Youth, Beauty, a nicely sculpted body and a disarming smile are the necessary ingredients to ensure a comparatively easy and enjoyable life. Eighteen-year-old Joey Griffin had it all and then some. Although he knew how blessed he'd been, he remained a delightful, modest and fun-loving guy who'd do anything you'd ask of him. Secretly, I was hopelessly in love with him.
I had already shot many images of Joey lowering the sail, but I kept shooting, hoping for the ultimate masterpiece. I wished I had an oil painting of him at that fleeting moment. Beautifully tanned, he wore shear, silk, flowered shorts, through which his jewels were provocatively visible; I loved watching him in those shorts. As usual, the single tuft of gelled, dark hair, lay on his forehead. Big, brown, bedroom eyes sparkled and his teeth gleamed brilliantly, when the billowing, white sailcloth's reflected sunlight, softly, illuminated his near-perfect, facial features. In my viewfinder, I saw a handsome angel.
Joey wasn't aware that I adored ever bone and muscle in his body, and that I had always been madly in love with him. We grew up together and had always been as close as brothers. And It was because of our long, close friendship that we confidently put ourselves in hock to buy the thirty-two foot sailboat. We knew absolutely nothing about sailing and were so spoiled by the motor that we "set sail" on our first dozen outings without learning how to put up them up.
"You know, Don, we're a couple of loose bolts...ya know that, huh?" Joey asked. It, having been a hypothetical question, he didn't expect an answer. "Have you got any idea how much we been spendin' on gas?" Another hypothetical, as far as I was concerned. "Well, all I know is that it's dough we shouldn't be spendin'. The motor is only supposed to be used when yer leaving or entering the marina. Otherwise, with the sails up, ya don't have the necessary control. Like if there was a sudden gust of wind, we could wipe out the dock, not to mention our boat," he explained with newly found authority.
"Yer gonna make a very important suggestion, aren't ya, captain, or will it be an order?" I laughed because I didn't want him to think I was annoyed.
"I think we should get ourselves to some secluded spot where we won't embarrass the crap out of ourselves, and set our sails."
"I knew it'd eventually come to this," I remarked. "And just how much do we know about doing that?" He really didn't care for my skeptical smile.
"I brought a book that explains everything. It looks simple," he said, trying to convince me and himself that we could do it. "I wonder if we bought too much boat for us, Don, this pile of cloth, ropes and crap looks formidable."
"Let's hang up the main one first, Joey, if we can get that one up we'll be encouraged," I suggested.
"I think the correct terminology is hoist, not hang," he corrected. "Oh, shit!" He said, wide eyed as he looked toward the sky. "We've gotta climb the friggin' pole to put a rope over that pulley wheel." We messed with all that grief for more than six hours, nearly garroting ourselves in the tangle of ropes. Joey was knocked overboard twice, when a gust swung the jib, I think that's what he called it, and bashed him into the lake. I couldn't help laughing, of course, and that got him even more pissed off. I loved the image, though, and wished I'd had the camera in my hand. His shear, wet silk shorts had become all but transparent. The way they clung to his butt crack was fabulously delish; he might just as well have been naked. "Son of a bitch." He screamed at the runaway jib.
And so, we finally sailed off into the sunset with numerous electronic aids about which we knew frig all. We soon learned that the bell meant we we're going aground. It was difficult to enjoy the ride with concentrating on the damned bell. The art of sailing was going to elude us for some time, I feared. "Hey, Donnie, I think I'm gettin' the hang of it," he said, with a big, satisfied grin. Still, it was a relief when we'd dropped the sails to, again, hear the familiar, comforting sound of the engine.
"Congratulations, captain," I said, facetiously, "Now, do you have any idea how we wrap up the sails?"
"Wait'll we dock, we can check out some of the others. Don't worry, we'll learn soon enough." And thankfully we did become reasonably competent.
The thirty-two foot sailboat had cost us a bundle but we rationalized that we'd probably be able to get our money back if we decided to sell it. And we'd save a pile of dough on motel rooms. We'd be able to stay on the boat for as long as we wanted, assuming there was food. Although she could sleep six, we would likely never need more than two bunks.
