Overheard in the opposite telephone booth across the harbor parking lot. Fisherman in Grunden's bottoms, weathered sweatshirt and browbeaten but hopeful expression. He kept twitching his leg nervously and pawing at the payphone cord while talking to the youthful murmur I interpreted to be his son. After a bit he paused, let out a sigh and halted his previously tangential conversation to say-
"Yeah, I'm okay. I just miss you is all. You're my best friend."
The thing I've noticed about the fishermen here so far- they begin this work because they love it, they love the independence, the chase, the mastery of your own fate. Sooner or later, they also learn to love another- but return to the unpredictable, dangerous seas to provide; returning to the thing they loved for the sake (to provide for) those who hold their hearts tethered at home.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment