Docked to Hunter’s Cove

10/10/2001


Neil walked through the parking lot, and he headed down the cement walkway that led to the dock at the end of the Marina. He had been coming here daily for almost twenty years. He came here each day waiting for his parent’s lobster boat to arrive with their daily catch. He would watch them work unloading their captured treasure. When he was older, he would help them when they returned from the sea with their holds full. He was enthralled with the marina but at the same time he feared the ocean. Neil still came to this dock even though his parents failed to return two years ago. No one knew exactly what happened but one day his parents just did not return. Neil waited until well after the sun went down. Staring out across the harbor, he searched and waited for his parents. The Coast Guard search missions began the next day but after weeks of searching, the Coast Guard pronounced that they were missing at sea. Every day he returned to these docks waiting and watching for their return but they never did. He built his life around this routine. He liked routine.

He was born in Hunter’s Cove during the year of Hurricane Jason, and he had lived there his whole life. He never once left the confines of this small, coastal town of Maine. During his birth, he was spewed forth into Hunter’s Cove like flotsam and jetsam that accumulates beneath the docks. The storm raged outside while his mother delivered him into the world in a small bedroom on Cottage Street. The stormy days of his life passed at Hunter’s Cove, as his family struggled to make ends meet. He was born here; he feared he would die here, but he was afraid to leave. Neil was tethered to Hunter’s Cove, just as his parents would strap down precious items during the frequent hurricanes and storms. Outside of Hunter’s Cove there would be no tether and no thin protection from the storm. After they had disappeared, the storm that surrounded him receded. He was in the eye of the storm now. Neil was in the exact center of his hurricane. Ever since his parents were lost, he waited; he waited for the eeriness of his life to be destroyed by the storm’s return.

While he waited, he loved Hunter’s Cove for its warmth and protection. It was a place that everyone loved. Each summer tourists from Boston trekked here like the migrating Canadian geese. They wanted to be here and when they left they wanted to remember Hunter’s Cove. They purchased their mementos, the artifacts of a never-aging town. And during the long New England winters they would see their Hunter Cove trinkets and remember; they would then plan their return. Most of all, he loved this marina with its docks jutting into the bay like a small child’s hand playing in the water. He understood why the people flocked here but its charm was lost long ago. After all these years, he was vacant here. He wandered aimlessly through the town ending at this marina for his daily exodus. He had forgotten how to experience. He lost his ability to notice the details. He went through the perfunctory motion. He was here every day, drawn by its siren call. He stumbled through the routine; he hated Hunter’s Cove.

Comfortable, secure, and safe, he sat at the end of the dock. His feet dangled into the rising water, and he thought of nothing. His head was filled with complete emptiness. When a thought dropped into his head, it fell like a stone plummeting into a deep well. He waited and waited for it to hit the water filled bottom. Absently reaching for his lunch bag, he removed the book he was reading and a sandwich. Automatically, he unwrapped the sandwich without a thought. He placed the plastic baggie underneath his book and returned to nothingness.

Soon, it would be high tide and fishing boats would return. He watched the lobster boats come and unload their daily catch. It reminded him of his parents and there was something cathartic about watching them work. He looked down at his half eaten sandwich as he wondered whose boat would be the first to arrive. Peeling a piece of crust from his sandwich, he threw it into the murky waters. A family of ducks sensed the vibration of the bread striking the water and maneuvered towards the discarded morsel. The smallest duck attacked the water logged crust. Neil continued feeding these ducks, just as he had been all summer, always the same way everyday. He came here to find the connection that eluded him. His umbilical cord had been severed with the loss of his parents, and now he was trapped within its harbors. He no longer belonged here but he could not escape. He was not like these ducks, which were at home beneath this pier.

A sailboat entered the cove and glided towards the dock. Fascinated, Neil watched. Not many boats –other than fishing and lobster boats- drifted in and out of the marina. Behind the wheel of the sailboat stood a man slightly older than Neil. His tan body reflected the waning light of the day. His sun bleached hair hung to his shoulders. The pilot’s strong hands gripped the steering wheel as he guided his vessel towards the dock. As the ship drew near, Neil was amazed at the symphony of muscles that worked in concert to command this boat towards him. His eyes locked on the approaching vessel, and Neil felt the vibration of confidence echoing from its captain. Each ripple of assurance resonated through him like a hammer on a drum, reminding him of what he was missing. His vacuous longing skipped across the water, as a stone propelled from a child’s hand.

As the ship slowed its approach, Neil noticed a woman. She was tall - much taller than Neil. He had seen women like this before, but never in person - he usually saw them in the pages of some catalog that were still sent to his mother. She jumped from those catalogs into his solitude. In her white Capri pants that exposed her tight, shapely calves and her pink camisole shirt, which clung to her hard body, she prepared the ropes that would connect their world to his. Neil wanted these people. He wanted to be them. He wanted to be anything.

As the captain steered the boat towards the dock, the young woman held the coiled rope in one hand while running the other hand through her long brown hair. Directed through some hidden command, Neil rose. With a friendly smile, she tossed him the ship’s line. Neil caught the cord in mid air, and he linked the travelers to his pier.
Neil had helped boats dock before, but none had captured him so completely. As he ensured that the boat bumpers were secure, he felt the storm returning. The calmness that the eye of the storm brought started to vanish. His perfect world, perfect routine was disrupted. He was tossed around in a sea of emotion. Fearing he was lost, he knew he would never be the same. He gazed at the molded and worn planks of his pier and bit his lower lip. He was embarrassed to look directly at this couple. He felt his incompleteness.

The captain and his mate began discussing their next destination. He overheard them discussing going to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, or maybe Boston. He wondered how far away those destinations were. Having never left Hunter’s Cove, he had no idea of distance. His world consisted of an eight-mile coastal town in Maine. He loved this place but what kept him here, day after day, year after year?

The captain and his beautiful first mate left the ship and stood next to him as he began gathering the remains of his lunch. Always the same lunch, a ham sandwich with French’s yellow mustard on both pieces of dark wheat bread. The ham folded in half and placed squarely between the two slices of bread. He always drank Coke to choke down the semi-chewed mouthful of lunch. Like a vicious circle, that he was terrified to break or not to break.

He bent down to retrieve the crinkled lunch bag, as the captain’s worldly eyes pierced him. The captain said, “Thanks, mate, good book!” Neil stared back blankly at him. “I remember reading that book when I was college”, he said to no one in particular. Neil looked down at his worn copy of “On the Road” and the shadow of the captain blackened out the cover photographs of places on the road. Neil remarked that he enjoyed the book as well. He stood on the dock with his lunch bag and watched the couple venture to shore. As they disappeared from his view, he turned his attention back to the sailboat. Strong and sleek, this vessel told many tales to the unsuspected listener. He was caught in the enchanter’s tale like a lobster in a fisherman’s trap – like him here in Hunter’s Cove.

He dropped the bag to the dock, spilling its half-eaten sandwich and empty can of Coke to the weathered boards. The wind gently blew the emptied lunch bag towards the shore. Neil slowly followed the bag leaving his book with its pages fluttering in the breeze at the end of the dock. Removing his olive green t-shirt and dropping it to the pier, he continued on. In the parking lot of the marina, he kicked off his worn boat shoes, and he walked barefoot towards West Shore Drive. Heading east he abandoned his faded blue jeans in the middle of the road. Clad only in his underwear, he walked with purpose to the edge of town. The sign for Addison loomed in front of him; he had never been this far before. Standing taller at the town line, he hesitated, but the enchanter’s song echoed in his head, calling to him. “Come to me,” she sang, begging him to take one more step. He took off his underwear and placed them on the adjacent sign - Welcome to Hunter’s Cove. Neil, naked and freed, continued east, never looking back and never to be seen again.