Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream, and you, if you dream a moment,
You see me there.
― Robinson Jeffers
Ray Hull
After my accident and weeks spent in the trauma unit I developed an aversion for doctors—not that I don’t appreciate what they do. They did their best to rescue at least fragments of my memory and for that I’m grateful,
But I just want to get my life back and not end up on a treadmill of continual medical appointments, and to tell the truth, my session with Elias unnerved me.
He was genial enough I suppose, but he is a shrink and I felt under a magnifying glass. Besides, he honed in on the girl in my dreams as if he could read my mind.
And I think I’m intuitive…maybe I am, but I certainly met my match in him.
Anyway, I’m back home at Sunnyside, my father’s house, and trying to figure out what is and isn’t mine.
I’m frantically trying to get a life but it’s damnably hard when I can’t remember who I am. I must have grown up here in West Harbour but honestly, I can’t identify with anyone and my only consolation is that I feel drawn to a strange house in the city and am eaten up with longing for a girl I can never meet.
Just taking stock of such things fills me with anxiety, so I decide to go for a jog around the lake to work off my nervous energy.
Who knows, maybe jogging my body will also jog my mind.
I change clothes and opt for sweat pants, tee shirt and sneakers. Before long I’m running a path below the house that snakes around the lake.
It feels good to be out in the sun and moving my muscles and in no time at all I fall into a rhythm that’s a cross between a run and a lope. Yeah, I figure I was never an athlete but seem to like pushing my body.
I run for fifteen minutes and then burn out and need a rest.
It turns out the bench I choose has a clear view of Smugglers Cove Marina and reminds me about the sail boat Arthur Reid says is here in dry dock just waiting for me.
Once I catch my breath, I decide to walk over and enquire about it.
The man running the marina appears to be in his seventies—white hair and beard.
“Hello, young fellow,” he calls out cheerily, “looking for a boat?”
“Actually, I am,” I reply. “I’m Marcus Sterne—Arthur Reid sent me.”
He eyes me narrowly, sizing me up, and then seems to come to a decision.
“Welcome aboard,” he smiles, eyes crinkling, and gestures to the work shed.
I feel a bit relieved as if I passed some sort of test and scamper up the bank onto the pier to join him.
“A Sterne back in West Harbour—a bit of history continues, eh?”
I nod, not really sure if I’m admitting to my father’s sins or simply trying to indulge an old man's reminiscences.
“Ray Hull,” he says, extending a weathered hand. “I knew your father well and can truly say he always did well by me.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, grasping his proffered hand while quietly exhaling.
As we're walking, the old man remarks, “You know your father sold the large sailing cruiser—all that’s left is the 15 foot dinghy but it’s large enough to seat three adults comfortably.”
“I think that’s about all the boat I can handle right now,” I laugh.
“Really?" he replies with astonishment, "you were quite skillful at handing the large craft when you were in your teens—well, that was before you went away to school, so how old were you then—sixteen?”
I nod. I have no idea what he’s talking about and doubt I’d know port from starboard if asked, and I sincerely hope he doesn’t.
Coming back here to West Harbour is harder than I imagined. I feel I’m playing a part rather than living a life, but the old man seems oblivious to my discomfort, or so he appears.
When he shows me the dinghy all polished and set to sail I feign excitement but inwardly am suffocating.
“We’ll have it tied up and ready at your old slip tomorrow—Arthur’s already handled all the paperwork.”
I thank him profusely and take my leave, assuring him I’ll be back to take it out on the lake.
Truth is, I have no idea if I can even sail the damn thing and am too proud to admit I’m lost and sinking myself.