Sailing Lessons
One particular summer, Lauren's parents were friends with a couple who sailed every Sunday on the Nahant Bay in Massachusetts. A slew of adults and kids piled all their gear and snacks into a 32' sailboat and scooted about the water for hours. Lauren loved it when the boat would speed up, catching the breeze, pitching to one side—salt spray splashing her face and leaving her eyelashes sticky. Then, the couple with the boat had a job transfer and moved down to the tip of Florida, which was the last Sunday sailing for her.
When her therapist asked if she had taken any risks in recent years, a tiny spark of memory about sailing popped back into her mind. The nudge, which had an undertone of dare, went something like, "Perhaps trying something completely out of your comfort zone will awaken the woman you're trying to find within these walls of my office." Lauren has been enjoying three years of single life, leaning deeper into repairing her hurts and faults, but now as she celebrates 43, her therapist and even her retired father can sense she needs a little kick in the pants and a good adventure.
Slices of hot apple crisp pass around the table on the night of her birthday, and her father hands her a card. Inside are five crisp one hundred dollar bills with the cursive note, "Go try something you've always wanted to try. You've got this!"
And so she does. Through a friend of a friend, she finds a local guy—a building contractor during the week and an avid sailor on the weekends. On the phone, he chuckles with flattery and agrees to the lesson idea, suggesting she loosely commits to five lessons to capture the essence of the skills and the sport.
"How about we meet at 10 am this Sunday at Bay Marina? We'll take out my 16' boat. She's strong yet gentle. Sort of like a good even-tempered horse, she will be a good boat for you to learn on."
On Sunday, she arrives at the marina a few minutes before 10 am. While standing at the top of the dock, she looks at all the boats perched upright in their individual slips. Her stomach does a few flops, but she puts on a brave smile and walks down the ramp. Just as she wonders how she'll find him, a man steps off a sailboat near the end of the dock and waves, "Hi there! You must be Lauren!"
She waves back, "Yes, hello!" taking note of his tan, toned arms - her cheeks blushing ever so slightly.
"I'm Jon. Nice to meet you! And this here is Pip." as he gestures to the boat.
Lauren smiles, "She's beautiful and such a sporty name!"
"Here, hand me your backpack, and I'll tuck it into a nice dry spot. You can help me with the lines."
Ropes are untied and neatly coiled, and within 15 minutes, they are gently moving across the water shoulder to shoulder as he explains terms like cleats, boom, port and stern.
It's a calm day and nearly breathless. At first, she feels slightly disappointed that there's no exhilarating rush as she remembers as a child, but as always, it's a blessing in disguise. The calm seas give her time to get the feel of the boat, ask questions, and settle her nerves since this is all new.
Jon lets go of the tiller and moves over to her other side. "Here, you take over now."
Lauren looks momentarily wide-eyed but scoots her bottom down closer so she has a comfortable reach. He continues. "It's easy sailing today. Nothing to it. Just keep her pointing in this same direction."
"So what made you want to learn how to sail?" he asks.
"When I was about nine years old, I went sailing a few times. The feeling of the salt air and the deep sense of peace and freedom always stayed with me. And also", she awkwardly chuckles, "I've been seeing a therapist off and on for a few years since my divorce, and she challenged me that it was time to do something more daring than my predictable Sunday yoga, so here I am."
She looks out to sea, feeling a bit embarrassed that she overshared, and quickly asks him the same question so the focus is no longer on her, "How did you get started sailing?"
"Well... my parents always seemed to be busy working or busy fighting, so my childhood started out somewhat lonely. But a neighbor boy invited me to a summer sailing camp - actually, I was about the same age as your first sailing experience - and I learned all the ropes of sailing and fell in love with the sport. There was this great sense of community and adventure with kids my age. Yet, if things got bad at home, I could head out alone and clear my head - just me and the seagulls. Sailing, in some ways, became the family I was seeking."
Lauren looks at his face as he looks out to sea. It isn't a sadness that she sees, but a resolve, a strength on his face. They both give each other a soft smile, nod and keep sailing in silence for ten minutes.
The lessons continue every Sunday, and an easy rhythm of teamwork quickly takes shape. Each week, Jon gradually gives less direction and more space for her to step up - the role of captain and first mate slowly shifts as her confidence grows.
Sundays speed by, and it's already their last scheduled day together. Jon texts her first thing in the morning, "I'm looking forward to our sailing today! We've got a bit of a storm moving up the coast. Can you meet at 3 pm instead?"
Lauren answers right back, "Yes, 3 pm is fine. See you then!"
The morning storm roared through on schedule, and she arrives at the marina for their afternoon sail. She grabs her backpack off the passenger seat, and even though she checked twice before, she peeks inside one more time to ensure the two extra items are still there. First is a small bag of hand-cut square energy bars she made the night before, a favorite recipe of hers, loaded with sunflower seeds, peanut butter and a double helping of diced apricot chunks. The second item is a dark grey t-shirt rolled up with a simple twine bow.
Four weeks earlier, she happened upon a simple store full of coastal knickknacks. She wandered around, but not much caught her eye. Just as she was about to leave, she saw a T-shirt on a mannequin display. The graphic had a simple line drawing of a sailboat with a seagull soaring alongside.
"Excuse me, where can I find this tee in the store?" she asked the shop clerk.
"Oh I'm sorry, that's actually our last one. They sold out quickly. The sketch is by a local artist! I had plans to swap it out for a new tee today and just didn't get to it yet." she replied.
Lauren stood on her tip-toes and peeled the fabric back to peek at the size. "Oh, it's a large! That's just the size I was hoping for. May I purchase this one?"
"Yes, of course! I'm so glad you looked. Let me take it off the mannequin."
Lauren cinches the pack closed and hops out of the car, making her way down to the boat. As she approaches the boat, she's surprised he's not there yet, so she sits on the dock box and waits. Lauren peeks at her phone. It's 3:09 pm. That's not like him to be late, she thinks now slightly concerned. But just as she is about to drop him a text, she sees him walking down the ramp.
"Hey, sorry I'm late! I've been following this afternoon's weather and was talking with the harbormaster for his opinion. It's beautiful now, but it looks like another round of summer storms is moving in. They appear to have slowed, so we should be fine, but we might not have as long a sail as usual."
"Oh, that's okay if our time is not as long as usual," she lies.
She'd grown quite fond of their weekly time together, always wanting more time, not less. The sailing lessons had been the focus, but somewhere on the water, probably within the first day, if she's honest with herself, she developed a bit of a crush. In the evenings at home, she would occupy her mind, usually while doing the dishes, by rehearsing casual ways to ask him out. But every line she thought of embarrassed her, and she never got up the nerve. She justified her stifled inaction by reminding herself that he would have made a move by now anyway if he were interested.
He continues, "This will be a good lesson today because, for the most part, we've had easy sailing, pun intended," he winks, "but the winds have picked up today. And even though it's dry now, I brought some foul-weather gear packed in a dry-bag. It's always better to be safe. I've seen weather turn in minutes - from heat to hail is what I call it, and I don't want to take any chances."
He spies the backpack she's holding and adds, "Let's stuff that in the dry-bag as well, so nothing gets wet."
"Oh yes, good idea! But actually, I got us, well... I got you something. I'll show you quickly so we can leave." She prattles on as she holds up the baggie, "It's nothing really, but I made us some snacks, and..." she hesitates, suddenly feeling a bit shy, "I got this for you. It's just a small gift. A little something to say thank you for all the time you've given to me and my dream of sailing."
He takes the tee from her hands and unfurls it. He beams with a genuine smile and holds it up, "Hey, it looks like my boat! Just me and the seagulls. You remembered. Thanks, Lauren, it's awesome!"
Just as she's saying, "You're welcome," he pulls off his faded tee up and over his head and begins to pull on the new tee. In a flash, Lauren blushes at the sight of his chest and noticeable abs, not knowing where to look, so she quickly blurts out, "I'll go untie the bow line!"
With his new tee on and her blushing cheeks slowly fading, they shove off, tighten the sail and head out. As they make their way out of the harbor, he reaches down and grabs two life jackets. "I know I've been a little lax about life jackets since we've had such calm seas, but I want us both to wear one today. The winds are stronger today and a bit more squirrely than usual."
She slips her arms through the holes and clicks the low front buckle. He gives her a nod and leans in close to her, so close she can see the two-day stubble on his face and smell the subtle dab of cologne. He grabs hold of her side strap and gives it a firm tug. "I want this nice and snug," he says, pausing for a split second to look into her eyes before he moves back to his seat at the tiller.
They settle into their roles like usual, and both enjoy the winds. The boat speeds up, heeling at a fast pitch. Spray splashes into their faces, and they scoot across the water with broad smiles. With the winds in their favor, they make quick time out to their usual Porter Island landmark.
Porter Island is a small, craggy island with a fresh-water spring smack dab in the middle. You can walk end to end, north-south or east-west, in about 7 minutes. It also has a couple of small sandy beaches, making it a popular spot for boaters to beach for the afternoon. The island's lighthouse stood tall for nearly 100 years, with a small stone caretaker's cottage tucked in tight next to the light. But after changing times and neglect, the light's role of saving mariners slowly dimmed. Now, the light is home to an array of shore birds and the cottage's paned windows, long since taken by storms, get fresh new boards every spring thanks to some local volunteers.
Jon looks at the horizon and sees the black clouds at a distance. He estimates the storm is about 30 minutes away. "Let's continue around to the backside of the island," he shouts and points to the clouds, "and then we'll make a quick trip back to the harbor. We should be able to get back before the system hits."
She nods in agreement.
Minutes later, a stray burst of wind catches the sail, startling her maneuvering and unsettling her confidence ever so slightly. Jon senses the change in the air, "Move over. I'd feel better if I took this now, but stay close to me."
They efficiently swap seats, Lauren keeping a tight grip on the tiller until he has a solid hold.
"Are you having fun now?" he laughs.
She laughs back, "Actually, I love this!"
He winks at her and gives her knee a quick 'atta-girl' squeeze.
Another strong gust catches the sail, and he eases the main line a bit. She notices his jaw clench subtly. They are halfway around the island, and the lighthouse and cottage come into view. Lauren looks back and is surprised at how much closer the clouds are from just ten minutes earlier. The air temperature has dropped as well, turning noticeably crisp.
He glances in the same direction. "We'll be just fine. I've weathered many storms, but it's looking like this one is sneaking in quicker than any of us planned. We'll be okay, but we have to be smart."
A low, deep rumble of thunder can be heard, and she sees that he's making mental calculations. He shakes his head to himself.
"Get ready. We're going to tack. We're changing our plans. This storm is moving fast, and it's getting too close."
He aims the boat for the nearest small sandy beach. He eases the sails slightly to slow their speed, and they watch a wall of rain begin to inch toward them from the other side of the island. They are almost to the beach when the rain and wind hit them. Defeaning thunder cracks above them, and within seconds, they are soaked from the downpour. Lightning lights up the sky.
"Okay, listen closely," he hollers calmly. "We're going to beach her, take shelter in the cottage and wait out this storm. But first, we need to try to get her secure on land. Okay?"
She nods with a yes.
"All right, let's go!" he commands.
He lowers the sail, and they both hop out of the boat in synchronized motion, him holding onto the starboard side and her the port. Their boat shoes land in the water on soft sand, and with all their strength, they heave the boat as far up onto shore as they can.
"Grab the dry-bag, and I'll tie her off." He uncoils a thick line and tugs it to a large boulder with a rusty iron loop pounded into the stone.
Another loud boom of thunder explodes above them, and a lightning bolt hits the water a couple hundred yards from them.
"I want you safe!" he demands. "Go to the cottage, and I'll be right behind you."
"I'm not going to leave you out here alone!" she snaps back.
"Lauren, this is non-negotiable. There's a good chance there's dry firewood in that cottage. Go and start us a fire. We're going to need to get dry and warm. There are matches in the dry bag. I need to tie her off better; this one line is not enough."
In the rush of adrenaline, she didn't notice her teeth starting to chatter from the quick temperature drop and soaked clothes. She reluctantly agrees.
She runs up to the cottage and finds a simple, battered wooden door. She lifts the makeshift latch, and the door stiffly creaks open. She uses her shoulder to nudge it a little more and slides through, taking two steps in. The cottage windows are boarded up, and it's dark inside, so she stands still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust.
As everything comes into focus, its condition is surprisingly neat for being abandonded for so long. Straight ahead is a thick stone fireplace with a large pile of driftwood next to the hearth. A small dining table is on her left. It has three of its original hand-turned legs plus one makeshift piece of driftwood bracketed to its underside so it does not tip over. A scraggly broom leans in the corner, and the stone floors have been swept recently.
She peeks back at the beach and sees Jon securing another line, so she gets to work inside. She loads the fireplace with driftwood and opens a galvanized pale to find outdated yellowed newspapers and a small box of matches inside. Twists of paper are stuffed into the crooks of the wood. The matches in the pale are soft and useless from age, so with cold hands, she reaches into the dry-bag and starts the fire with the new matches he so smartly packed.
With the fire starting to catch, she removes her dripping tank top and hangs it on a loan wooden chair, sliding it closer to the fire. Standing in her bra and shorts, she reaches into the bag, finds the small yellow rain slicker, and pulls that over her head, rubbing her arms vigorously.
The fire catches quickly thanks to the dry wood, and the room fills with the flame's light. She adds a few more pieces to the fire and walks over to check on Jon again. Just as she gets to the door, he rushes in, nearly toppling her over. He glances at the fire, his quivering lips trying to smile. He grabs the wooden door handle and pulls the door as tight as it will go, trying to keep the wind out.
"Quick, stand in front of the fire." she insists. "It's not too hot yet, but it's something."
He nods, and his body shudders.
Years ago, she watched a Discovery channel show about a family stranded in a bad situation. She remembered how wet clothing was one of the worst culprits for hypothermia and how shared body heat can help someone's core temperature. With his pinched face looking somewhat miserable, she says, "Raise your arms. We have to get you out of that wet shirt."
He shakes his head no and stammers, "I'll be fine. It will dry fast."
"This is non-negotiable." she winks at him.
With little fight left in him, he raises his arms, and she pulls off his shirt and adds it to the chair. Then, to his surprise, with no time for her to consider modesty, she pulls her slicker off and steps up to him. She wraps her arms around his waist and says, "Hold onto me. This will help you get warm."
He reaches his arms around her, pulling her in tight and buries his chattering face into her cheek. Without a word, they both stand still and listen to the howling storm outside as the fire burns stronger. Slowly, slowly, his tense body begins to relax as he warms back up to a decent level.
After standing for a long time, he lets out a soft exhale, gently touches his hand to the back of her head, and steps away from her. She reaches down and puts her slicker back on.
"Thanks, Lauren. I'm starting to feel better. Man, that storm got me good."
"Here, have a seat," she insists. Using their two life jackets, she makeshifts floor cushions for them to sit on. She reaches back into the dry-bag and pulls out his old tee and large yellow rain slicker.
"This material is not much, but it'll help you get warmer."
He nods in agreement but adds in jest, "I kind of liked that hugging method more."
She blushes.
The storm continues to batter the cottage with wind and rain, and Lauren adds more logs to the fire. After another 30 minutes, she can tell he's feeling better as he becomes more chatty.
"You're a life-saver with this fire! Were you a Girl Scout growing up?" he chuckles.
"Actually, I was! The fire-making badge was one of my first accomplishments!" she smiles back.
"Thanks for helping me get warm. I was feeling pretty miserable, and honestly, I was getting a little worried at how cold I was. This storm is a frigid one!"
Feeling flush with a renewed sense of safety and spunkiness, she jokes, "I just wanted to see you without your shirt again."
This time, he blushes slightly and quips back, "Dang, and I was too cold to get a look at you. What a waste of a prime moment."
He stretches back and says, "And if I'd known we were going to get shipwrecked, I would have eaten a bigger lunch!"
"My bars!" she blurts out. "I packed those energy bars I made!"
She digs her arm into the dry-bag and fishes out the baggie. They each grab a couple of squares and start happily chewing.
"A warm fire and these bars. This moment is better than any date I could have planned for you." he teases.
She whips her head up and looks at him in surprise. "A date?"
"Well, that's assuming you'd say yes," he says shyly.
She smiles at him, "Hypothetically, if you did ask me, I would say yes."
He smirks and nods his head, "Noted. I'll keep that in mind if I decide to ask."
After about two hours, the sounds of the storm slowly begin to subside. Jon peeks out the door and sees that the rains have finally stopped.
"I'm going to check on the boat. I have my doubts my lines held up against that wind, but I want to see."
"I'll come with you," she says as she jumps up.
As they approach the beach, they take in the sad scene. The boat lies on her side. A pile of sand has washed into the cockpit, and a small but noticeable gash from a nearby boulder has pierced the hull.
"Oh, Jon! I'm so sorry," Lauren says with tears filling her eyes. "I feel like this is all my fault."
He casually puts his arm around her shoulders and says, "Mother Nature always wins, and this is definitely not your fault. The most important thing is that we are safe. The boat is fixable."
She agrees but still wishes it was not her sailing lessons that left his prized boat in such a state.
"The harbormaster knows we headed out today. A rescue scout will be looking for us soon enough. Let's go back inside."
They settle back onto their cushions in front of the fire and wait.
"Speaking of gifts!" he says. "I got something for you too. I was planning to give you it back at the dock, but now is an even better time."
He reaches deep into the bottom of the dry-bag, and pulls out a small paper bag and hands it to her. She takes out a crisp new navy blue ballcap and laughs. The embroidered inscription along the front says 'Captain' in block letters, and in small lower-case letters centered on the back says 'Pip'.
"Perfect," she laughs! "I'm officially a shipwrecked captain with a hole in my boat. But in all seriousness, I love it. Thank you so much!"
"And this is not a gift," he says as he reaches into the bag and pulls out a six-pack of cans, "but I had plans for us to crack open a couple of beers as our celebratory graduation drink, but I'm thirsty now."
Jon peels off two beers from the plastic ring, and they pop open their cans simultaneously.
"Cheers!" as their cans thud together.
An hour later, another squall rolls through. The boarded windows whistle from the wind, and they add more wood to the fire. It was only a brief burst, and as the winds push the clouds north, the sun peeks out just as the sun rays begin to dip near the sea.
Jon goes into solving mode, "With the sun setting, I'm guessing we're going to have to make this our home for the evening because the Coast Guard won't be coming out at night. I think the best plan for us is this: let's go out and take the sail off the boat, and we can use that as a blanket. And then I'll bring in more firewood while we have a little more light left. Why don't you see if you can pull all our gear together to make something decent for us to sleep on."
Lauren nods in agreement as they head out.
They make quick work, stealing only a minute to look over their shoulders at the crimson sunset that unfolds behind them. Gold, orange, and yellows swirl together in a dramatic display - nature showing that she is full of wrath and magnificence all in one.
Lauren takes the giant bundle of sail and the two extra life jackets inside. While she's getting creative, spreading cushions on the floor, Jon makes several trips in and out of the cottage, dropping armloads of mishappen driftwood, adding it to their existing pile.
With the last little bit of daylight left, Jon brings in one last load and adds it to the waist-high pile, adding a satisfied statement, "There, that should do it!"
"Well done, Jon! If we don't get rescued tomorrow, that pile will carry us through next month," she teases.
"Ha, you might be right, but at the very least, I'd like to leave a hefty pile for the next set of stranded suckers who get caught in a wayward storm."
Lauren steps back, waves her arm like a game show hostess, and shows Jon her handy work.
"Okay, so we each have two sets of lifejacket cushions to lay on, which should help give us some reprieve from the hard stone floors. And then I bunched up the top of the sail as a sort of pillow. The remaining sail will fold over both of us. If all goes well, I think we might even be too warm!" she smiles with pride.
Jon stretches out on the cushions, props his hands behind his head, kicks his feet out, and gives an impressed nod of approval.
"Not bad Captain, not bad!"
The fire lights the room, and they settle in for the evening on the floor, facing each other and chatting. Lauren breaks the last remaining bar in half, and they savor their "dinner" with another beer. They stay up late talking about every aspect of life: how Jon broke his arm when he was twelve and how Lauren was homesick when she went off to college. They talk about dreams they still have, regrets they can't change, and hopes they both still carry for the future.
They finish off the last two beers, with Jon taking great pleasure in teasing her when she gets the hiccups. Just before 2 am, yawns begin to outweigh the conversation, so they scoot down under the sail. Jon puts out his arm, and Lauren tucks in tight into the crook, resting her head on his shoulder. He curls the sail up around the two of them tight, and seconds before their exhausted bodies fall asleep, Lauren whispers, "I would not want to be shipwrecked with anyone else."
Jon softly kisses the top of her head in silent agreement.
With only a few hours of sleep, dawn breaks and Lauren hears the sound of the engine first - a strong, authoritative boat idle just offshore. Next comes the voice over the bullhorn: "This is the Coast Guard, I repeat this is the Coast Guard."
They unfurl the sail and pop up eagerly, rubbing their eyes and stretching their creaking bodies.
"They're here!" Lauren exclaims.
"Yes, I'm sure the smoke from the chimney helped them find us," Jon adds.
Lauren eagerly starts for the door, but Jon catches her hand just before she reaches the door.
"Wait," he says as he pulls her back to him "before we step back into reality and go home, I want you to know that despite this being the craziest night of my life, I'd do it all over again with you."
He slowly tilts up her chin and kisses her softly.
Lauren leans her body in, melting into him as she kisses him back.
He reluctantly pulls himself away, leaving her flushed and says, "Okay, now let's go get rescued."
Photo by me. Story is fictional.
Thanks for sharing, lovely afternoon read for me and as a sailor, I enjoyed it
Great read! Loved the story…