy just wants to lie down and pour buckets of water on himself. A man feels like he is melting.
The fresh rain is strong enough to let Jeremy soap his body and rinse off. He thinks of Paolo as his skin seems to rehydrate. It is only temporary. The storm will pass and the evening will not be cool enough to keep him fresh. Fall on Lake Michigan, the chill of Bull Shoals, and bleak winter in the Grand Canyon, Jeremy is truly south now.
Mirabella was not excited about his return. Jeremy twists around to where he can look at the Italian sailboat bobbing on the waves. Bella’s eye is on the older brother, perhaps the younger one as well. Paolo was happy to see him. Jeremy’s heartbeat quickens at the memory.
The heat is an excuse to lie in Gravity’s V-berth naked together. The apartness of the arrangement separates their agitated hips into the two connected bunks. Lying backwards brings their shoulders together in a fraternal companionship. It is a communal-drowsy siesta spoiled by the sweat-trickling certainty that the apartness is an illusion shared by neither of them.
Paolo has sweet breath, refined lips. Fourteen twists on the bed so he can kiss the upturned face. Careful, so careful, because everything must move at Rafael Martinez’ pace and not Fourteen’s. Fourteen promised himself that when the Italian boy grinned his first welcome as their boats closed the gap. The kiss is accepted with Paolo’s innocent pleasure. There is something very alive about kissing a boy drawn fresh from the sea.
A curious hand reaches out to Fourteen’s draped organ. Fingertips tracing Fourteen’s happy length. The V-berth stifling closet does not matter. The drowsy-arousy afternoon waiting for the tropical rain is their treacle-now.
“Which would you rather be, invisible or able to read people’s minds?” Paolo asked him as they lie touching in Gravity’s V-berth. Perhaps Paolo is thinking about the trouble they have finding privacy together. The Zodiac, the beach, the seldom-solitude of a sailboat, all comfort traded for the private moment.
“I’m not sure I like either of those choices,” Fourteen replies.
“Come on.” Just a playful promise-pinch on Fourteen’s glans.
“Okay, invisible; I don’t want to know what people really think.” Fourteen tries for another kiss, but Paolo rejects him with a turned head.
“Well, if you were invisible, you could still get to hear what people are saying,” Paolo points out.
“I don’t think people say what they really think, ever. Maybe we don’t even tell ourselves what we really think. We sure don’t tell other people exactly what we are thinking,” Fourteen counters.
“Wow, very deep.” Paolo shakes his head. Some indifferent flow of air finds its way into Gravity’s open ports. “So why do you want to be invisible?”
Fourteen grimaces. “I don’t want to be invisible. That is just the choice you left me with.” He looks at his hand, trying to imagine it transparent.
“If I was invisible, then my family would not always be watching me.”
“I get that.” It is hard to live under your parents’ constant scrutiny. “I know what invisible is like,” Fourteen continues. “But, Paolo, invisibility sucks. What happens when you want people to see you and they can’t? You try talking to them and they don’t hear you. Maybe I’m wrong. People hear your words. Only, they hear what they are already thinking, not what you are trying to say.”
“Why couldn't they hear you if you are invisible? I mean, the sound waves and all.”
“Yeah, no. I get that, but anyway, when I talk, I’m not always saying what I really want to say. When I’m not saying what I’m thinking, my real thoughts are not heard.”
The missed Shawn Mendes concert always surfaces. Perhaps this is because it was a rare moment when Jeremy Gates offered the wrong words to his very skeptical parents. The lost summer concert would have been just like the college party in Panama City. A parole from closet-Jeremy. No sex anticipated, Jeremy-before could only dream-masturbate to that impossibility. Just, Jeremy-visible for a while. Fourteen has to wonder what millennial-memories influenced his parents’ adamant rejection. Who were they answering to, Jeremy or their younger selves?
“Give me an example.”
Well, I’m thinking that I really like you. I wish we were not going to be separated so soon. Fourteen censors the thought. “I had a,” Fourteen picks his words carefully. “A friend. I travelled with him.”
“Before Mr. Schroeder?”
“Yeah, before Anton and Daniel. I was sort of invisible with my friend.” Fourteen was invisible to the whole world for a while, for all he ghosted among the people. “My friend, he could get lost in his thoughts. It was hard. You never knew if he was listening to you, or listening to someone else, or just listening to himself. I worry that is the way we all are.”
“So if you could read his mind?” Paolo suggests.
“Well, with Levi, I don’t think it would help. I mean, so much of the time I think he just wanted to be with someone else. Not all the time, just, I don’t know, too much of the time.”
Then there was (fucking) Cordell. Mind reading would have been very useful, Fourteen decides. “With Levi, it would not really help,” he repeats. “If when he saw me, it was someone else. We all want to see someone who probably is not there,” Fourteen ends softly, mostly to himself. He really wants Paolo to feel like he does. It is a heartache.
“No, I said mind reader, or invisible, not both.”
The kissing with Jeremy is interesting-illicit. Paolo recognizes Jeremy as a kindred boy frenzied by the never-satiated gift of maleness. Horny all the time, Jeremy understands the fever even if neither could put that into words. Jeremy gave Paolo that tangled thought, I don’t think people say what they really think, ever. It was not that people did not say what they were thinking. It was that people did not know what to think.
Paolo finds Jeremy’s masculinity curious. He is at the age of cock-curious; somewhere between four and death. At thirteen, older boys fascinate Paolo. If he was a gamer, Paolo would consider older boys like Jeremy pro gamers. Three years, Paolo feels like Zeta and Bella have been the ones who hit the friend jackpot. Paolo is in the middle. It is not that way. He just remembers it this way. Jeremy’s masculinity is more accessible than his papà’s.
Paolo’s hand is on Jeremy’s plump cock because he is inviting the older boy to touch him further. He has not seen Jeremy hard. The sculpture of the circumcised organ fascinates him, the hair.
“Anyway, I don’t want to be invisible or read minds. I want to be visible and say what is on my mind. I want people to see me and listen when I say something.” Fourteen’s words interrupt Paolo’s thoughts.
Fourteen accepts the invitation. He reaches over. The boy’s perspiration lubricates the glide from a liquid armpit to Paolo’s hip. Then Fourteen’s hand shifts to Paolo’s erection. They both shift so Paolo is comfortably on his back. “Il lenzuolo e sticking to my back,” Paolo tells Fourteen. “The sheet,” he adds.
“Oh, that won’t be the only thing sticking.”
Paolo giggles, “Fallo e basta.”
He is so cute! Fourteen marvels. The aggressiveness of Cordell, that is a discordant thought. Levi, Fourteen is not sure why he comes to mind, and then he understands. The touching and the laughter. Levi in the Luxor Winnebago touching Fourteen like this. Experience drawing forth novice ecstasy. Fourteen purring like a contented cat under Levi’s stroke. Fourteen understands Levi’s satisfaction servicing a willing partner. Paolo is under his hand.
“What do you think Bella is up to with i gemelli?”
The twins, Fourteen translates. The brothers at Hacienda del Mar are not twins, but Paolo has taken to calling them that. Paolo accepts a kiss as Fourteen masturbates him. “I think Bella is enjoying the air conditioning and a cold drink. Do you want the air conditioning and a cold drink?”
Paolo’s tense body predicts the quick orgasm when Fourteen gently squeezes his scrotum. “Ahiii! Succhiami, succhiami, succhiami!” Paolo laughs breathlessly. Fourteen’s willingness to suck his cock blows Paolo’s mind.
Fourteen has other plans. He watches the jets arc out onto Paolo’s belly. He gives Paolo a hint of what Levi would do; manipulate his satiated cock until a second offering is made. Fourteen says, “Sticky now,” then licks his young partner clean like he was a kitten.
Fourteen is hard. When Paolo rolls over on his stomach it is an invitation for Fourteen to taste his back and imagine his lips on Paolo’s swelling ass. Fourteen is very much in this perfect now, but the after, Fourteen can predict that as clearly as Anton does. Paolo is going to be as tall and hard as his father, Francesco. Fourteen imagines the tables turned. He wants to fuck that perfect ass, now. He tries a kiss on a barely-haired swell. So close to the cleft. Paolo giggles at Fourteen’s daring. In a few imaginable years, Paolo will outstrip Fourteen. Long limbs and a long lean cock will tit for tat Fourteen’s hunger-games.
He could offer himself to Paolo now. Teach-take the boy further. Careful, careful, jackrabbit warns bobcat. In this Panama exchange, Fourteen can let the now stretch timelessly, but wanting is not having. He learned that in San Diego. Still, it does not matter that life will tear Paolo from him. He really wants to fuck this perfect ass!
Fourteen settles for a lick, then kisses Paolo's back up to the turned cheek. His cock is very hard. Sometimes it is nice just to let the strength linger. Sort of like hauling on the anchor chain and enjoying the flex-endurance of a strong muscle. Paolo could suck his cock. Well, they have not gotten to that yet.
“I don’t see many pene like yours. Tagliare il prepuzio, it must feel different.” Paolo reaches over and traces the flare of Fourteen’s corona. Dew from Fourteen’s glans sticks to Paolo’s finger.
Fresh wounds, ten months since Levi violated Fourteen’s trust. How easily he trusted the old man and how quickly he forgave him for the circumcision. A year ago, a boy named Jeremy would skin himself and touch the private tenderness within. His new look was common enough in Chillicothe. Actually most changeroom glances were cut dicks, Fourteen recalls. Fourteen still washes himself as if his foreskin was intact. Before habits, Fourteen had many of them.
“It just looks different.” Fourteen shrugs off the memory of outrage. It was the callousness of Levi having things his way. Before North Platte and the shift between them. Anton is circumcised, Daniel is not. Ten months, and the violation is just old history to Fourteen. Feeling something opens doors. He can name them all from Chillicothe on. He is dealing with it. Talking about it opens the doors to the feelings. Nothing good comes from that. Good thing the Beretta Nano lies at the bottom of Topolobampo Harbor.
If Fourteen wants to feel, then he wants to feel the sway of Sirocco’s mast, the heart-leap wonder of a humpback whale breaching, the heavy beat of K-pop at a party, or a man thrusting into him. If Jeremy gives way to Patrick Hunter’s after-anger-pain, then he will shoot someone. Fourteen does not need that again. You don’t have to think that while a cute boy manipulates your cock. This is just your bedrock right now.
Paolo’s curiosity gets the better of him. He takes Fourteen into his mouth for the first time.
Cavalieri Dell’onda and Gravity sail up the archipelago together. It is lazy mornings of passage accompanied by magnificent frigate birds, sea turtles, rays, and white-tipped reef sharks. The afternoons are brown-footed boobies, black and green iguanas, and hordes of hermit crabs.
Mirabella is resigned to yet another leave-taking. The brothers at Hacienda del Mar have vanished over her horizon. There will be others. Back in Italy she will find a real boyfriend. She turns to teasing Paolo about Jeremy. They are back to being comfortable three with Zeta turning explorations into family-G.
The teenagers spend the hot afternoons diving off the side of Cavalieri Dell’onda into the bath-warm ocean. Mirabella has a graceful dive that cuts the water Olympic-clean. Paolo and Fourteen are more inclined to play the fool. Paolo likes to dive off the edge of the boat in dramatic poses. Fourteen cannonballs beside him. They invent a game called Pantsing where one tries to yank a suit off before the other can get back onto the ladder. It is such a shame that Jeremy is gay.
The four of them dived with men fishing for octopus. Everyone went down feet-flipper flailing like a pod of humpback whales to see the creatures move about the bottom. The American boy watched the Panamanian divers and Mirabella watched Jeremy.
The teenagers talked and joked as they collected the snails grazing across barnacle-white rocks so they could use them as bait. Paolo caught a snapper (10 pounds). Jeremy cooked it for supper on the beach. It had to be shared with the adults, when all Mirabella wanted was the three of them together. Mirabella kissed Jeremy and he kissed back. She teased him about Paolo, and there was only a second kiss, as if to say that subject was closed.
They decide to take a hike on an island with a massive peak of 100 meters. The teenagers’ Zodiac moves toward the greens-to-black of the dark forest. There is a brushstroke of a beach trailing off to a tide-hugging finger of volcanic rock. It reclines on the edge where the placid sea meets a color-hazed sky. It is a monochrome of humidity and heat.
The beach is strewn with tons of shells. Snowdrift scallops in purple-tinted bone china, thousands of snowflake-unique patterns on their sculptured geometry. Fourteen wonders why the shells are there. It is the three of them on an adventure.
There is a steady rain and they watch for lightning. They are three young adventurers and the jungle-tangle-wilderness is filled with their chatter-laughter. The three confront a mango picker with a long machete, plaid shorts dropping off his buttocks (blue underwear), Crocs and white undershirt. He stops to look at the unexpected visitors. Two younger companions search the branches, green fruit in the younger, shirtless one’s hand. The whole island is being privatized, so they are turned back with a wave of the man’s long machete.
“You can buy 237 acres of island for yourself,” Mirabella tells the boys. That is what the real-estate agent assured her mom back on his powerboat. The Dorias do not have that sort of money and this creeping-cancer of affluent development is anathema-hell to Campana and Francesco.
Retreating from the Panamanians, Paolo stumbles onto a muddy path. It takes them down to a different stretch of fine-gravel beach with a negligent surf. Palms stand guard over the midnight gloom of the island’s interior. Mirabella sits on a driftwood trunk at the high water mark. The unfriendly man with the machete has dampened their mood more than the monsoon-drops of the afternoon rain.
Paolo walks away along the beach, his feet in the water. "Il nostro tender, è laggiù, in fondo alla spiaggia," He calls out to his sister.
Fourteen turns at Paolo’s voice. “What did he say?” he asks Mirabella.
“He found our boat. It is just that way, up the beach,” she replies. “Esteban asked me about you. I think maybe he is fluido.” Esteban is the older brother.
“I think you’re telling me a bit too late,” Fourteen laughs.
“Are you sure you are not a little bit fluid?” Mirabella is not trying to attract Fourteen. Still, he is standing near, wet-sexy-translucent in the tropical rain. The rain is on his cheeks like tears. They are both wet-T-shirt-contest worthy. Board shorts cling just right to Fourteen’s crotch.
“Maybe a little,” Fourteen decides. “I wouldn’t vomit.” He grins at his new friend. Mirabella’s hair is back in a ponytail and her young breasts are already larger than Sophie’s. He has looked at Mirabella’s nipples through her top. It fails to fluster him. Something right-necessary in that scalding coupling on Born To Run in San Diego. The joy, perhaps, of being still alive; being finally free of users. “But just a little,” he adds with an apologetic shrug.
Mirabella’s question was too much like an invitation. He never mentioned Sophie Wright to Mirabella. He told her about Rafael. It might be that if he mentioned her to the Italian girl, she would try too hard to trip him up. Fourteen needs some distance. He studies a yellow-billed snake dead amongst the black and white Go-pebbled rocks and shells. A little farther on, a translucent crab is digging out its hole in the sand between the rocks. It has a white abstraction across its back reminding Fourteen of Cordell Faulkner’s QR code.
“Jeremy!”
Fourteen turns to see Mirabella looking toward the dense forest. He moves back towards her.
“The stupido cagacazzo coglione has gone back.” Mirabella points to the muddy trail they have just followed to the beach.
“Why?” Fourteen asks.
“Who knows! Paolo said he wanted to see where the path goes. He wanted to get to the top.”
“I didn’t like the vibe of that guy with the machete,” Fourteen frowns. “He knows the island is private.” The rain is no longer soothing as it falls on the jungle. “He’ll be okay. Look, you go back to the boat and bring it around here. I’ll just go and see where he went.”
Fourteen travels the trail over chocolate brown rivulets and into the rain-heavy forest. He calls for Paolo once, and getting no response, keeps following in the boy's footsteps. Something about the island conjures up noir mystery secrets. He moves easily over the roots, as the path dodges trees. He wants to treat this now as a simple walk along some Chillicothe boy-safe street. Fourteen’s eyes are on the trail before him. He idly wonders what Paolo hopes to find on this small island. It seems very undeveloped to Fourteen. Paolo probably hopes the hike ends at a resort on the crest of the hill. Just an innocent curiosity from a bored boy.
Fourteen touches the wet branches as he steps in Paolo's footsteps. Some twists and turns to this path. The man with the machete might confront him. He thinks he's ready. “Just looking for my friend. He went the wrong way, sorry!” Something about the man conjures up Samuel Faulkner’s barroom-brawl face.
A déjà-vu tripwire warning stops Fourteen in his tracks just as he begins to see sunlight on a whitewashed balustrade ahead. This is the sixth-sense, jackrabbit warning he acquired over ten months. Fourteen holds his breath, trying to pick out meaning through the patter of the rain above his head.
The hair stands straight on his neck and his belly is corset-tight. This is the jackrabbit sensitivity, this is another clawless bobcat whisker warning. This is another Beretta-Nano-fisted, San Diego now-moment. Fourteen does not know why it is so, but he gut-churning, piss-again knows it is. This is the end of the path.
Fourteen’s everything screams step back along the path. Bobcat is silent and alert. He is jackrabbit-ready to bolt back down the trail. Caution, caution something whisper-warns him. Where the fuck is Paolo? Fourteen cannot go back, so he goes forward.
Where the fuck Paolo is, is hiding behind the whitewashed balastrude looking at four naked girls lounging in a poolside cabana. Paolo hears the steps behind him and swings around. It is only Jeremy. Paolo invites him with a wave. “Che culo! Ci sono quattro di loro. Sono nude! O Jeremy, sono così sexy.”
Two of them are on a couch under the protection of the metal roof. The third is by a wet bar with her perfect ass presented to the boys. The fourth is playing with the raindrops falling from the roof. A long lap pool separates the four beauties from the watching boys. Little is left to Paolo’s imagination. They are not completely natural. The girl at the bar has a thong and transparent top on. The girl playing her fingers through the falling rain has a black bikini bottom.
Paolo recalls the topless beaches of Rapallo. If that was not the Doria family’s thing, the Mediterranean cruising brought them to beaches where one simply did not make a fuss. Natural beaches draw all sorts. Nine-year-old boys are more attentive to the sand, the surf, and other boys and girls. They lust after a cold gelato or the other boy’s better mask.
The quartet are very European, chatting in a mixture of something Slavic and English. Paolo knows he has heard the words elsewhere. Mio Dio, the breasts and swoop of hip! He can hear the one standing nearest complain about the rain. Paolo has eyes for her particularly.
They are all between Paolo’s and Mirabella’s age. That is the first thing Fourteen notes. The second thing his eyes take in is the establishment itself. The tangled Jurassic-jungle with its Panamanian mango pickers has given way to some sleek-coastal hacienda like he viewed sailing south with Sirocco. This Pearl Island privacy is very like Tyrone Casey’s resort. Beyond the transplanted palms there is a building too big to call a house. Two armed guards stand under an arched patio.
Fourteen is thinking, drug cartels and boys buried in the jungle. Now, Paolo is Fourteen, van-curious in the Arizona desert and Fourteen is experienced Keon King knowing it is time to listen to feets-do-your-stuff jackrabbit. Fourteen tugs at Paolo’s sopping shirt. He only gets an excited-grin reply. Fourteen punches Paolo’s shoulder hard. He points toward the men with Beretta-Nano attitude. Paolo unglazes enough to focus on the guards and he nods understanding.
Or not. Paolo suggests, “Let’s go over and talk to them!” Paolo thinks Jeremy will interest them and he can get a better look. The ones on the couch look about his age.
“Seriously dude, we should not be here.”
“Sure, oh man, they are beautiful! I can’t believe it!”
“Go. Now.” Fourteen punches Paolo once more. This sets the boy reluctantly down the path back to the beach. Fourteen looks at the four girls a last time and checks the guards. A heavyset man has joined them under the protection of the porch. “Daria, ven aquí!” the man calls. The girl playing with the raindrops steps out into the rain and starts across. She is Mirabella-pretty with high adolescent breasts. Her jewelry troubles Fourteen. There is a glint of silver around her narrow neck.
This place is very Elvis Parker. The girl is just his daughter, Fourteen tells himself. He is Chillicothe-unready for Tyrone Casey’s world. But, the glint of silver and the confident strut along the lap pool contradict. Fourteen has a Beretta Nano urge to call out to the girl, all the girls, and tell them what he tried to tell (fucking) Cordell. Fourteen’s heart sinks. It is just his daughter with her friends.
Fourteen catches up with Paolo. The boy is half-hard from seeing the girls. “Oh man! That was something, wasn’t it? Podría follarme a los cuatro. ¡Me ponen tan duro!” Paolo pauses to hug Fourteen close and kiss his cheek. Fourteen does not understand the words, but he gets the message. “Bella will not believe us!” Paolo pulls away and gives Fourteen’s chest a push. “Where is Bella?”
“She went to get the boat. We should hurry. They don’t want us on their island.” He gives Paolo a little prod. Paolo laughs and pushes back. There is no point in letting Paolo get to him, so Fourteen puts the boy into a quick headlock. They tussle for a bit, then walk on like friends.
There is a swelling hollow in Fourteen’s chest. He knows this feeling well. The heart-eating vortex of reality abrades sparks off the joyful hearth fire he has been nurturing. Paolo is chattering excitedly about his recent voyeurism. Shane might have been Jeremy’s first unrequited love. He was not the last or strongest; not his best chance, even. Jeremy has felt the gravity between too many times. Doomed attractions sparked by some classroom conversation or shy-eye-tag across the rows of desks. Misdirection, mostly; followed by the ache of solitude.
Before they reach the beach where Mirabella waits, Fourteen takes a chance to kiss Paolo on the lips. The boy is so fluid. The sexuality of their kiss celebrates Paolo’s arousal, suggesting an openness to Fourteen’s continued advances. Even a hand on Fourteen’s hip tempts more touching between them. He is Fourteen, what does it matter? It matters, because there is a swelling hollow in Jeremy’s chest.
Coconino County, AZ
July 28, 2018
Detective Leonard Kirk of the Sheriff's office makes contact with the father of the registered owner of a white Chevy Blazer at the slightly illegal and relatively insignificant and unnamed community on the edge of the Paiute Reservation; he reports back to Detective Washington in East St. Louis somewhat later the SUV has not been seen since late February when a teenager and the SUV both disappeared from the tiny community.
Strangely, no one has filed a missing persons report but the boy's father seems unconcerned and does not wish to speak to the detective, only acknowledging the boy seems to have borrowed the SUV and departed to parts unknown. The man claims he thought the boy had left to see the owner, his older brother in Phoenix; or perhaps his son had bought the Blazer from his brother. Or perhaps his older son sold it to someone else who claimed it. He really didn't know. It's gone, so is his younger son. It's not important.
Unreported vehicle, unreported missing person, murky details; in Kirk's experience this stinks and may well reflect a drug-connected operation gone awry. The man seems unconcerned that the body found in the vehicle might belong to his son. Reluctantly he supplies a buccal swab so the coroner can test to see.
As this is all at the settlement he can interview, no one else seems talkative, and there is motivation on the part of most adults to keep it secret, the report makes no mention of the boy's better-known companion's disappearance at the same time and day; even less the suspected presence of substantial amounts of cocaine in the vehicle.
While Kirk sends his report to Washington, the story also goes from Roman Montreal to Inez Montreal to thirteen-year-old Keon King at the tail end of what might be delicately called an oral exchange with nineteen-year-old Inez. Initially Inez and Keon were unable to talk, strictly speaking, each for different reasons; he got the information shortly after he made his contribution to the exchange and found himself a bit speechless; while she for obvious reasons had her mouth full until a bit later. But eventually she mentioned to the younger boy the inquiry from the Sheriff's office.
It made a great impression due to Keon's association of the Blazer with a white teenager aged 15-20 when it was last seen. Keon cried thinking it might be his good friend Jeremy.
Concepción, Chile
June 28, 2018
🔘 | Sophie Wright 8:14a.m. to Jeremy ⏹ Show pictures Here are the pictures I promised you. I’m not into Instagram or all that YouTube channel blogging liveaboards do to pay their bills and not feel lonely. Christ, endless talking about their shopping trips, clever fixes, and their rusty propane tanks. I do appreciate your pictures. You’ve got an eye for it. It’s winter here in Chile. Just like New Zealand. Nice enough on the coast, but Lonquimay was bloody cold as you can see in the picture. Yeah, and that is me blocking the volcano. Me and the baby bump. I’ve got a liveaboard stowaway. I’m going to be a beached whale pretty soon. Graham’s not up for a baby on board. Some do it, but I can’t see it either. Graham is handy, but I’d not want his hands helping me out when the time comes in the middle of the Pacific. Everything is going to be proper for my girl from the start. If I’m going to do it right, I need to get Sky home. That’s her name. My gran called herself Meadow. Funny old Boomer. She was probably standing in some pasture stoned out of her mind, looking at the flowers and the sheep droppings. I have to get Sky home to family. Chile is not the place so I need to scratch up some money. I’ve put a bit aside. I’m passing the hat around to friends. Just a loan to get us settled till she decides to jump ship. If it is not a stretch, Sky and I would appreciate it. No worries if you can’t. We don’t crew for money do we? You signed on with a good one, I’m glad. |
🔘 | Jeremy Gates 9:51 p.m. to Sophie ⏹ Show pictures OMG! That’s amazing news. It’s good news isn’t it? I need some good news, so I hope you’re happy. A girl! And Sky is an awesome name. You have to let me be her uncle! It’s not like I have a brother or sister. Uncle Dan and Anita are taking forever and Aunt Sandy, I don’t know. Wade was an uncle when he was ten. So you really have to let me be Sky’s Uncle Jem. I’m the cool uncle. You make sure she knows that, hahaha. We are back to sailing and I’m just catching up at this dumb resort before I lose my connection. I talk with my parents, people we meet, but it’s good to get a message from you. We should talk on the phone. I’m glad you think I’m your friend. Anton has me covered. I get a little cash to tide me over, like now when he and Daniel went home. He thought I was going to be boat sitting for two weeks. I’m sailing with Mary right now. That helps a lot. So there is an e-transfer coming your way. Pay me back when you can. Remember, I’m the cool uncle. |
Reserva Hidrológica Filo del Tallo
July 1-5, 2018
“Gravity has a plotter at the helm and my iPad is loaded with digital charts, but like many sailors I am a firm believer in planning a cruise on a paper chart, for the simple reason that it affords perspective. Being able to see your entire cruising area on one chart gives you a real idea of actual distances between your destinations, and any obstacles in your way. A computer screen won’t do that.”
Mary Rule is making Fourteen plot their course to the Panamanian National Park. “Jesus Mary! You’re as bad as Anton. We can practically see the reserve across the bay.” This is an exaggeration, but Gravity is hardly navigating to Pitcairn Island. He is perched at Mary’s small chart table with the dampness of the chart paper clinging to the heel of his palm.
“In fact it can be downright dangerous to plot courses on a tiny plotter screen, where detail is lost or becomes insignificant.” Mary ignores the complaint. “Many a boat has been lost or damaged because an inattentive navigator plotted a course over a shoal or reef.”
He hunches his back and she leaves him to whatever adolescent blackness saying goodbye to Paolo Doria has spun him into. Like Anton, Mary has the course plotted herself, and on the iPad. Why do we have to do long division when I can calculate it? Math and cursive writing, do as we say, not as we do!
Mary gives him his space. She remembers the hellscape of unrequited love. She thinks Jeremy has been spared the all-in passion of girlfriend besties who cannot be who a young girl wants them to be. Jeremy is such a boy. Campana and Francesco are cutting ties with the Pearl Islands as well. Goodbyes have been said. Mary waves at the couple where they are pulling their tender out of the water. She likes them. They are a fresh change from the swarm of North Americans she has sailed with in her grand arc. Their children were good for Jeremy, who spends far too much time with adults.
“Fuck!”
This is a very adolescent curse from the chart table. A glance down the companionway shows an empty office chair. Well, you were just trying to distract him, Mary reminds herself. No Dartmouth classroom approached Gravity’s tropical cabin for desiccating suffocation. Any normal teenage boy would droop, despite (or because of) the early hour. Mary pulls the stern anchor by herself, wishing Jeremy was there to wash the muck off the chain before she stowed it away.
Jeremy is in the V-berth with his new guitar. He glances at Mary in the doorway then goes back to picking out the melody. “It sucks,” he finally announces.
Mary was pleased when Jeremy brought the travel guitar Daniel and he tracked down in Panama City. Mary laughed at his rejection of the ukulele. It is a bit too elementary school for teens like Jeremy. The time comes when most let their bikes clutter up the garage and grab their parents’ wheels. “Well, you’re not cut out to be Tiny Tim,” she conceded when he showed the new instrument to her. The Christmas kid with a crutch? Jeremy asked. “God bless us every one, yes,” Mary agreed, not wanting the bother of explaining Herb Khaury and tiptoeing through tulips.
Mary picks up a spiral notebook on the bed beside Jeremy. He is filling it with rough sketches of her boat. Diagrams of wiring and water lines he traces when he has a moment. She has to respect the Queen of Diamonds. Anton has the boy trained to know the boats he crews. “We should replace that saltwater hose behind you,” Jeremy will tell her as he works magic on her induction cooktop and tiny microwave.
“♪♫♬ And I know that we just met, and maybe this is dumb, but it feels like there was something ♪♫♬, from the moment that we touched, ‘cause, it’s alright, it’s alright, I wanna make you mine. ♪♫♬” The phrases come out slowly as Fourteen strums unfamiliar chords.
“That song is pretty,” Mary tells him.
“I suck.” Fourteen rests his arm on the cheap little guitar. He is not an artist like Daniel Ayers, so he thought playing an instrument like Mary might, well, be kind of party-cool. “I suck!” He is not talking about the music. “What do you think, Mary? Is it better to read people’s minds or try to be invisible?”
“I’d not want either, boyo.”
“Seeing through people hurts.” To mask his confusion, Fourteen returns to the guitar strings. His tablet has the tabs open on the bed beside him. Em, “I know that we just met. ♪♫♬” D, “Maybe this is dumb ….” C, he looks at Mary under his long lashes. “It hurts when you see through people.”
“If they are invisible?”
“No, I mean read their thoughts. Understand what they are really wanting.” Paolo coming back from the private compound, so excited by the near-naked young women. Fourteen knew, he understood he had been seeing-hoping. People hear and see what they want to see. He tried to explain that to Paolo, even as he fooled himself. Fourteen was just thinking about what would make him feel good. “I wish I was better seeing what people are feeling. I would not get hurt so much.”
“Oh Jeremy, you don’t want to hear an old woman’s advice. Things don’t always work out the way they should. You know that.”
“No, Mary! I do. Anton, well, you know what he acts like! Levi was so lonely — knew what heartbreak was like. You loved Kate. How did you know you loved her?”
“It wasn’t the sex, you cruising-cocksucking chicken.” That gets a tangerine smile. Mary places a hand on Jeremy’s leg. “When I could simply touch her, when she reached out to touch me like this, I felt like it was the best part of being loved.”
Jeremy takes a breath. “Levi and I, I want you to understand. I loved him. He was nice to me. I survived him. When he held me, I felt loved.”
“How could he not love you?” It is always easier to believe what you need and not what you know. A thought for another conversation. Mary would have liked to meet Levi Fisher, judge things for herself.
“I don’t want to end that way. But he loved me,” Fourteen finishes. “Being betrayed fucked Levi up (language, sorry).”
“Now you bent-boyo, silly-switch, time and place for a curse or two, remember? What do you take me for, the school librarian? I cut my teeth on my dad’s trawler with the likes of men who would make Auntie Anton flutter.” She likes the blush across Jeremy’s tanned cheeks.
Mary feels for Jeremy. It is about the Italian boy. Mary frowns. Jeremy was pretty transparent about all that. Well, we’re not put on this earth to see through people, we’re here to see people through, she reminds herself. No point in asking her young chick how many times he broke his heart before this. It would not help the boy’s bleak now. No point in reminding Jeremy that he and Paolo were destined to go their separate ways. Doomed lovers, young Romeo banished, only Paolo was not Juliet for Jeremy. Mary stumbled across the love of her life in her late thirties. Jeremy would be appalled. “It takes time, boyo,” Mary advises softly.
“It’s easier not to try.” Easier to skip the drama of confused-confusing boys his own age and stick with transparent men. So much less energy. “I’m kicking boys my age.”
“You can’t kick them forever,” Mary laughs. The way he crushed on Paolo, it seems obvious what Jeremy needs.
“Fuck it. Sorry!”
“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself? You made some friends didn’t you? Had some moments, maybe?”
“Well, maybe,” Fourteen agrees. "And I’m with people who understand me." Fourteen assured his parents of this on the phone. This is why he opens up to Mary. “How does it feel to be right all the time?”
“Pretty good.” Mary laughs. “Oh lord, the things you don’t know about me.”
“Yet.”
“Yes, yet!” Mary wants to hug him. “I’ll help you learn that pretty song. Sun’s rising higher, boyo. I still need the course.”
“I left it on the chart table, should be right.”
“You take the tiller.”
Jeremy raises the main anchor at the bow while Mary hoses off the chain before it slides down into the locker. Jeremy takes Gravity out on her motor. “Play me something.”
Mary has just settled down across from him. Jeremy is steering the tiller with a bare foot. The throttle for the motor is easily in reach. “Go on with you!” She fetches her concertina and starts a chantey.
“Barrett’s Privateers,” Jeremy begs. It is a lively song that will chase his blues away. Paolo is the boy on the beach, like Cameron and Rafael. Paolo is a consequence-free afternoon with Sophie.
“You only like it because the Americans win.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.”
As Mary launches into Stan Rogers' lively piece, Fourteen crosses the stern of Cavalieri Dell’onda. He waves at the Dorias. Paolo is not on deck, which is good, because the hurt still fills his chest.
Oh, the year was 1778 ♪♫♬ (How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now!) A letter of marque came from the king To the scummiest vessel I'd ever seen ♪♫♬ God damn them all! ♪♫♬ I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold We'd fire no guns, shed no tears ♪♫♬ Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier The last of Barrett's Privateers ♪♫♬ | Fourteen envies Mary Rule’s confidence. Anton and Mary, masters of their complicated boats and so certain of what they were doing. She is belting out the rollicking song as her concertina saws back and forth. Levi, Anton and Mary, making it look easy, while Fourteen fumbles on the strings and can barely voice his off-key love-laments. |
Jeremy can see the coast of Panama. It is just a blue smudge along the horizon, but they will reach it in another hour. Gravity is making steerage under a heavy air that promises rain. Jeremy can see the squall line to the northwest. The radio reports nothing of consequence. He would restart the engine, but he does not want to disturb Mary.
She went below when the Pearl Islands were behind them. The Bay of San Miguel and La Palmais are an easy reach in fair weather. Mary is napping. He can see the old woman stretched out on the bench each time he checks instruments. It is worrisome. Mary, much like Levi, getting tired. “Are you suggesting I'm old, young upstart sleep-the-morning-through?”
Panama was hot. Siesta was the wisest course. Levi Fisher taught Jeremy to worry. Mary and Levi, the pair of them were too alike for Jeremy: solitary-capable, things kept to themselves, years piling up answers to questions Jeremy has not thought to ask yet. He does not like the thought of Mary sailing on her own with Kate’s urn for useless company. He worries each time she pauses at a task. He worries Gravity’s course is charted to some Mÿ So’n Temple resolution. Jeremy has searched for medications.
A pod of breaching backs under heavy clouds distracts Jeremy from his thoughts. Gravity lies between the coast and the slow-moving rain. The pod of dolphins shift closer. He rigs the autopilot and reaches for his diving gear.
Jeremy slips beneath the water with a crackle of his grandfather’s record needle scratching its way into the grooves of a well-played LP. Then there is the silence of the ocean pressing into his eardrums. Gravity moves on until the lifeline he holds onto starts to stiffen. Then he lets the sailboat tow him along in its wake.
It is aquamarine filtering glimpses of the sleek-twisting dolphins. One is here, then the next one there. Maybe six, they come together with their shadowed bellies and surface-sun backs. Sheets of light reflect on Jeremy’s mask, brief dazzles in the ocean’s liquid light.
Jeremy thinks of shadowed bellies and sun-surfaced backs. Daniel Ayers in the Gulf of California, Rafael Martinez off Sirocco’s diving platform in Topolobampo, Paolo in the Pearls, those moments are behind him now. Jeremy gives in to the heartache. What was the point of being Fourteen if he still felt like Jeremy?
He can feel the water sliding over his body. It draws the sorrow away with it as if Jeremy was discarding skin. Shuck the before and step transformed into the after. A dolphin approaches him playfully, and then another. Jeremy wants to let the line wrapped around his wrist loose so he can play with them. He cannot. He hauls himself along back to Gravity.
La Palma, Darién Province
July 4, 2018
La Palma reminds Jeremy of the Pearl Islands and the briefness of his time with Paolo. The dock is a well-built platform clustered with small brats. Jeremy picks a shy boy watching his baby sister. He plants them on Gravity with soft drinks and some snacks. The boy will guard their boat.
The houses rest on piles by the shore. Small fishing boats cluster at their base along a narrow beach. Further on, the town’s homes range in terraces up the steep slope in sun-bleached, rain-diluted reds and greens. Beyond that is the forest.
There is an unimpressive single street running through the town. Mary and Jeremy poke their heads into small stores, pass by the restaurants, hotels, and quiet bars. Foreigners are rare, people stare. It is a good place to stock up on provisions before heading deeper into the Darién. The locals tell Jeremy that it is not far from a Spanish fort built to protect the local gold mines from pirates. When Mary and Jeremy hike out to look, they find a crumbling sadness taken over by creeper vines.
Fourteen finds his way to a sketch of a cantina and his money is good. He points at a glass of milk and ice which is likely safer than rum or tequila. He thinks a whiff of tequila would make him spew. It is alcoholic. He frowns at the first sip of coconut milk. A pair of tired looking women at a nearby table helpfully tell him it is Seco. Now he can imagine vomiting up milk like a seven-year-old with the flu.
The local bar is not entertaining. It is open to the street and July 4th means nothing to the people here. There is a long love-hate relationship between Panama and America. Anton was glad to Trivial-Pursuit the details over a glass of wine with Mary Rule. Mary let him talk. She flew a little Maple Leaf off the solar arch and tried not to be an Ugly (smug) Canadian wherever she went.
“Your Spanish is good. You speak like a Mexican,” one of the ladies comments. Fourteen thanks her, taking it for a compliment. He knows it is not true. Eleven months ago, Jeremy spoke introductory Spanish phrases learned at school. Roman and Angela Montreal kicked that up the road a bit. Daniel used the last six months to cram a second language into him. “Americano?”
“Antigua and Barbuda,” Fourteen responds. His eyes drift to another table with some empty beers. The dry liquor in his drink is deceptive, like shots of tequila. He mostly lets it sit there on the table.
Fourteen imagines this is Puerto Vallarta and he is Sergio Ochoa Craigslisting a date. 9:23, his Galaxy tells him. Seven minutes till the man shows up. Or he is here already, Fourteen considers. It’s the old guy with the strong face. He sits legs apart in baggy shorts. A clean T-shirt with some cartoon beach print. His ball cap is backwards. Mouth curled in a likable smile, thick grizzled eyebrow raised at the tangerine prospect of Fourteen. He is not some brownie queen looking to be used. He is an otter fishing for twink. He wants Fourteen. He will reach around and jack Fourteen to the rhythm of his cock. Not him, Fourteen decides.
9:27, It’s a young Elvis Parker with a friend. The Craigslist never mentioned that. Someone intense like Mirabella’s twins at the resort. Shaved clean so every tattoo-detail shouts I’m hard. Wings across his pecs, something Aztec on his shoulder. Someone dangerous, someone with muscles Fourteen can make love to before he steals the man’s hard cock. The friend is lighter, anxious for Fourteen’s artiste-mouth. They all fuck (who knows where?) like Gareon Brantley and Malachi Hooker. They fuck sober till they have spent everything Fourteen has and they have left everything he can take.
9:34, Fourteen leaves the drink unfinished. It is raining when he pauses in the open doorway. Two teenage boys stand ragged across La Palma’s solitary street. One fiddles with his phone. Of course, they are just heteroflexible boys too shy to come into the bar. Straight-curious like Keon King or … best not to think of (fucking) Him. Perhaps the two are younger Antons and Daniels looking for sport with a switch like Fourteen on a dull village evening. The two boys look at Fourteen and he looks back.
The older one kisses me while I use his partner. No love lost here, just three animals. Maybe they love each other like Daniel and Anton. Maybe I’m the gift they give each other for the night. “Is he good, baby?” Yeah, Fourteen will be good.
It takes time, boyo, Mary advises softly. Got nothing but time, Fourteen replies. He is turning away from Levi’s West, Far East to Antigua and Barbuda. Maybe sailing east through the Panama Canal will bring him home.
Gravity is still moored to the dock. That surprises Fourteen. He imagined caging a ride out to Mary’s sloop. She is sitting in the cockpit listening to the night. “Hey Mary!”
Hey Mary! That’s all she needs to hear. He bobcats into the cockpit across from her. Jeremy looks out into the night, communing with whatever captured Mary’s interest. He pulls off his shoes and stretches out his feet. Jeremy frowns some memory away and looks at his wiggling toes. “No fireworks, I was stupid to think there might be.”
Jeremy sits forward and drops his head.
“I was just riding my bike home from the fair with the guys. I thought they were kidnapping me for ransom, I was so stupid.”
Jeremy told Mary this before when they first talked anchored in Las Pampas. It is best to let him talk. He has stopped, so she asks, “How many days?”
“Four, I think.” Jeremy falls silent, “Yeah, four.
“They are out there. I’m in Panama, for fuck’s sake, but they are still out there. Patrick is crazy, and John — I liked John. I don’t know why, because I’m stupid. They hurt me. They would have killed me if Levi had not come along.”
“They cannot touch you here.” Mary knows this is only partly true. She and Kate were spared this in their quiet life in Dartmouth. She knows the fear. She understands a man can carry the after burden just as heavily as a woman.
“Jeremy,” Mary’s voice is gentle. “I feel like you are part of me. I don’t understand you, but I understand me. If you tell me what happened, I think I will understand. What happened after Levi left you?”
“Hang on,” Jeremy is in motion down the gangway. A light comes on in the V-berth. Mary listens to the eternal sea meeting the shore and the sounds of the small town. Life around and within, people doing their best, and their worst. Jeremy has not returned, so she follows him down.
Jeremy is sitting on the bed lost in thought. He glances at her when she reaches the partitioned head. Gravity is cramped, so Jeremy clears the doorway so Mary can come closer. He has been staring at a passport, a folding knife with a stag horn handle. He fingers an antique silver necklace. “Let me tell you about Levi and Tuan. There was a gun. It is gone now. After Levi left, I want to tell you about Levi and Tuan.”
Before he even begins, he puts the necklace about his neck, then reaches for the guitar. The small instrument is in his lap, with his arms wrapped around it like a pillow drawn close for comfort. It is Jeremy’s only shield. That and the way he keeps his eyes on the Japanese Hikari blade as he talks. Mary listens to the words and marvels at the beauty of the young man.
“I dropped it in the bay before the navy boarded us.” Jeremy finishes his story some time later. “I’ve learned that anyone can do anything they want to you. You can’t stop what is done to you, but you can survive it.” It is a harsh calculation. “People do what they want to do.” He repeats the thought with finality.
“Sometimes, they don’t,” Mary replies. Sometimes, people do not get to do what they want to do; or sometimes they stop themselves from doing what is wrong.
Like a troubadour, he ends his saga with a few bars of the song he has been learning. “I suck,” Jeremy closes, ambiguously. His eyes sparkle at Mary and his mouth twists into the fatal smile.
This is his strength and why Mary is drawn to Jeremy. The fatal beauty that is morphing into handsome. The adolescent tangerine mellowing through the years into a more subtle, equally intoxicating aura of a man.
“Jem, you are a good kid. I’m proud of you.”
“No I'm not. I may be good but I am not a kid.” He tugs the necklace. “If I had just gone home. I had the chance. San Diego would not have happened. If I had not used the gun.”
“I’m glad you had the gun,” Mary says firmly.
“Sophie said the same.” Jeremy is serious. “I left them there with all of that.”
“They brought you there,” Mary insists.
“But what if Cordell did love me? And Levi tried to make it right.”
“At the end of the day, a person’s no better than the pain they cause to the ones they love,” Mary assures Jeremy.
“That’s what scares me.”
“Jem, you’re a good person.” Mary smiles.
“I’ve hurt my parents, my best friend.” Jeremy opens the Hikari blade and stares at its 70mm length as if he contemplates its uses. Then he closes it again.
Mary shifts from the bed she has been sitting on to the space beside Jeremy. “You’re talking to them, aren’t you? On that other phone you keep so secret.”
“Yes.”
“What do they want for you?”
“They want me home, but they want me safe. Cordell, Patrick and John,” Jeremy shrugs his shoulders, “they can hurt me still. So you see, I’m hurting them all at home.”
Mary tugs the guitar-shield out of Jeremy’s arms and gently places it on the bed across from them. “Jeremy, they hurt for you, not because of what you’ve done, but what was done to you.” She pulls him closer, and he drops his head on her shoulder. “You are going to be okay.”
The reserve on the Bay of San Miguel features mountainous terrain and dense forest. Mary and Jeremy spend their final days following winding trails flanked by towering trees and waterfalls. Gravity recharges its batteries on shallow, placid waters where the dense forest hangs heavily over the water.
Joni Mitchell's response to Neil Young was the song Circle Game. Mary plays it for Jeremy as they rest after a long hike in the jungle and a not quite refreshing swim off Gravity’s swim deck. They are headed back to Panama City in the morning. Mary is coveting a night or two in a hotel where she can soak in a tub of bubbles and sweet water.
Jeremy takes a sip of Mary’s rum. “Oh, you’re back to hard liquor are you?” Mary teases.
“Rum’s okay, tequila is dead to me.” Jeremy grins at Mary. “I’m looking forward to seeing the Panama Canal. Do you think Daniel and Anton are back yet? They should be.”
“Well, we have two days to get back and organize the passage. Anton will want to be ready. We could sail out right now. Do a night passage in the cool.”
“After I make supper,” Jeremy suggests. “This has been really epic. Crewing with you these last two weeks. I suppose I could keep doing this forever. Being on the sea, seeing the world. That is all Sophie wants. I guess I could do that.” There is a big but in this pronouncement.
“What makes your life worth living?” she asks Jeremy.
“I want to be a man. Independent, capable, when you’re young, everyone has to do everything for you. When you grow up, people rely on you, people look up to you. Men, well women too, want to be with you, you know? I want that. I was on my way to that. I want to be able to rely on people too, I guess.”
He has been hurt too often, Mary knows. Jeremy is trying so hard to be exactly what he just said: independent, capable, someone worth being with. “You’re worth being with — and not just for your sexy bottom and your magic wand, you flaming fairy-boy you. Have faith.
“Betrayal corrodes your heart worse than the salt sea melts the hull beneath your feet. The hardest thing to do in life is trust, have faith, and to forgive.” She watches the little twitch of Jeremy’s mouth that signals he is thinking about her words.
“Give it time?” Jeremy is thinking about Paolo and the heartache of it all. He is thinking of Patrick Hunter twisting his hurt-anger into an after-revenge on unsuspecting boys like Jeremy. The man was a pied piper always hoping to lure others into his suffering. Could Jeremy forgive that as easily as he forgave Levi? “I don’t know about forgiveness,” he adds doubtfully.
“Oh, I think you do, boyo.” Mary answers. “Best kind,[a][b] forgiveness. To forgive is to move forward.” Speaking of moving forward, “So, who is your favorite teacher? Besides me, of course,” Mary asked.
“I don’t know. Ms. Clement.” Jeremy shrugs. It is stuffy in the small salon and his body has forgotten the recent ocean dip already. He plucks the guitar tentatively and Mary makes the concertina sigh.
“Why was she your favorite teacher?”
Jeremy has to think for a moment. “Well, I suppose it was because she did projects all the time. I mean, we did the projects. We had our choice and the way we had to share them. Hey, she even let us pick who we would share them with. Like, once I did a project and shared it with the first graders. Models, pictures, stuff like that. The first graders, I made them act out solids liquids and gas.
“Her classroom had tables instead of desks. I like desks,” Jeremy remembers. Tables were for little kids eating paste. Desks were for when you were big.
“I like tables,” Mary interrupted.
“But yeah, I guess it was cool to be able to switch it up and sit with different people. She let us use our phones for stuff.”
“What grade was that?”
“Sixth,” Jeremy answered.
“In Chillicothe? What was her first name? Do you know?”
“I think it was Rita.”
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I have written a variety of short stories and novellas. You can follow this safe link to my Body of Work. |
[a]Best kind of what? (I'm not sure how to read this.)
[b]Maritime slang, forgiveness is the best thing, like a fine bottle of liquor.