Anton and Daniel 15

Panama City, Panama

July 6, 2018

“No puedo, Jeremy, acabo de empezar mi turno y no salgo hasta las 12:00 de esta noche. ¿Qué te respalda?" Ricardo shrugs his shoulders apologetically.

“Shit,” Fourteen groans. He starts after Ricardo, who is still on the move because his job is all over the marina. “I need to get out of here for a bit.”

“No te veas tan desanimado. Tal vez te llame después del trabajo, ¿de acuerdo amigo? I’ll phone you after work if anything is happening.” Ricardo repeats it in English.

He likes the kid. Lucy thinks Ricardo should hook the American boy up with the young bi brother of a mutual acquaintance. Ricardo does not have gay friends, himself. He is fine with gay, just less prepared. Lucy and Fred simply take Jeremy in their stride. When Ricardo pauses to think, the teen bumps into him. Jeremy looks upset, ready to punch a wall or get drunk (again). You do not have to like men to find yourself that way. You just have to be human.

“We can hang out,” Ricardo promises.

“Yeah, okay,” Fourteen nods, “later.” He lets his Panamanian friend move off to do his work.

Fourteen considers going back to Gravity. Mary will not be there. She is luxuriating in a cheap hotel downtown. “I’m an old prune drying in the sun, boyo. I need to rehydrate for a while. Have a night in air conditioning. I’ll see you at dawn when we go to the locks.” He could go back to the small sloop by himself. It is like a second home to him now.

Fourteen’s things are back in Sirocco. He left them piled on the pilot berth when he stormed out. If he goes back to Anton’s boat, Anton might try to reason with him again. There is a heartache familiarity to this. Levi Fisher’s defensive delusions rationalizing the obvious indefensible. Mohel, mohel, toil and trouble. Just when he trusts these men, they let him down. Anton has circumcised Daniel out of Fourteen’s fragile stability.

It is not the upper peninsula of Michigan and he is not the Chillicothe boy seeking out Ricardo to help him with his fuck-Barry-Gordon revenge-response. Anton Schroeder violated Daniel Ayers, not Jeremy Gates. Fourteen supposes Daniel is having his own reprisal-sex somewhere in the Midwest. Still, the seeming violation of the men’s breakup. Have they truly broken up? Fourteen wonders.  

First Sophie leaves Graham in Chile, now Daniel leaves Anton. It is unsettling. He always pictured Sophie on Born to Run riding the currents to Paolo’s and Mirabella’s French Polynesia. Now Sophie is in Levi Fisher’s fantastical San Francisco having a baby.

Fourteen understands Anton’s actions better than he does Levi Fisher’s assault on his flesh. Being selfish, wanting what you want, almost taking Rafael Martinez against his will in Topolobampo, Grandpa Herb would call it sin. To go away from what is right, he hoped he would always be better than that. He hopes he will be Sophie, giving up her dream for someone else.

“Daniel said he needs to think,” Anton explained heavily when Fourteen demanded to know why Daniel had not come back. He is not ready to listen to Anton try to justify screwing over Daniel. He does not want to find a way out to Gravity in the harbor. He does not want to get a taxi and have a night out on the town by himself. If Ricardo or Lucy and Fred connect with him later, well, that will be different. Fourteen-frolics on the town, maybe later.

Fourteen needs to think, not cruise and get wasted in a strange city. There is the comfortable weight of his phone. His parents would ask too many awkward questions. “Well, Andrew and, umm, Darla just broke up,” he would begin. Then his parents would start in about coming down to where? The location Fourteen has disclosed to them?

If he phoned Mary Rule, she would ditch her spa night and be there for him. Then Fourteen remembers what he told Mary and what he tries to tell his parents, I want to be a man. Independent, capable …. Fourteen has to face the fresh Sirocco-surprise on his own.

Panama City is not a free-fuck in a bubble tent in the Upper Peninsula. He came back from his first college party lighter in the pocket. Crewing on Anton’s boat is economical. He likes to think he has spent very little of the money given him. Fourteen sent Sophie Wright three thousand dollars. She kept it just long enough to pass through customs in San Francisco. The money he lent was deposited back into his account. She thanked him and promised Jeremy he would always be her baby’s favorite.

The money lost and found had quite an impact on Fourteen. He had not realized how reassuring the fat bank balance was. Levi’s bank account was like a soft crash mat perfectly positioned to cushion Fourteen’s fall. It was drop dead money. He could shrug off Anton and Daniel with sangfroid just because the money would be there if he needed it.

He never regretted the generous impulse to help Sophie. After all, Sophie, pregnant with a child on her own, was super serious. Unplanned parenthood was a problem Fourteen never had to face. If she was with him, Fourteen would do more. Sophie saved him in San Diego. Jeremy Gates would never forget that.

He did not regret the gift, but he felt the money’s loss. Being beached on his own without money would not be easy. Without Anton’s room, board, and transportation, Levi’s money might have got him to Antigua. Then what? A little scary, Fourteen thinks. So, Sophie gave the money back, but the memory of his recent brush with poverty makes Fourteen cautious. Money goes out quickly! He has to save for Antigua and what might come after.

Fourteen settles on the neon-violet of Fish Lovers Ceviche Y Bar. It is a place to think, like the Chinese restaurant in San Diego just before he met Sophie. He picks a fried mix of seafood in a creole sauce, because Mary plans to take Gravity (and Kate) to New Orleans. The grumpy bartender does not look like he is going to send an alcoholic drink over to Fourteen’s table. Fourteen sips a too-sweet fruit juice instead.

The Galaxy chimes in his pocket. If it is Anton, Fourteen does not want to listen. It could be Sophie with a picture and a word to cheer him up. He pulls it out.

Fourteen lets the anger and tension fade. There is this he could always count on. His dad would rather barbecue in the Chillicothe heat. Greyson Gates would rather grill the calamari and the other seafoods if that was his only option. Remy Gates would have something to say about bratwurst’s splitting-spitting fat twice or thrice in a week. Fourteen snaps a picture of the plate before him and thumbs out a response.

Fuck, this smells good, they plate it poorly. The first taste tells Fourteen there is too much salt. He craves salt in the tropic swelter, but there is no escaping the sea on his lips. Fourteen deconstructs the plate as he eats a meal to pass the time. He does this like a novice on the guitar frets — all fluid-fingers finding the fingering until he becomes conscious of his muscle memory, then he fumbles.

Fourteen checks his phone, but his mother has not replied. He decides he has to go back to Anton’s boat. It is the only choice that feels right anyway. He might even listen to Anton’s lame explanation again. It is so disappointing. Anton on Sirocco by himself is another Gifford Pinchot State Park, Frazer Wells, San Ysidro punch in the solar plexus. God damn these so-called friends! Or god damn Jeremy Gates for being so stupid all the time.

The boy is back. Anton is not sure how he feels about that. On one hand, it is comforting to see the boy stowing his few things away in the pilot berth locker. It has been almost half a year since Fourteen came on board. Anton has never kept a crew this long. Fourteen is a taken-for-granted part of Sirocco’s community now. On the other hand, the graceful-gracile youth remains as a painful echo of Daniel’s robust absence from Anton’s ketch. Anton needs to get over Daniel; or he doesn’t. The situation is as confusing as it is painful.

“Okay, what did you do exactly, old man?”

Anton takes a drink of tonic. He should resent Fourteen’s old man crack. He should have a witty comeback for the youth. Perhaps I just don’t feel funny right now. Anton also doesn’t think he owes the boy further explanation. Owed or not, Fourteen still stands in his galley-kingdom projecting a mixture of adolescent anger and insecurity.

“Mommies and daddies fight sometimes. Even though daddy has moved out, I want you to know he still loves you. What else? Oh yes, honey, it was not anything you did. Some day, when you are older, you will understand better.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Sorry, It’s the best I can come up with right now,” Anton replies. “It turns out we wanted different things. We didn’t see this going anywhere. I don’t think we brought out the best in each other.”

“I’m sorry, I was talking about Daniel, not Beckett,” Fourteen retorts. Perhaps Anton did not stop to think of what made Daniel happy. Daniel certainly brought out the best in Anton, like Sirocco brought out the best in Anton. “I think you guys made a mistake.”

“We had an argument about his taking a job in Chicago. I told you that before you stormed out of here.”

Daniel’s future on the beach and Anton’s forever-sailing, Fourteen understood the conflict very well. He recalls his brief conversation with Daniel. “Daniel talked to some lady in Chicago. Did you talk to someone? Stop him from getting some job?”

“Why would you say that? I wanted him to live with me on Sirocco. He wants to get a job, that is all. Stop looking at me like that! You don’t understand these things yet. Why would you say that?”

“Daniel told me he loved you. He thought you might have made some phone calls. I guess, when you were in San Diego?”

Anton does not answer that. “It doesn’t work that way.”

God! I forget how young he is. Young people believe love is so easy! It took me two weeks to realize Jared Hogan and I were not destined to stay together. Anton might waspishly ask Fourteen about how well things turned out for him with the old man in the RV. Very different, he reminds himself. None of this was Fourteen’s fault, poor kid.

Fourteen compared Daniel to Beckett. What did the boy know of Beckett Calibaba? Anton was going to change his life for Beckett and his art gallery dream. He might have done the same for Daniel Ayers. “I wanted to take care of him. I would have helped him.”

Fourteen’s eyes travel around the room. “You needed Daniel for going through the canal, making transit. I’ll stay on board. I can help, or not, it is whatever.”

“No, you go through with Mary, like we planned. I phoned the agent and told her we needed another hand.”

Fourteen nods his head, clearly still upset with the situation. It’s done, Anton tells himself.

Anton watches his young crewman retreat to the pilot berth. Fourteen has his port routine. Fourteen digs the second phone out of his pocket, turns it on long enough to check for messages. There is something on his private phone. Anton sips his drink while Fourteen thumbs out a rapid reply to someone. The phone is carefully disabled and tucked away.

Fourteen takes his Galaxy out next. Anton thinks he could message Daniel in Illinois. The two of them were always in touch when they were on the beach. Anton’s grudging impression is that Fourteen messages Daniel more than him. But was that true? Fourteen is Anton’s first mate. The boy he took to sea. The pair of them phone or message about the boat whenever Anton leaves the ketch. After Topolobampo, Fourteen was careful to reassure Anton that all was always well and that he was being responsible. Fourteen felt guilty about abandoning ship to sail with Mary Rule. So, how much had Daniel and Fourteen shared? How close were they?

“Honestly, Jeremy. You are investing too much in this. You know, people need to do what is best for themselves. Daniel is passionate about his architecture. I thought I could help him do that. Not,” Anton waves a hand helplessly, “not be a drone in some mammoth corporate factory that won’t let him build the buildings he dreams of. And I,” he pauses again, “I can’t live like that either. We both deserve to be happy.”

“Sure, people need to do what’s best for themselves.” Fourteen answers from where he still stands in the galley. “Will he come back?”

“People usually don’t get back together. That’s not real life. People break up. People drink.” Anton lifts his drink. “People break up, they get depressed, and they drink. Now don’t be so serious with those black looks.”

Anton studies the shape of the melting ice in his glass. Miami International comes back to him. The partners sat in an executive lounge waiting out their layovers.

“You hate this. I know.” Daniel had begun their penultimate conversation.

“And you don’t?” Anton recalls replying. He cannot remember exactly how he sounded. Perhaps it was too peevish. Daniel meant their separation, but he might as well be talking about the business meeting Anton could not avoid.

“It’s only for the week.”

“You’re right. I want to be back on our boat, together, sailing by ourselves. This, this ….” Anton never knew how to get around the differences between them. “Why can’t it just be like it was?”

“Your board meeting,” Daniel interrupted.

“Which you know I don’t want to do!”

“You thought I would just stay with Fourteen. You don’t understand. I’m not used to cutting myself off from family, friends, for months at a time. It is just you and your mother Valerie —“

“That’s not fair!” Anton exclaimed.

“Anton, you never had a family. I have a family,” Daniel continued. “Family is everything to me.”

Daniel Junior’s close-knit family. Anton had met them all, faced their qualified acceptance. Daniel was Dan and Tracey’s comfortably hetero-normal eldest son, he passed better than Anton; and yes, Anton was older (just a little). It was never about that, though. It was about Anton deflecting Daniel’s virtuous work-ethic trajectory.

“So I will only be in New Jersey for three days. I can meet you in Lafayette,” Anton had to pause at that, “or if you need some family time, I can come a few days later, or next week.”

“I’ll be in Chicago by then.”

That brought it to the surface. Anton just blurted it out, knowing he could not stop what was going to happen. “It’s possible some things might come out in Chicago.” They had the executive lounge almost to themselves. They spoke in quiet tones as if they might be overheard. “I have to be honest.”

“But you haven’t been honest.” Daniel stared him down. “You talked to Kelly Thornstein at Fusion Studio. Who else?”

Anton remembered that all he could do was sit and look at the ice in his drink, as he was doing in Sirocco’s salon with Fourteen watching him.

“Becker Collective Designs?” Daniel asked in the Miami lounge.

“Yes.”

“Cordogan Booth Studio?”

“Dewey Delgado is the younger brother of … we’ll, I suppose that doesn’t matter.”

“And Dirk Epstein Architects?”

“No,” Anton had no influence there.

“What did I do to deserve this? We are friends, more than friends.”

“I’m sorry, I freaked out when you went for interviews.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“I didn’t know that if I gave you the choice, you would choose me,” Anton admitted.

Daniel shook his head at Anton and stood up. “It’s not supposed to be hard to be your partner.” Then Daniel left him.

Panama Canal Transit

July 7-8, 2018

Jagger Hearne trails behind the three old people as they make their way between the rows of expensive white boats. It is like a winter forest or maybe the tangle of wires down some Tulsa alley. They are not all sailboats. There are some rocking yachts tied up to the floating dock they are traversing.

A 60-foot spaceship is directly ahead silhouetted in the cityscape. It is just sitting there in the too-early-morning heat looking fast. It is a windblown wedding cake slipping off the table. The cake layers slide to the back of some lucky bastard’s sweet ride. Nothing cake about that boat, Jagger thinks, it’s a sci-fi starship blowing past a nebula. It was not a boat. It was art.

Jagger imagined driving that beauty through the Panama Canal. Not much chance, his aunt and uncle said the two-day job was to make sure some boat did not get scraped as it went through the concrete locks. “It’ll be fun, Jagger. Get to meet people, traverse a wonder of the world. Free food and drink, some laughs, and money in your pocket. We do it every chance we get.”

Uncle Mike and Aunt Lisa never did as well as Jagger’s parents. Retiring to a small apartment in Panama City stretched their pension. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Mike were a hoot. The pair of them were tourists at heart. They hugged him at the airport and started talking about everything they planned to do with him. They were more enthusiastic than the local Panamanians. “Best thing we ever did, retiring down here. So many Americans in our building. It’s so inexpensive!” Jagger surrendered to his exile in Panama. It was better than his other choices.

Jagger followed along, absorbing the crowded marina at the end of the long causeway. They were still walking towards the space-yacht. The big boat was sweet! He might not get to drive the boat, but he could stand at the front and enjoy the admiring-envying stares as they jetted by the little sailboats. So sweet, like having a sports car the chicks dig. A fit mother-type floats along the side of the yacht in tennis whites. Nothing like the bloated moms showing up at Hillcrest.

No such luck!

The three old folk he trails behind have found a long two-masted sailboat. Jagger thinks it is slick in its way. Pretty slick, pretty expensive, but not the motherfucking space-yacht parked nearby. The boat they are taking looks small and crowded compared to the yacht’s obvious luxury. A slender father and some California surfer punk are standing by the driver’s seat.

“This is Anton Schroeder’s boat, Sirocco, Jagger,” his aunt confirmed. “We will be on the other one. But don’t worry, we will be together the whole time.”

Jagger keeps his thoughts to himself. He was happy enough going with the flow. Panama was chill and it was not Tulsa.

“It’s WIT, Avenues, or your uncle Mike in Panama.” Ultimatums from his mom and dad in Tulsa. “We are fit to be tied!”

What does that even mean? His parents were not the ones rodeo-roped into homo-detox or drug-detox. Jagger was the only one being told what to do.

It was not the dianabol he peddled at the gym, everyone did a bit of that. The fitness center management liked him well enough, but they had to let him go for dispensing to his clients.

Management had it wrong. Jagger gave them steroids at cost, just so they would not switch to another trainer. Jagger told his parents, “I quit my gym this morning because one of the instructors started shouting at me, ‘Come on man, you've got to want it! Come on push. You can do it.’ I hate being disturbed when I'm having a dump.”

“You need to be serious!” his dad replied frostily. “We know about the drugs and the young man at the gym you were having sex with.”

The kid also blabbed about the fentanyl. That was just for him. When his clients strained their muscles, he only gave them Advil. Jagger was not a pusher, but his parents did not see it that way.

Of course, Brad, the dick, told someone they fucked. That was a problem with Hillcrest too; no personal relationships with the clients. First Brad outed him at the gym, then the little drama queen came to his parents’ house to apologize for getting Jagger fired. What a clusterfuck!

“Take responsibility for your moral failures,” Jagger’s parents huffed. “You’re burned alive by lust. So deep in sin that you can no longer hear God’s voice.” Whatever It Takes or Avenues, either institution worked for them: Christian rehab for their druggie-homo, unemployed son.

Jagger knew it was all bullshit. The ‘rents were just parroting the websites they read. “I’m not a homo and I’m not a hopper,” he tried to explain. “Hillcrest is not the only gym in Tulsa. I’ll get another job.”

“You’re so blinded you can’t even tell how bad off you are.”

Well, that drama went on and on while Jagger hid out in his basement room and played Call of Duty with his online friends. Finally, his parents turned to Uncle Mike and Aunt Lisa. It would be a reset, family Christian rehab in Panama. He could try college again. Not sports science this time, just an arts degree to help him focus on his future.

Jagger looks off towards the yacht, imagining some bikini-beauty daughter draped over the wide platform at the back. There is friendly chatter between the three Boomers and the teenage boy and the man. Jagger’s name surfaces and his attention is drawn to the three young locals clustered by a rubber boat hanging from a rack. His fellow line handlers, it seems. It is time to pay attention.

Aunt Lisa and Uncle Michael are another joke. This one is on his huffy parents. Jagger really likes them. His mom and dad have no idea how fun Lisa and Mike are. He told them about the drug mixup. “Well, you were pretty stupid,” Aunt Lisa frowned. Then she passed him a joint. “Don’t be stupid here. Your mom and dad need to chill out.”

“Hey Aunt Lisa, St. Peter gives this dead guy a tour of heaven and asks him 'Well, what do you think?' The man says, 'It's terrific, everything I dreamed it would be. But who were those people sitting by themselves looking so unhappy?' 'Oh, those are the fundamentalists, they can't believe that they aren't the only ones here.'”

Robin Gale was their dope dealer. Local doctors supplied them with other prescriptions. Such a joke, the three of them were high as kites, affable with the suntanned kid.

You had to see the humor of it all, Jagger smiled. Tulsa was a shambles at the moment. He was thousands of miles from his parents’ overreaction. Panama was an interesting place. For now, he was couch surfing in his aunt and uncle’s cramped space. His parents promised him a crib as long as he attended classes. Those were free. Except for the studying thing, Panama was already an excellent adventure.

“Naito,” a man about his age introduces himself. "¿Has trabajado en un barco por el canal antes?" Jagger confessed he had no idea what he was doing. Naito points at some coils of blue rope and switched to English. “Nothing to it. Ihan and I will show you what to do. The skipper’s not so bad. The boy with him is smoking.”

“The skipper calls him Fourteen.” The teenager named Ihan nudges Jagger with his fist.

“Shouldn’t we measure his dick first?” Naito quips. “Too bad he is going on the other boat.” Naito leers at Jagger, as if he ought to know what all this means.

Naito assures him line handling is an easy two days’ work and they will show him Colón before they part. “Ihan and I are from Colón. Donnie is an Americano like yourself.”

“So do you Panamanians really dig this canal?”

Jagger thinks the two days might be chill. Naito and Ihan seem friendly, they don’t mind speaking English. The third man is older. He is Donnie from the States. This is a relief, because Jagger’s high-school Spanish is pretty bad. Cruising Panama City is lonely when the language cuts you off.

The man beside the wheel turns away from his conversation with the old people and eyes the four line handlers. Jagger recognizes the speculative appraisal from the gym. The man named Anton looks like a gym bunny.

Miraflores Locks, Panama Canal

July 7, 2018

Mary told Fourteen that line handlers could be super-mellow. Mike, Lisa, and Robin are definitely mellow. He hopes they will be able to do their jobs. The four men staying on Sirocco seemed nice enough. They mostly know what they are doing. Anton insisted on showing them where they could stow their day packs.

The transiting boat feeds the line handlers and advisors. Jeremy helped Mary shop for two days’ worth of bottled water, beer, and food enough for ten extra mouths while Anton sulked. Anton was not sulking now. The four young men seemed to have driven thoughts of Daniel clear from Anton’s mind.

Anton and Fourteen clear the lines with the help of the old people. The four handlers staying with Anton are more interested in lounging in the salon. Anton takes Sirocco out to where Mary Rule waits with her sloop. Fourteen springs effortlessly across the shifting gap and helps the spry trio of somewhat-stoned line handlers get safely onto Gravity.

They pick up an advisor for the pair of boats as they enter the canal approach. Jeremy watches from Mary’s boat as the man negotiates boarding Sirocco in a heavy wind. The older man clearly hates it. He has to sit on the edge of the black and white pilot boat. Then when the boats are close enough, he slips gingerly over.

Jeremy uses Gravity’s electric power sparingly. Anton’s diesel powers them both as they enter the first lock. Gritty grey walls loom on each side. The tops of the walls follow the contours of the land beyond. Jeremy reads a weathered sign on the wall, < — 930 50— >. Little Gravity rests in the middle of this vastness lashed to Sirocco. How could Jeremy ever describe this to someone in Chillicothe?

Jeremy watches the experienced line handlers attach light lines with monkey fists. The heavy ends are thrown down to the two boats. Then the standard blue 100-foot haulers are sent back up from the sailboats. The two craft are so tiny at the bottom of the huge lock. They lie restrained to the bollards high on either side. The lock doors swing shut very slowly. A man walks high on the lock edge with the line connected to their boats. Water begins to lift the boats.

A container ship in the lock before them is stacked 9 Tetris-blocks high. The container ship is grey COSCO. Evergreen echoes in the high stack stamped “China Shipping” and “Yang Ming” for contrast amongst anonymous brown containers. Jeremy imagines a whole level vanishing when the crane operator completes a color row of Yang Ming. He imagines spray-painting Jeremy on a

container. It will find its way from here to Columbus, Ohio where it will sit behind the COSTCO waiting for his mom and dad to notice.

This series is the Miraflores Locks, and the pace is so slow it takes the excitement out of transiting the isthmus. They might as well be in a freight elevator as the water fills the lock. Two more to go! Jeremy realizes Mary is chatting with her new acquaintances and the sailboats are hugging each other, so Jeremy can get to know Ihan Pineda and the American named Jagger Hearne.

Jagger is fisting a can of beer. “What do you call the fastest sailboat in the world?” Jagger tries on Jeremy.

“I don’t know,” Jeremy bites.

“Usain Boat.”

Jeremy laughs. Anton will like Jagger, he is funny. The young man is slightly overweight, not as tall as Daniel. His untanned skin, blue eyes, and copper hair set him apart on the boat. He is twenty-one.

The other American, Donnie Snyder, and Ihan’s friend Naito Castillo are paying particular (and much appreciated) attention to Anton in the cockpit. This bothers Jeremy. It seems Anton has brought Tyrone Casey’s Puerto Vallarta party to the Panama Canal. This is unfortunate. Jeremy feels Daniel Ayers’ absence.

The first advisor will not stay with them throughout the transit. He will be replaced by others. The old man shifts between the two sailboats. Jeremy comments that the COSCO container ship is huge. The man nudges him and points to the lock beside them. “These older locks can handle a Pan Max carrying 4,000 containers. That one on the new lock carries 12,000,” the man points behind them, “the lock is only 110 feet wide.”

A huge red ship follows Sirocco, Gravity and three other small vessels into the lock they just left. Emma Victoria, with massive anchor-eyes that weep long rust streaks of yellow-black down each side of its prow. “She is only 106 feet wide, so there is only two feet clearance on each side.” Jeremy nods his head. The Emma Victoria is dragged forward by light train engines.

After that, it is sailing under iron bridges, moving beside roads and buildings, along low, forested slopes. A white block house squats between the next twin locks. A balcony runs below the red tiled roof. High arches lead inside.

Jeremy is concerned when Anton gives the helm to one of his line handlers. He and the two oldest men disappear below. The young man named Jagger at Sirocco’s helm grins at Fourteen and waves. Jeremy hopes Jagger knows what he is doing. Jeremy knows he should be back on Anton’s boat.

On Lake Gatún, Mary and Jeremy boost their speed with a sail. They have to maintain the required knots, and Jeremy is worried about Anton alone being handled by his handlers. The sailboats move apart as they cruise toward the spot they plan to spend the night. There are anacondas and crocodiles in the lake.

Gatún Lake, Panama

July 7, 2018

Everything is a schedule on the Panama Canal. The Gatún locks are close at hand so they can move through them into the Atlantic in the morning. The evening is a party spanning four boats. It is so KOA that Fourteen keeps expecting Levi Fisher to join the four older people. Anton flits from one group to the other, one boat after the other, manic at the loss of Daniel. A man is always close at hand.

“How are you doing, boyo?” Mary asks from where she sits with Robin.

She has watched Jeremy moving restlessly between the four boats, always circling back to Sirocco’s salon where he has been maintaining the spread of food laid out in the ketch’s galley. He is greeted everywhere with a smile. It underscores how fine Mary thinks this young man is. The things he has been subjected to, and still, her young friend stands so straight and tall. Such a waste if this is all he has. 

Jeremy smiles his tangerine at Mary. “I’m good! It’s pretty crazy right now, and I think it’s going to rain on top of everything!” He had two tumblers of Anton’s red wine, then stopped when the pleasant buzz whispered, finish the bottle next and dance! It worries him that Anton is drinking heavily with his extra crew. “I’m going to throw the sunshade over our boom.”

“You’ll be good out here?” Mary is dubious.

“For sure,” Jeremy nods. “I can always go back to my berth.”

Gravity is crowded with the line handlers. Michael and Lisa Hearne have taken Mary’s V-berth and Robin plans to take the second bench in Gravity’s small salon. Jeremy intends to sleep in the cockpit. He feels displaced on Mary’s boat; very disturbing. “Anton has enough on board.” He frowns at Donnie Snyder following Anton below deck.

“Don’t take it all on by yourself.” Mary warns. Jeremy has not been part of this mingling. Not my business, is it Katie girl?

Fourteen and Ihan Pineda attract with equal force, multiplied by their tendency to close the distance between them. Jagger’s orbit is an ellipse between the teenagers and two ladies on an Itama 55 headed up the coast to Chiriqui Lagoon. Fourteen knows this gathering of like-gay interests is not a statistical anomaly. “Well of course, darling boy, what a waste it would be to leave these things to chance!” Anton smirked.

“Well, that’s Anton,” Mary sighed philosophically when Fourteen fretted. “Be honest, Jeremy. Don’t you think, if Daniel had been here this would all have been the same?”

Jagger Hearne joins the two teenagers in the big sailboat’s lounge area. The sisters on the Panamanian yacht are far too complicated. He decided to try his luck back on the sailboats.  He notices that Fourteen and Ihan are a pair. They are sitting side by side facing toward the smallest sailboat where his aunt and uncle are doing what old people do: sharing their inconsequential life stories and judgments on the world of the young. Mary Rule’s concertina starts a soft melody from the cabin. Jagger’s aunt and uncle are ganja-giggling with the two old dykes.

“It was the three of us and three of them. That’s what the agent told us,” Donnie Snyder and Naito Castillo explained once Fourteen hopped across to the other sailboat in the morning. “It is what the sailboat owner wanted. Are you going to be a problem?” Jagger shrugged and promised he was no problem.

“How can you tell if your house was built by lesbian carpenters?” Jagger asks Fourteen and Ihan.

Fourteen wants to put his arm around Ihan’s shoulders. They are sitting under the cover they rigged as the rain begins to spatter. Bare legs brush together. He shrugs at Jagger’s latest joke.

“All tongue-in-groove, with no studs.”

“Shut up,” it is just a mild reaction. Jagger seems easygoing. The men with Anton have been drinking heavily while Jagger simply nurses a beer. It is the first thing the expat has said which annoys Fourteen. He is not even sure if Robin is gay.

Jagger walks it back. “Oh hey, it’s all good to me. I’m pretty fluid, myself.” He sits on the bench across from the two teens. It comes to Jagger that this kid reminds him of Brad. Fourteen is a good-looking guy, wound a little too tight, maybe full of himself with all this first mate, sailboat shit. Fourteen was like the assistant manager at the gym, so responsible, too grimly responsible; a good guy, though. Jagger wants to get along.

“You cooked the rice and beans? Pretty good man. I’d have to watch myself around you.” Jagger pats his spare tire, making up for the lesbian joke. “So, I’ve been working at a gym to pare this down, and there's this new machine.”

Ihan does not get it, but Jagger’s tone tells Fourteen he is being set up for another joke. The boy cocks his head, willing to give Jagger a second chance.

“I only used it for an hour ‘cause I started to feel sick. It's good though, it does everything, Kitkats, Mars bars, Snickers and chips!” Jagger gets the reaction he wants. Fourteen laughs. It’s better when we get along, Jagger believes.

“I’m a little heavy,” Jagger admits, patting his gut. Fourteen shrugs this off. It is like he is saying, We all have something, no worries. Jagger likes the boy for that. “No, I mean I’m a little heavy.” Jagger’s voice is sly-suggestive as he cups his groin. That earns a little sparkle from the boy.

“So what’s your story, Fourteen?” That came out wrong. “I mean, how long have you been sailing?”

Four months from San Diego, Jagger learns. Slow cruising down the Pacific coast. The years drop away from the boy as he talks about his “live-aboard” life with Anton and Daniel. “I didn’t know Anton. A friend helped me get a berth on board Sirocco. She crews on another boat. Well she did, she — well never mind.”

“That sounds pretty sweet!” Jagger assures Fourteen. “Hey, Anton said you were some student in his sailing school?” The stories are not lining up.

Exasperation, the only word for it. Fourteen recovers smoothly. “Sure, Anton’s sailing school. I was having a rough time at home. My friend Sophie thought I should get away from it.”

“You gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Say no more,” Jagger dismisses Fourteen’s admission with a wave. “I know all about it, believe me! My mom and dad are not nearly as cool as my uncle and aunt. Maybe my parents know how off the rails they are, but I’m betting not. My folks are not impressed with me, no way. I’m bi. Why were hundreds of Southern Baptists stranded on Disney's Treasure Island?”

Fourteen frowns and shakes his head.

“When offered the help of a ferry, they refused on moral grounds.” Jagger nods his head in confirmation. “That’s my parents. I was sleeping with a dude at my gym. They suggested conversion therapy if I did not go to Panama.”

Yeah, nope, not going to go with that homophobic excuse, Fourteen tells himself. “My mom and dad are very cool about things like that. It was nothing like that. Yeah, no way. It sucks to be you, sorry.”

The Boomers on the other boat are spinning back to childhood with songs that are before Jagger’s parents’ time. “So why are you on the old lady’s boat?”

“Sophie says you go here and there,” Fourteen replies. “But, it’s not that. We met Mary along the way. You meet all sorts along the way. Mary is my friend, our friend. That was the plan. I mean, the plan for making transit. I was going to go with her.” Jagger notes the constant nautical in Fourteen’s replies. The young manager at Hillcrest was like that too; always shop talk lingo. “Daniel was supposed to go with Anton and I was going to help Mary.”

“You mentioned Daniel before.”

“Daniel is Anton’s partner.” Not boyfriend, Fourteen is very specific about this. “He didn’t make it back. Job hunting, I think. He will probably meet us in Colón, tomorrow.” Jagger is not sure how confident Fourteen is in that assertion. “I wish Anton,” the thought remains unspoken.

Naito Castillo comes onto the deck. He stretches under the falling rain. “Ihan, échanos una mano.  Este dude de Snyder está agotado.” Naito chuckles.

Ihan stirs beside Fourteen. He would rather stay with the young crew member on the small sloop. The tip he and Naito expect exceeds the paltry wage for line handling. It won’t come from the handsome boy beside him. “I’ll just go see what Naito wants,” he tells Fourteen. Then he kisses the teenager. It is longer than he expected, very promising. “Later, Fourteen.”

Fourteen frowns as the Panamanian teen leaves his side. He glances at Jagger. “Anton doesn’t take care of himself. I guess he is worried.”

How is this any different than Puerto Vallarta? Fourteen reasons. Anton’s endless stories about the hookups he has had. As Fourteen was lying with Daniel and Anton after their escapade through Copper Canyon, they had to tell Fourteen about the Germans. Fourteen is pretty sure Daniel hooked up in Mexico City while Fourteen and Anton went to Tyrone Casey’s cabana. Anton will be down there telling these men all about me. What Daniel and Anton had was definitely not a marriage.

“Why are you so worried?” Jagger asks.

Jagger has left his side of the cockpit and joined Fourteen. The Oklahoma joker has been packed away for the moment. Jagger brushes Fourteen’s hair back. It is an invitation-reminder that the industrial transit is just a party-happening for all of them. It is nothing more than Ricardo bringing Fourteen along to a raucous college party.

“Jesus, my aunt and uncle have lit up again.” Jagger laughs. The sweet grass char of premium marijuana reaches across to them. “You want some?” Jagger asks.

“No,” Fourteen declines. “Bad experience.”

“With dope? Was it laced with something?”

“Laced with humiliation and betrayal,” Fourteen decides. Jagger is not a chub, but calling him gay fat like Anton would be generous. Jagger is Albuquerque's Scott Beck let-it-go average. His friendly face is comfortable-contrast to (fucking) Cordell’s Faulkner-hardbody. The blue eyes and copper hair draw Fourteen, just a little. Nothing particularly gonna-fuck-you-hard about the young man making a play for him.

“You and Mr. Schroeder?”

Fourteen is not sure what the question is. Humiliation and betrayal? He laughs at that. “Nope, Anton is very cool. Oh, he is Anton. He likes to hook up.”

The question was, Does the rich guy tap your ass? Jagger tries a kiss like the Panamanian teen had. Fourteen accepts it like they are simply shaking hands. “Do you know how to play gay poker?  Queens are wild and straights don’t count.”

“Yeah, Anton,” Fourteen agrees. He has not moved away from Jagger, nor has he moved closer. Jagger returns to fondling Fourteen’s hair. This sets Fourteen off, but maybe not how Jagger hoped. He finds himself telling the man about how generous Anton has been to him. Jagger needs to know there is more to Anton than sex. “He screwed up with Daniel.” Daniel wanted to make it on his own. Anton just tried to help too much. Sometimes, you get possessed by demons. Fourteen wishes he could explain that to Daniel.

“He does that, you know? I came on board with practically nothing. Daniel and Anton, they just took me in. But I really understand what Daniel was trying to tell Anton. A guy has to know that he can do it for himself. Anton had money all his life. Don’t get me wrong,” Fourteen is earnest as he tells Jagger this, “Anton is smart, very smart. He runs a huge business for his mother. Maybe with her, I’m not sure.

“Anton has a big heart. He opens it to everyone. Daniel told me Anton was really crushed by his last boyfriend, Beckett. Man, Anton did everything for that guy. He helped him start a business — some art gallery place. A man has to stand up though. I get that, I really do. Daniel wants a job, not Anton simply buying him a business he never earned.”

There was no time to say all this to Mary. They were all so busy taking on the line handlers and running through the first three locks. Fourteen wishes he could talk to her, hear what she has to say. Mary would clear Fourteen’s head about the mess Anton had made. She is down below, still playing music and making new friends, so Fourteen tells Jagger his troubles instead.

“He needs to come back,” Fourteen tells Jagger. Jagger tries another kiss. Fourteen is a beautiful boy. He might almost feel gratitude for his parents. He might be unemployed, playing Call of Duty in the basement. Instead, he is kissing a boy who would not turn his head to look at Jagger on a Tulsa sidewalk.

“”You really liked Daniel?”

“Oh yeah,” Fourteen nods. “I’m worried about Anton. Anton needs Daniel. Anton is sort of generous with his partners, but Daniel doesn’t need him like that. Daniel takes care of Anton.” He looks at the attentive man he just met. “Don’t you think so? Shouldn’t partners take care of each other?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” Jagger agrees. There is another kiss between them.

Fourteen told John Cannon to leave Patrick Hunter at Gifford Pinchot State Park. Wasted words, even at that hyperventilating doom-moment, Fourteen knew John would always take care of that fucking psycho rapist Patrick. Fourteen was no better. He could not walk away from Levi Fisher as his body failed him. They were partners. That is what partners do. Maybe that was what (fucking) Cordell thought he was doing bringing me to Elvis (sexy) Parker, but Jeremy does not believe that, not in his heart. (Fucking) Cordell was not the sort of partner Jeremy Gates needs.

Fourteen is mad at Daniel Ayers. Daniel is not taking care of Anton. Daniel has dumped the problem in Fourteen’s inexperienced lap.

Jagger kisses Fourteen again. They are on Sirocco, short steps from Mary Rule on Gravity. Two other boats are tied up at their back. Not the time or place, and truth to tell, Fourteen does not have the inclination. It is tropical Panama in the rainy season. The world cannot help but beat down on the sunshade Fourteen rigged above their heads. He is in the middle of the Panama Canal. Betwixt and between, grandpa Herb would say.

Naito, Donnie and Ihan, Anton runs the names over a few times. They will fade soon enough. Names are for friends, not hookups. Fourteen likely remembers every man he has been with in his short life. Daniel, the name causes an unwelcome grief, could tell me the names of those two Germans we met in Chihuahua. Anton recalls Gareon and Malachi in Puerto Vallarta. He cannot recall which one was which. Anton stretches cat-like in his stateroom under the unaccustomed air conditioning.

An empty bottle of Malecon Reserva Imperial sits in the corner on the desk. Anton never had a chance to try the eighteen-year-old rum. Well, he had the taste of the men’s lips. “How many alcoholics does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Anton asks the empty stateroom. “Three: one to hold the light socket, one to twist the bulb and one to drink until the room spins.”

Anton can imagine lying with Daniel’s body half-hard covering him as they giggle about such things in the contentment of their closeness. “So frustrating, dear!” Anton might begin. “The older pair went down on the head of that bottle more than they did on my cock. Line handlers, you might have hoped they’d tie me up while they forced the locks open!”

Oh my god! I’ve got to remember that line! Anton would tell it differently. It never hurt to embellish. Daniel tolerated Anton’s embellishments. Daniel tolerated most of Anton’s necessary antics.

None of the line handlers was artiste like Fourteen. The youngest of the four was a brownie queen. Anton took a turn at him before he let the others start a clone war over him. Very different from Anton. Very different from Fourteen. It was always a cat fight with the boy he picked up in San Diego.

Anton rolls onto his feet and finds his phone beside the empty bottle of rum. He flops back down on the bed and fingers it. He turns to rent boys in extremis. No chance of attachments, as the heart hurts-heals. After Beckett, Anton recalls, there was a string. 

While fretting in San Diego, waiting for Daniel to finish his interviews, fearful Daniel would not return, Anton distracted himself with Fourteen. The bodies you take on board are not so different from a prostitute. It’s always a transaction, Anton’s mother would remind him. Fourteen was something different as it turned out.

A man, a plan, a canal. . . . The three line handlers he requested were for them all. How dull the transit would be just contemplating the Rust-Belt jungle of the Panama Canal. Anton is almost angry at Daniel for ruining this moment. He watches his phone as it begins to ring in Indiana.

“Anton,” Daniel’s voice sounds alert. “Is everything okay?”

“Well, you’re not here with me.”

Just the wrong thing to say! Anton winces. He rolls onto his back like any teenager listening to his boyfriend. “Ignore that! I was just thinking of you, missing you.”

“Getting by, your line of handlers,” Daniel chuckles. Anton’s heart floods with warmth. His Daniel knows him so well. Beckett had a way of making Anton feel unfaithful, unless of course, he turned it into some gift or some demand. Too many former boyfriends misunderstood Anton’s free spirit. “Intermission?” Daniel teases.

“I suppose it is. Fourteen is going to be fit to be tied —“

“— Not Fourteen —“

“No, not Fourteen, but he will be frustrated if I am not rested for tomorrow’s transit through the canal.”

“Introverts and extroverts,” Daniel reminds Anton. This is a reference to a shared understanding. Fourteen and Daniel are drained by their congress with men. Anton is charged. “In a few hours, you will leap naked into that filthy water, fight off alligators, and tow your damn sailboat through the locks.”

“You should see me go,” Anton replies wistfully. It is just a hint of his you should be here with me. “Did I wake you?”

“I’m across the street, watching the fountain. Joel just got home. Totally blew his curfew. It is a good moment to step away from the house.”

Anton could imagine Daniel by the water across from the rambling clapboard with its bright red shutters. Joel Ayers was seventeen, very Daniel from the pictures Anton had seen. Anton had only met the teenager once.

Talk of Chicago and whether Daniel planned to return to Anton was carefully circumvented. “You recall Sam Marshall?” Daniel lets a glimmer of their openness shine through to disperse the night monster Anton let loose.

“Dear god! Your cherry?”

“The same,” Daniel’s conspiratorial tone is what Anton desperately needs to hear. “I met him in Chicago.”

“Do tell!”

“You first,” Daniel replies.

“What is to tell? I’m a little boat on the Panama Canal, pressed bow and stern by behemoths overflowing with cargo.” God, remember that too, I should have a journal, write my memoirs!

“Fourteen?”

“Not by my side,” Anton confesses. “Our troubled child is very put out. I don’t know, perhaps he is fucking that Panamanian bottom. Very romantic my young crew. The influence of breeder monogamy, I suspect.”

“Messages,” Daniel commiserates. “We have let him down.”

“He will get over it!” Anton wonders if Daniel will. “Enough of him! Tell me about Chicago.” Wince, Anton did not mean to bring that up.

They talked for a long time, always skirting the hurt and the future. The talk of now, affirmed the before they thought they had, and the after Anton realized might still be possible between them.

“The lights are finally off inside,” Daniel told Anton. “Do you remember I said family is everything to me?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t thinking when I said that. Family isn’t everything to me.”

Jagger abandons Fourteen as the teenager is nodding off on the bench of the small sloop’s sheltered cockpit. His aunt and uncle have tranquilized themselves into sleep somewhere below. The pair of dykes have stretched out on the benches in the little cabin. Old people getting their rest, Jagger knows.

He crosses back to the larger sailboat. His fellow line handlers have left a mess in the cabin that Jagger ignores. Jagger finds the two Panamanians in the bow cabin, sleeping head to head. The American, Donnie Snyder, has drifted off at the table. A plate of Fourteen’s food and an empty bottle of rum sit next to his resting head. Late to the party, Jagger decides.

Jagger sits on the bed in the claustrophobic hallway leading from a computer station to the main cabin. The bed is very public, like sleeping on his aunt and uncle’s couch. Jagger misses the privacy of his basement kingdom in Tulsa. A door opening interrupts these thoughts.

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Jagger,” he corrects the man.

“Right,” Anton dismisses the young man’s mistake. “I thought you might be Fourteen.” Relief? Anton connects with his feelings. Better it not be Fourteen. The journey with the boy is tangled up with Daniel.

Fourteen takes Daniel’s part in this: outrage and disappointment with Anton’s mishandling. He might stay with Mary Rule. I probably burned that bridge too. If Fourteen does leave the boat, another feeling-connection, then Daniel is really gone. Anton would rather have Fourteen’s reproach and the possibilities of reconciliation implied by Daniel’s final words in the phone call to Indiana.

“Are you okay?”

Jagger somebody, “Are you doing okay?” Anton asks back. The young man on Fourteen’s berth is utterly unlike Daniel. All four line handlers were different from his absent partner. Anton was himself with each in turn. That is what Beckett’s dumping taught him: be yourself.

Tyrone Casey would recognize Anton’s manic abandon with anonymous men. Fuck him out of your system, darling! The raft of men he floated on after Beckett. Not remotely the first breakup. Valerie tracked Anton to Venice Beach the first time Anton’s heart was bruised. Those two weeks were an adolescent-addled blur. Anton still can do this. He can dying-swan off the tragic stage of his latest flambe and fall naked backwards onto the crowd of grasping hands. Let the many men pass him from grope to grope farther and farther from the hurt. Anton, a single tear dispersing into an ocean of indifferent pleasure.

Jagger brushes the rivulet of sweat off Anton’s cheek. Anton feels Fourteen-naked, perfect, so close to the twenty-one-year old. He is transported from a nearly-forty failure into a sensual, ageless forgetfulness. There is a hint of his cabin boy’s subtle command in this last-minute line handler.

“I heard about your boyfriend. It’s so sad what he did to you. You didn’t deserve that, did you?” Jagger sees this is not quite the right approach. Anton recedes from him like Fourteen did when Jagger misstepped with the joke about the old lady liking women. He tries a hand on the man’s neck, then a kiss that ends in an unfolding of mouths. Jagger pushes Anton back into the cabin and closes the door.

“You’re very pretty,” Jagger assures Anton. He wishes he was more experienced. At Hillcrest, Jagger could usually read a client. The middle-aged ladies, not so sure of themselves, needing encouragement and perhaps a little discipline. Five more minutes, Karen, push those thighs, feel the burn! Keep your speed up! Jagger opens his shorts and lets them fall. “This is pretty too.”

Jagger measures his cock with the widening of men and women’s eyes. He rests turgid. Fluidity came to him in a high-school change room. He liked the stares he got from boys who shriveled in the locker room stare. Older women take his available youth and energy in trade for his not-Fourteen physique. Compared to the heavyweight competition, Atlas shrugged. Jagger runs his fingers gently through Anton’s thinning hair.

“This is what we’ll do. You are so hot I could come at your touch. Suck my cock first, you sweet bitch.”

The skipper of Sirocco flashes in Anton’s eyes, or maybe it is the Queen of Diamonds who is used to taking what he wants. “I’m tired of the sweet nothings in my ear. So shut up honey.”

Anton grabs Jagger’s shirt and swings him around toward the bed. He pushes him down with just a suggestion. “You’re in my boudoir Ginger. You can scream a little, because this is going to hurt.”

Light is filtering in through the windows and the skylight over Jagger’s head. He lies on his side, stroking Anton Schroeder’s clean-shaven back. Anton admitted he was thirty-six. Well, In my thirties, the confident man actually confided. Slight and nimble, Jagger learned. The guilt-ridden little squealer Brad from the Hillcrest Gym was not this much fun. Given a choice, Jagger would prefer one (or both) the sisters on the nearby yacht. The forty-something ladies at his gym in Tulsa had Anton’s enthusiasm. That is why he liked them.

Anton is quite shagged out, so he hardly stirs as Jagger traces patterns on his shoulder. Jagger liked the boy resting on the other sailboat. He liked the boy’s looks, and could still taste the refreshing tangerine of Fourteen’s lips. Just a kid who fell into a sweet deal, Jagger concludes. Fourteen would be like Brad, an easy seduction. The teenager would be awkward. Sex with him would be a straight fuck, but safe. They could be shipmates. Fourteen was not the type to guilt out and get a guy fired.

Fourteen? Yeah, Jagger owns fourteen centimeters in his sleep. Anton is a huge bottom and he loved Jagger’s big dick. Jagger is comfortable with that. When you are just meeting someone, it is better to be on top. Jagger had fuck buddies in high school. Boys he cared about. He let them penetrate, sucked their cocks in mutual 69. He never really liked it. It is better to be on top; be the man.

“Little Johnny comes home one day and says, ‘Mom! Little Mark next door has a penis like a peanut!" Jagger begins while Anton sucks him off a second time in the night. He likes jokes that remind his lovers that he does not have a small cock. "What do you mean, Johnny? Is it shaped like a peanut?" Jagger makes sure his voice is very funny. He makes it sound just like his mother, back in Tulsa.

Anton pulls off of Jagger’s cock with a smile. "No," Anton supplies. "It's salty."

They laugh together, before Anton goes back down on Jagger’s throbbing member. Shit! He is good at that! The two men share a sense of humor. They agree that sex is something fun.

The man with the money liked it both ways. He rode Jagger better than an Oklahoma bull rider. Fifteen years between them, and Jagger totally forgot the difference. Anton liked being covered, pinned beneath Jagger’s weight. Anton was a feral lover, like the forty-something gym bunnies looking for a better fuck than they could get at home. Anton never asked to fuck him back.

Jagger would love to own his own gym. Nobody would fire my ass for slipping a few pills and my meat into a client now and then. Fourteen’s anxious words come back to Jagger. Partners taking care of partners. It is easy to imagine Anton as his partner. The man could help him achieve his gym-dream.

Jagger thinks about how lucky Fourteen is. The teenager’s parents must have dropped a lot of cash on Anton for the sailing school. From what Fourteen said, Daniel was sailing on Anton’s dime. This Daniel guy must be an idiot, Jagger thinks. Good breaks don’t come your way that often.

What breaks did Jagger ever get? His parents think they are doing him a favor by dumping him in Panama. Jagger thinks they speak English in the Caribbean islands. That would be easier than learning Spanish so he could get some free degree in something useless. At this rate, in five years he will still be living in his parents’ basement.

Jagger strokes Anton’s head. They could be good for each other. The air conditioning is soothing in the stateroom. It beats the tropical oppression of Panama. The sailboat could take him away from his aunt and uncle’s apartment.

Jagger moves his hand down to firm buttocks. This could be good. He needs to be careful not to trash the absent Daniel. “Morning Anton.” Jagger’s digits spread the cleft so the middle-finger-fuck can reintroduce itself.

“Too early!” Anton breathes contentment.

“It’s like you said. You and Daniel wanted different things.” Jagger begins hesitantly, “No point in feeling bad. Only, when you love someone, you have to swallow your pride and accept the help from the one who loves you. I was talking to your crew, Fourteen. I can see you’re helping Fourteen.”

“Yes, I am,” Anton agrees from his drowsy haze.

“Well, that’s what I mean.” Jagger kisses Anton’s shoulder. “I’m glad I got to meet you. I wish we had more time so we could get to know each other better.”

Colón, Panama

July 9, 2018

The sailboats sit in the roads where the mouth of the canal disgorged them. Mary Rule drops the table leaf with a last unnecessary swipe of the clean surface. The sheets from the V-berth need a washing, but she only refolds them and tucks them neatly in their place. “Some party Kate. What did you think of those three, living come from away down here like snowbirds?”

Kate was a ditz. She would miss the heavy snows rolling up the Appalachians or in from the Gulf Stream. Towards the end, Kate stood in their picture window like a little girl forlorn watching Mary tidy the sidewalk and spread the sand. “Jumpin’ Jesus, that was a dump!” Mary would complain when she came back indoors. Mary pauses by the sink and closes her eyes. She won’t feel the cold scrubbing her cheeks fresh in this tepid sauna. Summer in Dartmouth, Mary reminds herself. “Go on with you!” she scolds.

She thinks about Boomer ways at the end of life’s business. We’re still a tribe setting ourselves apart. Considering the world they came from and the world they find themselves in, it is hard not to think of Shelley’s “Ozymandias.” All of us, half head in the sand, mocked by the irrelevance of what we have done. “Look on my works!”

Sometimes, it seems her generation made a hash of it, and escape was their only recourse. Mike and Lisa Hearne were so giddy at being free of their Oklahoma lives. Mary liked Robin. Mike and Lisa were simply living America inexpensively in Panama City. Robin confessed she was trying to recapture a little of her time in the Peace Corps. So what am I doing? Mary frowns. It is not like her to depreciate her life. It is Jeremy Gates that has her troubled, she decides.

When Mary reaches the deck, the first way she turns is towards Sirocco. Anton’s ketch rides the light swells. Behind the sailboat, high-rise apartments flank colonial commerce along an ocean break. Blue cranes slant up from where the ships unload. Further still, the blue-haze mountains of Panama mark the divide they crossed. The ice-castle rise of Colón’s modern skyline is in the other direction, fenced from the ocean by a length of causeway. The world on one side of the road, Gravity and Sirocco on the other. 

Jeremy’s Zodiac is bouncing off the swells as he jets the distance from Anton’s boat to hers. There is a lift in her heart when she sees him coming. The morning on Lake Gatún comes back to her.

Mary woke first after the night celebrating their transit. Jeremy was stretched on the uncomfortable bench sleeping like only a toddler could. “Boyo,” Mary nudged him. “Come on, my fairy sprite, have you gone and wasted yourself in another night’s debauch?” Jeremy came awake with an answering grin. “Keep your sparkles for the boys,” she teased. “There will be fines and troubles ahead if we don’t make the lock at our appointed time. So this lot needs to be woken up. Any sign of Anton?”

There was no sign of Anton, troubling. He is no-nonsense about his boat. “Probably getting his handlers up.”

Well, thought Mary charitably, the innocence of the boy to say that with a straight face. 

Mary and Jeremy woke Mike and Lisa in the V-berth. Robin stirred when Mary went up to the cockpit. Gravity was ready with practiced-polite teamwork. Three of them, at least, were on Sirocco’s deck when Jeremy coiled the ropes that tied them to their neighbor. “Is Anton up?” he asked Ihan Pineda.

Naito Castillo answered for them, “Still sleeping.” The third line handler, Donnie Snyder, laughed at that.

Mary and Jeremy watched the three men’s slow start. Jeremy’s coffee and breakfast interested them more than shifting the sailboat to the lock appointment. “Well, fuck!” Jeremy exclaimed when it looked like Naito was going to try and raise the anchor and make way by himself. “I’m not a licensed skipper.” Jeremy bit his lip.

“Away with you, boyo,” Mary agreed. “We will manage here well enough.” She gave herself a moment’s satisfaction, watching Jeremy spring from rail to rail across a drifting gap. His energy set the ketch in motion. “At the locks,” she called over to him. He glowed back in the early morning light. “You never made the coffee!” she protested.

“Sorry!”

Mary takes the line Jeremy throws across to her. He has cat-stepped off the Zodiac before she makes the line secure. “We are away,” Jeremy tells her sadly. “I’ve,” and Jeremy stops there like an eighth-grader on the last day of school, too young-tied to say he liked her class, but thinks it must be said.

“I know, you growing tower of fairy muscle!” She blinks the salt away. “It was a good cruise.”

Jeremy leans against the cockpit’s guard rail. His frustration is boiling over again. “It is not what he should be doing!” This is Jeremy’s constant stupidity; thinking Daniel would be here in Colón and everything would be set to rights between Anton and his partner. “Jagger is nothing like Daniel!” The news that Jagger Hearne was making a passage to Aruba with them hit Jeremy hard. “I just don’t understand!”

“No, he’s not like Daniel,” Mary agrees. You’re like Daniel. For all the man is quiet and reluctant to talk about himself. For all you’re not quiet, boyo, you’re much the same. “Anton needs his forgetting.”

Mary was well prepared for Kate’s death. Even so, she needed to shut herself away from things that reminded her of Kate. She shunned the home and neighborhood they shared together. Mary retreated to Gravity in the harbor. It was easier to sell Kate’s Prius, install an electric motor in her boat, than change the bed linens. It was less painful matching shots in a harbor bar than drinking coffee with consoling friends — or worse yet, pouring tea from Kate’s pot by herself.

The whole arc around America to Alaska was just that. One long escape, hoping the newness of it all would ease the pain.

“I just don’t get it!” Jeremy repeats.

It always seemed to Jeremy Gates that people who loved each other were unbreakable. You could have the worst day possible, fuck up, get fucked up, and know that there was this person ready for your weight. That was Jeremy’s Chillicothe until he stopped to help two strangers on the road home, ignoring the approaching storm.

Mary puts her foot on the tiller and shifts it back and forth. They say when you have a child, your heart is taken out of you and walks the world in another body. Mary never had a child. She gave small bits of her heart to many children. Teachers do. You loan your bits for a time, then accept them back, knowing the need was temporary and the child outgrows you. Sometimes you cannot take it back. This man-child has his share of Mary’s heart to keep.

“So come with me,” Mary offers.

“You would take me to Antigua?”

“If that is where you need to go,” Mary assures him.

“How would that work? Me in the V-berth with my date and you in the salon serenading us with your concertina?” Jeremy smiles.

“Well, if you promise to be quiet,” Mary qualifies. “Don’t criticize my choice of tune.”

“Thank you for offering that, Mary. I can’t leave Anton, not now. Jagger has not got a clue. With Daniel gone, he needs my help sailing. Anton was there for me when I needed help. He took me on in San Diego, took a chance with me. Even when I screwed up in Topolobampo with the Mexican navy, he let me stay.” Jeremy shakes his head dismissing the idea of crewing with Mary Rule.

“How right you are,” Mary comments firmly. She gives his T-shirt a tug. “Now look at this.”

Jeremy follows her down to the neatness of Gravity’s small salon. “Look here.”

“You said you had no need for one.” The chart table has a new satellite phone tucked in next to her VHF. The service and charges must be horrific expenses.

“Well, I need one now,” Mary told him. “That 100-footer Anton has his, so use it. Try my cell, for god’s sake. The charges on this pretty toy are something fierce. But if you need to talk, call me. I’ll want to hear from you, you queer little chicken.”

“Pequeño gallo,” Jeremy supplies.

“I only wish you were PG, boyo.” Mary has the overwhelming impulse to do more than watch as a detached observer.

“You’ll visit me in Antigua?”

“When the wind turns my sail that way.”