Sunday afternoon walking in Monterey I saw this rope and it made my hands remember untying the rope on my Poppa’s boat. My brother and I could hardly stand the slow ride to the buoys. When we got to them our grandfather would look back over his shoulder at us, his hands on the steering wheel, and smile and yell for us to hang on before he floored it. We loved going fast, the bumps that lifted us up off our seats when we hit the wake from another boat. The times we’d cross a bunch of choppy water and bounce and bounce. Sometimes we’d stop and fish, but usually we’d cast off the back of the boat, willing the fish to bite, staring at the line as it floated above the sparkly water.
I grew up on lakes, not the ocean. It still surprises the hell out of me to get seawater in my mouth and have it be so salty.