Gone Coastal (part VI)

ROLLER COASTER

We are near Santa Cruz as my watch ends and it is decided we will wait out rough seas churning north of Point Conception. I’m both relieved and disappointed when during the sparsely attended lunch the plan to anchor is announced. I wanted the excitement of a fast night sail, but was not quite sure I would be up for it. We will stay put, rest and wait for calmer water to develop probably near midnight, the end of my next watch. Most everyone is suffering from seasickness, or from side effects of medication to prevent it. Only I, the skipper, first mate, engineer and the cook seem to be none the worse for the unsettled ride. Men not on watch snore in their bunks. I make my way forward to my cubbyhole careful not to invade their berths while reaching for a handhold. Ed is laying in his bunk with his arms folded over his pasty white face.

“Are you okay?” I ask concerned by his waxy appearance.

“No.” he answers without moving, his colorless lips pinched and thin.

“How long have you been sick?”

He whispers, “For a few hours.”

“Did you spew?”

“No, but I’m right on the edge.” I back into my berth, pull the curtain not wanting to witness the imminent hurl. I lay for a moment staring at the grain in the ply board above me then peek out to ask, “Do you want to try the wrist band Emily loaned us?”

“Yeah, let me have it. Why not. It can’t hurt.” He doesn’t move while I rummage, first through my bag then his until I find the wrist band. I put in a tiny battery, strap it on and turn the dial until I feel a tiny sting on the inside of my wrist. Voodoo, I think but keep my opinion to myself as I secure the tiny shocker around Ed’s cocked wrist. With both hands occupied, I stumble forward almost falling onto him as the boat raises then falls in a slow awkward curl, then another seemingly unrelated to the one before. The second mate laying above Ed moans softly from behind her drawn lee cloth. Ed pulls his hand to his mouth. I step back, duck my head to roll into my berth, wait for a moment, pull my feet in, then draw the curtain closed.

The boat is as quiet as it is in the middle of the night but I am not the least bit sleepy. I shouldn’t read, not a good idea when it is a sure trigger for seasickness, so I slip on my shoes and go up on deck.

At last it is windy but we are too close to Santa Cruz to make it worth sailing. First I can see the dim featureless shoreline, then little by little details reveal themselves through the depleting fog. Finally the midday sun is out. Lifeguard shacks, painted a gay turquoise, face us, shuttered closed as a testament to the end of summer. An amusement park’s colorful pennants unyielding to the turn of the seasons point seaward to salute us. I go below to check on Ed. He is awake and looks better.

“How you doin’?”

“Much better. This thing actually works. I started feeling better right away.”

“Really? Good. If you feel up to it you should come out, we’re going to anchor. Maybe you can go ashore.”

“Ashore, no. I don’t want to. But I’ll come up for the fresh air.”

“It’s sunny and breezy.”

“Figures,” he says as he rolls onto his elbow to plant his bare feet on the cool floor. He sits for a moment in a tight coil, leaning forward so the back of his head just clears the bunk above him. Slowly he pushes his feet into his shoes without bending any further. “I was feeling pretty bad. This is amazing.” He taps the hard part of the band with his fingernail.

“Voodoo,” I respond and sit next to him.

“I don’t care if it is. It works.”

“Placebo.” I smile and rub his back.

“Whatever.” He stands and stretches before we head quickly through the boat, no longer needing handholds. The lurching has stopped. I follow on his heals as he emerges from the companionway.

Facing the shore the ocean breeze is cool but the sun is hot. For the first time since coming aboard, I feel too warm. Most of the crew still on watch have stripped off their shirts.

“Look,” I say loudly pointing, “A roller coaster. Just what everyone needs.”

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