"You'd be surprised how many of my friends have boats. And no, we're not drug dealers, gamblers or scam artists. Just hard working black men who happen to have the nicer things in life," Scott told me.
Scott wasn't my go-to when it came to guys, as he was older (57), and all man (single, father to three adult children), but he was only six foot one, 180 lbs, and I had a thing for guys not the same color as me.
"Now what kind of shit is that for a black guy not to like another black guy," he said to me as he backed his boat into the water.
Scott wanted to toss me into the James River when I made my comment, for my good friend of five months never knew I wasn't into other black men once he ans I became close from volunteering.
"That's insane, Keenan," he chided me. "You'd think you'd be a little more understanding, son, but I'm really feeling some type of way at the moment."
He put his red Super Duty in park and did what needed to be done to release his boat. He then came back to the cab give further reprimand.
"Keenan, it's time you get out of the dark on some things. You not liking your own kind is absurd," he said. "Also, At 41 you should be living much better than how you are. How's your credit? You got savings built up? What kind of financial portfolio you have for trading? My man, at 41, I was close to being ready to retire, and of course now, I could if I wanted to with my family already well taken care of. So what's your excuse? Your priorities is all fucked up."
"Is isn't the right word," I said to him as he gave me a look.
What was supposed to be cool afternoon/evening on the water was turning into a singe from hell. Scott was turning into my damned father vice good friend as he invited me out, not the other way around.
"I'm going to launch. You hop on the driver's side and pull forward and park, then bring your ass to the pier so I can grab you," he yelled.
I did as told once he cut on the engines and jockeyed backwards, with me being timid and agitated and almost thinking I would pull away and leave him hanging. I was furious as how he could "spell" me the way he did, but he was right, for I was too busy taking care of others that I didn't really have too much to show for myself. I got over my feelings and parked the truck and the hitch, cutting the engine and running to the pier so we could roll off.
"You big pussy. You're six foot five and almost 300 lbs., and yet you're scared to drive that truck. See what I mean, I see you," he said to me.
"Stop riding me," I told him as others saw us jawing back and forth, with folks laughing as tied up his gorgeous boat to the pier, then rolled out the brow.
I climbed aboard and he had me pull up the line as we set course for the part of the large waterway flowing under the massive James River Bridge, which connected the City of Newport News and the rural Isle of Wight County.
"You see this? You hear this," he asked.
I joked and mentioned the sound of the boat engine and the waves, and he corrected me.
"It's peace of mind, K," he said. "You get yourself right and you can have this, too."
"Bro, I'm not interested in being mentored at the moment," I told him.
He got quiet, but what Scott said marinated in my head a bit as he was telling the truth, as my life was hindered by not looking out for Keenan first. He had a remote in hand and turned on some Al Green and we muttered back east, crossing under the bridge as we were heading towards a local bridge tunnel, and into the channel intersecting with the industrialized Elizabeth River. I sat back on my stool and kicked my feet up, still thinking about what Scott said while watching him in his element, feeling the breeze from the dark river. He'd keep driving the boat and hit another button on the remote to make cooler pop up from a secret compartment.
"You like that shit, huh," he said as he saw the look on my face. "I was a mechanic and an IT in a past life, so get used to me customizing things like that."
I grabbed a beer and started to hand him one until he made a curve in the water, but was driving flawless while we leaned slightly to the side. I watched him in his sunshades as he focused forward, then temporarily cut his eye at me and smiling as he showed off his pearly whites, yelling and screaming to the sky.
"Just sit back, sip and enjoy the ride, Sailor" he barked as we rumbled through the waves on his catamaran.
We'd do large circles in the banks until he headed back west, going further than the boat ramp as the channel of the river started slimming down. He'd make a turn off into a mouth of an area that looked familiar, then I noticed we were in the Williamsburg area once we pulled into what looked like an abandoned, colonial style marina.
"We'll stop right here and chop it up a bit," he told me.
