“I’d like to order a bathtub full of lemonade, a dozen king sized Snickers, and seven cheese pizzas.”
That’s the last call I made on the ship-to-shore radio.
Of course nobody answered.
“You can deliver it to somewhere between Cedar Key and Cuba. Small boat. Blue canvas top. Scrawny little captain.”
Still nothing. I try at different times of day. Different channels. Different messages. Always the same response.
Static.
“And if it’s not too late to throw in a side order of rescue helicopter, I’ll double the tip.”
Not sure how much longer the batteries will last on the ship-to-shore, but I’ve got to keep trying.
“Hey seriously though,” I said. “Things are getting a little rough out here. I, uh, thought I could do this no problem. But I’m not so sure anymore. I really do need some help.”
The lonesome sound of wind whining across my fishing line was the only response.
Only bit of good news is that my sponge project is going to work. There wasn’t any misty rain today but there was dew at sunrise. I ran the shirt along every surface of the Montauk till I had a wet shirt that I could wring out into my mouth.
A little salty but I didn’t care.
I got 13 amazing, incredible drops of water.
They tasted like gold.
Like hope.
Like life.
And people say 13’s an unlucky number.
Which it might be, considering how the bite’s dried up. Haven’t caught a fish in days.
Not sure how long a body can go without food, but I might have to eat the bait instead.
I think.
The squid isn’t frozen any more of course and hasn't been alive for quite some time. It’s slimy to the touch and smells like death. My jaw clenches shut when I put a piece of it up to my face.
Still, it’s food.
Gonna start with the tentacles.
Not sure I could eat the heads if I wanted to. Their little brains are all turned to goo and there just ain’t no way. I’ll save the heads for bait. Should probably still work, so long as the fish aren’t as grossed out as I am by gooey squid brains.
But back to the tentacles.
I’ve got ‘em cut up into tiny pieces and if I pinch my nose and close my eyes at least my jaw loosens up enough to open my mouth.
Okay. Here goes nothing.
Not bad. Not good, but…
Not too bad.
…
Okay. Nevermind. My stomach isn’t happy with the squid.
Or maybe the sponge water.
But probably the squid.
Wants it gone. Like really, really wants it gone.
The cramping comes and goes in waves, every 15 minutes or so.
Kinda like me.
But I know I need the energy so every time my stomach starts to burn I fold my arms across my belly and shut my mouth and tell my body that it will do what I ask when I ask whether it’s happy about it or not.
Just the way Dad says sometimes when I goof off on the boat.
Back then, I never understood how he could be smiling one second, and then strict and hard as a hammer the next. But now that my own body is trying to do something that I know isn’t good for me, it makes a lot more sense to get tough.
I’d write more but, well…
Gotta go.