CHAPTER 2
I took a walk the first chance I could that very next morning. It was a small break from the gusting wind and treacherous downpour. The equally handsome older and more distinguished morning Weatherman had said that a small break from the storm was here but only a few hours at the most before another smaller front, less dangerous than before, came through. As I was getting stir crazy having been cooped up in the house for 2 days, I decided to take a look at how Mother Nature had ravaged the shoreline. I threw on faded jeans, layered a tank, sweatshirt and ski jacket throwing my cell phone in the pocket noting that it was 9am. My feet covered by rain boots, I passed through the front door and headed toward my beach beyond the trees. Young trees were bent but fighting to stand up straight and tall. A few had succumbed to the undeniable pressure and lay defeated across the sand. More mature trees stood stoic and unwavering, appearing to ask for more but telltale branches lay on the ground, scattered about. Stone, shells, seaweed, small sea creatures that had long stopped trying to flop and crawl their way back to the sea were thrown all about and the smell of calm started to fill the air with just an edge and hint of electricity and warning. The wind blew gently now, pushing and pulling on the battered dune grass. The dunes themselves looked beaten and tired. Looking to my right, I saw an orange ladder tucked into the tall grasses of the dune. Some poor guy is not going to be happy when assessing the damage of his property, he can't find his ladder. The thought of a balding man, running around his house looking for the ladder and asking his wife where she may have put it put a smile on my face and a laugh escaped my lips. I picked my way gently down the beach and inhaled the salty, marshy air, the mist settling in my hair. I stopped to stare out at the sea and the gray sky seemed to melt right into the equally gray and overcast ocean. A few birds had ventured out too, looking for items to salvage along the beach, including perhaps, a snack or two. They were going to have to make it a quick flight, I thought, watching the clouds roll in steadily preparing for the next round.
I looked out and to the right and saw a little sailboat leaning up against the dune. The tide had come in really far I thought. I made my way over to the boat and noticed a few tell tale signs. The bottom of the boat had been ripped open and the sail's has been ripped to shreds. This was not a boat meant for long travel. I wondered who did this belong to? Unlike the owner of the ladder, the owner of this beautiful little boat was going to be devastated when his boat was found missing. The boat was a dark wood and stained to let the natural dark beauty shine through, it had been christened "Escape" with Cape Cod written in Indigo Blue. The sails were not salvageable, at least to my untrained eye. The extent of my sewing had been to hem pants that were too long, not that it happened often. Being 5'7", most pants fit off the rack. On the occasion that a pair of pants were too long, I had learned to do most of the essentials myself. I stepped closer to the boat admiring the craftsmanship. I knew nothing about boats, not how to run one, only how to enjoy one. I liked looking at them. As a child, my dad had had a little boat similar to this, much smaller I recalled, but my memory of it was fuzzy. I remembered going out on it a few times as a child but I it had mysteriously disappeared. I realized years later that it had been sold, a step into adulthood for my father, probably at the insistence of my mother several years after my conception. I looked at the way the wood curved, the shiny metal pulls and rods dulled by the salt water and the tangle of rope swaying in the breeze. I moved carefully closer to the mysterious boat excited to explore, my hands on the side, leg lifted ready to climb aboard when I heard a soft moan.