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The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between adolescent and adult males and the power imbalance of these relationships. Like so many of my stories, this is a voyage and return.

If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you like it and feel free to respond.

Fourteen runs through five progressions, with frequent interludes. If you would like to comment, contact me ail.

Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly  to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to fty/donate.html 

Thanks so much to Philip Marks for his contributions and the background conversations that bring the story onto the page. I also want to add a shout-out to Mischief Night who answered my call for a proofreader. Thanks to those who keep Philip and me updated on your interest.

Theo 5

Belltown, Seattle, Washington

October 31, 2018

Anton Schroeder checks the time on the microwave and lets another two fingers of Old Forester slip down into his highball glass. He tops it up with soda, imagining Tyrone Casey’s anguished scream. The bourbon was a birthday present from some years ago. Toffee accented with a whiff of wood slat, the notes of tropical fruit linger like a wistful memory of Sirocco suspended by the transparent water off Isle Quatre.

The bourbon is satisfying, but of less interest than say, chilled aloja de chaucha with its orange-like hue. He had it in a village in La Rioja, Argentina to celebrate Fiesta of the Chiqui and a stunning man, who now that Anton thinks of it, looked very much like Fourteen. Greatgrandson of some Nazi death-doctor emigré, Anton speculates. Is it safe? but that was boys from Brazil. The young man was a pleasant diversion who blitzkrieged through Anton’s Maginot Line at the Vines Resort being sub-sincere with Dil?”

“Don’t think so,” Jeremy answers. “Just a nickname, not trying to play you, Theo.” There is a pause while Jeremy considers the older boy in Anton’s colorful kimono. Theo had been playing a hiding game with Jeremy since they met. (Fucking) Cordell left him sensitive to that. “I’m being straight —”

“Oh dear,” Theo smiles.

“Fourteen made it easier to be Jeremy. You know, out. So, being away from home, lots of people only knew Fourteen, but it was me. For them, I’m Fourteen, but I’m Jeremy. At home in Ohio, they called me Jeremy, but didn’t know I was Fourteen inside;” then, “is that why you are Dil?”

“You’re too funny, Jimmy,” Theo smiles gently. “I think you are trying to ask me something.”

“Are you transitioning, like, wishing you could match your body to who you are. Did I get that right?”

“Do you like explaining yourself all the time?”

Jeremy laughs weakly, “No, I think that”s why I”m here in Antigua and not back in Ohio.”

“You know what Dil would say? Details, details,” Theo takes a sip of morning coffee and sadly remembers Bobbie Tosh, who worried details all the time. “This is me, Jimmy, the way I am, and fuck you very much if that’s a problem. Not changing who I am, Jimmy, can’t change my nature.”

“You’ve said that before,” Jeremy points out.

“What, details, details?”

“And the Jimmy thing; yeah, no, ‘what Dil would say,’ that’s what I’m thinking about,” Jeremy tries to explain. Jeremy is captivated by Theo, Dil, or both. There is always distrust and disillusionment now, men and boys built that.  They have slept together, so Jeremy wonders if he has gone the distance with Theo, or if there is more he still does not understand.

“I’m Dil because most people treat me like I’m Dil, but I’m Theo, like you said. Growing up in Jamaica, I just wanted to be Theo. It has been easier to accept that makes me Dil.”

This does not help Jeremy to understand. Fourteen reflected Jeremy’s age when John Cannon dismissed him with the nickname, how did Theo gain the name Dil? He asks the question.

“Just a ghost on the screen, honey,” Theo assures Jeremy, “she haunts me every once and a while, pay her no attention.”

“Could Bobbie go the distance?” Jeremy needs a clue. He does not want to hurt Theo.

It is a sad-serious reply. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about him,” then Theo continues, “just met, haven’t we? I’m not sure it was like that for Bobbie. He knew me, knew my nature, knew I couldn’t go the distance for him.”

“Somehow, you’re not making it easier to talk,” Jeremy complains.

“Girl needs her mysteries,” Theo shrugs. “Jeremy, don’t pout. Nothing Fergus about you, I like that.”

“Who is Fergus?” Jeremy exclaims with exasperation. He really ought to have a revenge nickname to tease Theo with.

“Not you, unless you’re on the run from murder,” Theo jokes, “He’s who a girl needs to do time for her, only so disappointing, can’t quite go the distance.” Theo gives Jeremy a warm kiss, “You went the distance, no vomit, know how to treat a boy right.”

Disappointment, Jeremy knows that gut-ache feeling. “I wish we had the day together.” He catches hold of Theo, remembering the sensation of Anton’s familiar silk against Anton’s older body. The final time here, in Sirocco before Anton left for Seattle, they were predictable partners able to satisfy each other. There is nothing predictable about Jeremy’s roaming Theo’s Beyoncé-boy flesh.

“Have to do a man’s work, Jimmy,” Theo starts at the small of the back, slides under Jeremy’s underwear, then around to Jeremy’s crotch possessively. They coffee-kiss again. “We’re working girls, hmmm?”

“Too right, Sophie would say,” Jeremy sighs.

“Your Jody? I mean, your Bobbie?” Theo asks perceptively.

“I’m going to need more translation,” Jeremy rolls his eyes.

“Fair enough!” Theo pivots away leaving them both still hard for each other. “The man has exquisite taste,” Theo exhales regretfully as the kimono slips off his shoulders. He drapes the silk respectfully over his arm.

Men celebrating their bodies, Jeremy recognizes, less self-aware of his own inherent tangerine bobcat walk. Jeremy knew Daniel naked, marshaling his bull-prowess, Anton holding on to graceful through the passing years, and now Theo naked-proud for another adolescent one-on-one with Jeremy. There is no shame in Theo, and Jeremy could love him for it.

Jeremy expects Theo to ballet-dance away from him. Shaved smooth, except for the blackness over his crotch. Theo’s body is made for lifts and carries. The pair of them are made for sinuous coiling and playful pouncing.

Theo’s breast and shoulder form a soft fold at his armpit. Somewhere between this thick muscle confluence and the firm hip lies a soft-silk tickle-zone that Jeremy remembers holding on the bed. Fingers on the waist, thumb pressing into tense muscle.

“Giving me the look, Jimmy!” Theo could blush, because this is not some lascivious-lecherous yachtsman wanting to drop anchor on Dil. This is a perilous schoolboy crush possibility: an Antiguan Fergus-fighter with a flashing blade answer to Dil’s Daves.

“Can’t hide from me, Theo,” Jeremy warns.

“You’ve promised me a date today.”

“I did?” He moves toward Theo, but the older boy turns away and starts off toward the stern cabin.

“You have your work cut out for you,” Theo teases. “Slog the lunch crowd, you told me. Then, you’re mine for an afternoon. It is Independence Day, and you said we would sample the food at the Cricket Grounds before dinner.”

“Oh, right,” Jeremy remembers. “Or, you could sun yourself here on Sirocco, waiting while I work.”

“Then, afternoon tea on me?” Theo replies from the stateroom. “Leave me stranded? How did you get off this boat the other day?”

“Swam.”

“Thought so,” Theo laughs. “I’ve got to freshen up for the crowds. You hold that thought between your legs, I’m free tonight.”

“Good, and we can meet here after I’m off work.”

“You’ll swim back out?”

“I’m moving the ketch back to the dock this morning. The tanks need to be refilled,” Jeremy explains, “So tonight?”

“You’ve got to feed me first, honey!”

“Oh my god, this finally makes sense to me!” Jeremy exclaims.

They are sitting on opposite sides of the table, evening leftovers from Lekker Braai between them. Since the movie began, Theo has been cross-legged, immersed in the story of the IRA member who befriends the British soldier and is captivated by the gorgeous Dil. Theo distracts Jeremy by echoing the dialog. He seems to have memorized the entire script of the old movie.

“The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Theo whispers when Jaye Jameson makes his entrance as Dil.

“Not me,” Jeremy tells Theo gallantly, and Theo blushes with a dip of his head.

“First there are kisses (kisses) ♪♫♬

Then there are sighs (so sad)

♪♫♬  And then, before you know where you are

You’re sayin’ goodbye

♪♫♬  Don’t want no more of the crying game (don’t want no more)

Don’t want no more … ♪♫♬

Theo sings the entire title track through with Dil, even mirroring Jaye Jameson’s movements. Jeremy is caught between watching the screen and Theo. He recalls the first time he heard Theo sing Lady Gaga at Chandler’s Caribbean cafe. There was nothing of Dil’s sophisticated heartache in Theo’s performance that night.

This is me, Jimmy, the way I am, and fuck you very much if that’s a problem. Not changing who I am, Jimmy, can’t change my nature, Theo warned him the night before. That was the message Theo sang to Jeremy in Chandler’s. It was an Anton-personal-pride that captivated Jeremy. The fierceness of it resonated with his own new-found sense of identity-independence. The movie character of Dil was just a bit too sad for Jeremy. There is the obvious trans thing that Theo and Dil share in common, but Jeremy cannot understand why Theo thinks his life is tragic. Just a shared sense of some lost before, both the character Dil and Theo asserting their visible gayness, or was there something more? Theo is so immersed in the film, Jeremy does not try to interrupt with these questions.

The sexual tension in the movie’s bedroom scene builds. The camera follows Dil and Fergus around the room. Bordello saturates the apartment scene. “Not your aunt’s back shed,” Jeremy points out.

“I wish!” Theo agrees. “I think the shades of red, well, I like a room a bit more cheery. That picture in your bedroom, the one over the pillows,” he offers for example. Theo likes the particolored cheer of Antons kimono robe (the silk!), and the Caribbean colors of the abstract print. Theo is not a monochromatic sort of girl.

They watch Dil change from a fiery red dress to a scanty scarlet robe. Fergus is captivated by Dil and her fragile glow. Jeremy anticipates the next scene, not prepared for the way it will derail. Fergus moves in to kiss and caresses Dil just the way Jeremy might-will appreciate Theo’s frame when this movie ends. In Jeremy’s mind, it is he who is tenderly slipping Anton’s robe off Theo’s shoulders. Yes, and there’s the money shot! Jeremy is treated to a flash of Jaye Jameson’s crotch. Meh, too brief, uptight old movies, Jeremy shrugs mildly disappointed. Anton’s and Daniel’s movie collection is more graphic-satisfying.

“You did know, didn’t you?” Dil’s next line.

“No way!” Jeremy protests. “The guy went to a gay bar and there were totally drag queens bumping into each other. Dil is smoking hot, but Fergus must have known.” He turns to Theo. “So Fergus didn’t get that Dil had junk?”

“And you did?” Theo leans on the table between them, his chin resting on his palm.

“Oh, for sure.” Jeremy knows Theo is talking about himself, not the actor in the movie. Not at first, Jeremy admits to himself. When he first saw Sophie Wright in her hoodie, sitting on the park bench in San Diego, he mistook her for a moment. When he met Theo at the Chandler’s bar, not sure, but pretty sure, and then he followed Dov and Theo to the yacht; no questions after seeing Theo naked on the flybridge. Theo is still staring at him, so he shrugs nonchalant.

Theo’s mother always said, “Do your best to be unique and different, as opposed to living the way society says you are.” The tragedy of Dil makes complete sense to Theo. As a kid growing into himself in Kingston, Theo was called “girlie” and “a sissy.” Only his mother defended him. At fifteen Theo could pass easily as a girl. When he tried to go to a club where tourists made him feel safe, a DJ spotted him, the man shouted, “We have a battyman in the house” – and the bastard spun homophobic music as people cheered and danced. Theo left humiliated. But he was no victim; when classmates threw bottles or bricks at him, he fought back. The tragedy of Bobbie; Bobbie never could fight back. In the end, they denied Bobbie Tosh the one thing he ever wanted, to be a man. They raped him, and Theo could only watch and scream.

Bobbie Tosh is on Theo’s mind as he speaks. “I’ve watched this so many times, and I can’t decide if Dil was like me, or did he want to be a girl like he calls himself? Did Dil really believe details, details, he says.” Theo turns back to the film. The scene has moved on quickly. “Would you have vomited if I had girl bits? Is that what you meant when you didn’t know if you could go the distance?”

“I’ve slept with girls,” Theo looks at Jeremy, “yeah, so?” Jeremy responds, fur ruffled.

“Closed your eyes and thought of England?” Theo smiles.

Later, the character of Jude reappears and the sexual tension between Fergus and Dil shifts to the defense of Dil and the assassination attempt on the British official.

“I did not kill Jody,” Jeremy interjects, “just saying.”

“Of course you didn’t, Jeremy, not in your nature, is it?” But then, in the movie Fergus does not kill Jody either, Dil’s boyfriend is run over by an armored vehicle come to rescue him. How easily they get written out of the script, except a little haunting now and then, like Bobbie haunts Theo’s after.

Theo settles back into the unfolding events. “You gonna tell me what it is?” Theo looks at Jeremy as he delivers the next line, “You know her, Jimmy?” He shifts his voice with each character’s delivery. “Jimmy, is it? Do you know me, Jimmy? Dil, this is Jude.” Theo watches the familiar scene unfold.  “That”s good. I”m glad. Young love, as they say. Absolutely. The younger the better. Doesn”t come your way much, I suppose.” Theo rolls his luxurious hair about his shoulders. “I simply adore that line, always wanted to use it on an old bitch like Jude.”

They watch the old movie to its prison scene conclusion. Dil is restored to Dil and Fergus is restored to good. “That sort of leaves me hanging,” Jeremy comments as Theo disconnects his phone from Anton’s system. “Their relationship, and it’s kind of sad that Fergus was so helpless about it all. Do you feel like Dil felt? Hurt when you can’t be dressed the way you want to be? Pushed back into the closet?”

“She didn’t understand that Fergus cut her hair, dressed her in Jody’s clothes to hide her, keep her safe from Jude. She worried Fergus liked her better that way, maybe he did, straight as he was,” Theo concludes.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t like the way you dress. I’m really sorry about the way Chris and Jerry were. I think you should get to know them. It’s just —“

“They are not out, don’t blame them,” Theo finishes for Jeremy.

“If Zion had been there,” Jeremy decides. She would have given his new friends a little cover.

Jeremy thinks back to the Independence Day food fair at the outer grounds of the Sir Vivian Richards Stadium. The boys caught a bus from Swetes because Jeremy’s 2003 Zuma 125cc was Branko-legal, not Antigua-legal. They only had a few hours between Jeremy’s restaurant shifts, and made the most of them in the packed crowd.

Despite coming directly from Lekker Braai kitchen, Jeremy was content to study the vendors preparing Antigua’s version of polenta balls and white fish stew. Claark and Anna van der Merwe served the cornmeal and okra paste fungi balls at Lekker Braai, but always with their own African-Argentinian spin. Jeremy could travel all over the island sampling the variety of pepper pots favored by the islanders.

Theo wore the wide-collared, electric-violet blouse with his green bralette demurely buttoned up. Instead of the stone-washed shorts, he chose the ripped jeans from their day in St. John’s. Theo knew he hardly passed as straight, and felt the absence of his police baton very much.

Among the packed crowds that recalled the before fair for Jeremy, the boys encountered Christopher Aska and Jerry Roberts. With Antigua funneling through the stadium parking lots, it might be thought unexpected, but there are currents in the ocean, and birds of a feather migrate in similar patterns. Jeremy thought of the Antiguan LGBTQ community as Branko’s network. The policeman kept an eye on him, made introductions across the island. The two Antiguan teenagers were sampling the same queer vendor Jeremy sought out. Chris and Jerry fluttered away from Theo like a pair of startled gulls.  

         

Theo checks his phone for messages automatically, then sets it aside. “Never force someone out, right?” he reminds Jeremy. “I could have dressed more in the style,” he looks at Jeremy. “Want to change Dil to a man. You”d like me cebeci escort better that way, Jimmy? And you wouldn”t leave me?” He quotes Dil’s lines from the movie they just finished.

“You don’t know!” Jeremy begins, fiercely. He stops and draws a breath. The Fourteen thing can be confusing. Fourteen was always about men trying to mold him into what they want: Patrick Hunter crafting victims, Levi Fisher wanting Nguyen Huu Tuan, (fucking) Cordell and Anton seeing their own reflections. Like he said to Theo, Fourteen was part of who he was. It represented his indestructible nature. You can’t take that away from someone. That would be a sin. The thought was too ill-formed in his mind to share with Theo. “The guys, it would have been okay,” he concludes instead.

“Oh Jeremy, you’re blinded by the white,” Theo replies wisely, “So American. It’s not so easy when you’re at home and home is ready to throw bricks at you.”

“I know that!”

“I tell you what. You invite your friends to this boat of yours and we can have a party. Don’t expect too much from them,” Theo appraises Jeremy, “if it wasn’t for the looks you give me,” he points a long polished nail at Jeremy, “the looks you cast this way and that at passing cocks, you’d pass. Dil and Fergus, that’s what the pair of us look like together; till I get your pants off. Your friends are closet-types and trust me, there’s no shame in that.”

“Don’t think I want you different,” Jeremy says passionately. “I worry, sure.”

“Want to take care of me?” Theo teases the younger boy gently.

Jeremy laughs, “You’re the one who took care of me! That baton you pulled out of your bag! Oh I forgot!”

Jeremy scrambles to the pilot berth where he always stows his belongings. He comes back shyly, holding  both hands behind his back.

“What’s it got in its pocket, my Precious? Is it a present? A girl loves presents,” Theo goes full on Dil-Anton for Jeremy. Jeremy holds out a sleek collapsible police baton. “Oh my, how pretty! You know just how to make a girl happy!”

Theo takes the heavy baton and extracts the segments until he has it at its full length. It is much like the one he lost. It is a defensive weapon, certainly, however, the length of hollow black steel, with its weighted tip, is so much more than that to Theo. It is security. It is defiance. After Bobbie’s rape and death, what they did to Theo in the Kingston police station after that, the baton is Theo’s resolve to fuck you very much to anyone who stands in his way. He has missed this by his side.

“You Amazoned this for me?”

“No,” Jeremy shakes his head, “Branko got it for me. You know, I told you about him. He is a policeman.”

“I’ve not got much use for the coppers, Jimmy. Fuck them to hell.”

“Branko is nice,” Jeremy assures him. Branko laughed when he explained why he wanted the baton. Branko taught self-defense classes for women and not a few queers. He thought Theo a sensible young man and didn’t like the Japanese Hikari folding knife with its Damascus steel clipped point which Jeremy likes to carry.

“If you say so, Jimmy.” Theo collapses the baton and puts the tip in his mouth. “You got something else for me? What’s in your other hand?”

“We had some Netflix, thought we should chill,” Jeremy suggests.

“Do you now?” Theo raises an eyebrow.

Jeremy draws Icicles No. 5 from behind his back.

Theo gasps dramatically when he sees the seven inches of sapphire spiraled glass dildo. “More pretty!”

“I know how to make a girl cry,” Jeremy confesses, suggestively.

“I know how to tie a man up,” Theo counters.

Jeremy bites his lip.

Falmouth Harbour, Antigua

November 4, 2018

“Victor Echo Seven November X-ray Whiskey, sloop Gravity, calling Kilo Echo Seven Quebec Oscar Delta, ketch Sirocco come in, Jeremy.”

Jeremy looks at the time, 12:18. He is head deep in the forward bilge checking the cocks before he leaves Anton’s ketch to its own devices for the rest of the day. There is no adolescent malingering for Jeremy Gates when half a million dollars’ worth of sailboat fights with the sea’s corrosive-living touch and he is working to prove to his parents that he can finance emancipation (and a boyfriend, maybe, if things work out).

Jeremy decides there is no urgency responding to Mary. It is not like a missed land-line phone call. Mary is puttering about her sloop as it plies its steady course to Antigua. He can picture his old friend dropping spryly down into her tidy little salon to fetch her floppy hat as the autopilot steers the Dufour 29 along. Jeremy completes his inspection, then carefully sets everything back to rights with a final rag-swipe of the polished brightness of the deck.

He inspects the salon as he moves over to the chart table. The laundry is piled on the galley worktop, mostly yesterday’s work clothes. Jeremy could still pack most everything he has in the bike bag from San Diego and perhaps the small duffle he acquired along the way. He has an impulse to hide the pile of clothes away before he talks to Mary.

“Gravity, VE7NXW, this is Sirocco, KE7 Queen Of Diamonds, I read you 5 by 5, do you hear me, over?” Mary hears the discarded diamond in Anton’s world finally responding brightly.

Mary shifts so the remote control microphone is within reach, “Sirocco, I read you fine, over.”

“Welcome to Antigua and Barbuda, Mary! Over.”

“Ah boyo, I’m twenty nautical miles out, left St. Kitts this morning. Making 6 miles under power. You’re still in Falmouth Harbour, aren’t you? Over.”

“Yes, I’m over by Mount Shekerley. I’m on a mooring ball right now. Are you heading my way, over?” Jeremy does a calculation, “Four hours till you make port? Over.”

“At least that, over.”

“Damn! I’ll phone my bosses and tell them I can’t come in.” Jeremy frowns at the new problem. He thought Mary would make a passage earlier in the day. She doesn”t reply, then he remembers, “Over.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to catch up. I’ll find Anton’s ketch well enough in the pool. We’ll be neighbors by the time you get back from your kitchen. Over.”

Lekker Braai restaurant is roadside casual. Jeremy recalls the tourist-elegance of dining alfresco at the Admiral’s Inn with Anton and Daniel. Across the island, there are better restaurants yet. Lekker Braai is definitely more casual than Chandler’s Caribbean Cafe with its gazebo levels and live music. Lekker Braai is picnic-table chic along Matthew’s Road and Claark and Anna van der Merwe are less interested in tropical landscaping.

Claark is interested in up to date commercial kitchens. Lekker Braai’s kitchen configuration is smaller than Remy Gates’ Chillicothe kitchen. When someone new is hired, the careful ballet collapses and tempers sour. Jeremy compares it to cooking with Angela Montreal in Arizona and the solo operation of Sirocco’s limited galley. He thinks the Lekker Braai kitchen is fine.

“Ryder, the scraps are full, run it out to compost when you get a chance,” Anna tosses over her shoulder to the skinny young man at the sink.

“I gotta get through this pile of pots or you’ll have nothing to cook with in a minute,” the dishwasher complains.

Jeremy wraps the last portion of sweet-spicy grated sweet potatoes and coconut dumpling into a banana leaf. “The chimichurri ducana is ready to steam,” he wipes his hands on his apron, “I’ll run the trash can out.” Stepping out of the steamy kitchen will be a break.

At Lekker Braai, Jeremy is partly dogsbody and partly commis chef. It depends on the day and how frantic Anna gets. Ryder Herumtreiber was beached in Falmouth a week ago. Now he is another sailing hippie waiting for the high yachting season to put him on another boat. Jeremy has what passes for seniority in the kitchen, but he shrugs that off. As long as people do their work (well) and keep the kitchen clean, Jeremy is easy with whatever work comes his way. He is thankful for the hours.

The van der Merwes have ambitiously begun a kitchen garden between the restaurant fronting Matthew’s Road and the (renovating) bungalow they live in at the back of their property. A trio of black compost drums are stationed well away from where an errant breeze might waft the rot toward the dining customers. Jeremy empties the plastic pail and spins the black drum for good measure, “B-18, B-18,” he reads the imaginary bingo ball.

The empty shipping container catches Jeremy’s eye. The van der Merwes used the 8x8x10 container to ship their modern kitchen to Antigua from Mexico. While they renovated the dilapidated structure of Lekker Braai, it was useful storage. They meant to get rid of it, but now it is a half-hearted garden shed.

Geo complains enough about the stacked shipping containers he is working on at Shekerley Boatyard. Kenroy Jean-Baptiste keeps him busy regardless. Jeremy opens the rusting door of the small container. It is about the size of Theo’s shed bedroom. “Geo’s right,” Jeremy mutters, “it’s like an oven in here!” and it’s after dark.

“You’re boat watching, right?” Ryder Herumtreiber asks Jeremy a few minutes later. “This island must be a yacht graveyard, don’t ya think? They sail them in, and hope to sell them. Too many boats here already.”

Jeremy looks up with the safety glasses on. The tough kitchen glove on his left hand holds a spiny conch shell he just lifted from the brine. His right hand wields a Black and Decker cordless drill. “Yeah, it’s at a slip nearby. It’s not for sale, just waiting for my friends to come back.”

Ryder starts to say something and Jeremy starts the drill. “Sorry, what?” He waits till Ryder opens his mouth, then starts the drill again. This goes on two more times, until the man at the sink tells Jeremy to go fuck himself. Jeremy just laughs.

Jeremy drills a tiny hole into the middle of the shell’s upper spire to break the poor animal’s suction. Then he reaches into the shell’s main opening and pulls on the snail’s body. Jeremy has come a long way from wincing at Angela Montreal’s dispassionate rabbit executions. As he removes the snail from its shell, he checks closely to see if there are any pearls inside.

“You were on that boat a while? What’s her make?” Ryder comes over to watch Jeremy as he extracts the meat from three more shells. “You ever find any pearls?”

“Yeah, some. Sirocco, that’s Anton’s boat, is a Super Maramu 2000, fifty-two feet, ketch, basically, five berths. I’ve been crew since February,” Jeremy explains.

“You keep the pearls?”

“No man, I give them to Anna.” Most pearls are tiny. Anna said she found one worth $1000 once. Jeremy keeps looking for its twin.

“You’re lucky to have a berth. I’m dropping $30 at the hostel near the yacht club. Gotta get off this beach,” Ryder adds.

Ryder Herumtreiber would be on his way to Curaçao, unfortunately, he forgot to check the lines before starting the engine. A dinghy painter in the water caught on the prop shaft. He should have just gone in the water like the skipper told him to. Instead, he argued. So here he was on the beach washing dishes.

“Always check your lines, little bro,” Ryder tells the teenager, “hey, don’t pull on a loose line to find the other end, either! Those things are gross, man,” he finishes, eying the fresh conch in Jeremy’s bowl.

“Anton said an unattached halyard is almost as bad as hooking up with an unattached clone at a house party; you never know what kind of trouble he will get you into. Swinging free,” Anton says, “you get it? The guy might be a loose end which will wrap itself around a nearby stay. Always difficult to clear him out in the morning when you’re done.”

“Are you like, gay, man?” Ryder asks.

“Queer like a three dollar bill,” Jeremy agrees with a grin.

Jeremy busses a few tables as the kitchen settles down. It is a joyful break from the kitchen that gets him out of the heat and into the company of others. He is still fifteen. There are times he appreciates the safe solitude of Sirocco, set a distance from a demanding world. Patrick and John have not been a simple spill off his skateboard with friends. He finds the scale of Sirocco and the empty horizon or a quiet bay reassuring.

The gregarious (Chillicothe) boy entertaining Shane, Shay and Wade turns inward more, but he is still Jeremy, and Jeremy connects to life on the beach.

Lekker Braai is down the road from where the money attaches itself to Falmouth’s Antigua Yacht Club, English Harbour’s Nelson’s Dockyard, and the best hotels. The district between the harbors is alive with restaurant choices. Lekker Braai and two others down on Matthew’s Road do well enough, particularly with the Falmouth community and the closer marinas. Lekker Braai has made a name for itself, and so has Jeremy, rediscovering-recharging his extroverted self as he moves about the dining rooms.

Claark van der Merwe watches Jeremy as he hums from vacated table to vacated table collecting-cleaning. The boy will hover like an adorable red-breasted sunbird, at a word from a diner. The American boy arouses attention with his twittering song and sparkling plumage. With Hanna and Elsa grown and gone, their grandchildren too far away, Anna likes to mother the untethered boy.

Jeremy comes to them anxiously about some scheduling conflict. He has his chances to crew a charter, it will be eight days. The boy blushes because they all know the charters pay more than the restaurant work. Claark and Anna see the anxiety that always taints Jeremy’s high spirits. A boy should not be living on a sailboat, worrying about earning a living, Anna told Claark.

Watching Jeremy laugh with an older couple off a passing sailboat, Claark knows that the American boy is no more deserving than the legion of unemployed, homeless boys and girls back in South Africa or here in Antigua and Barbuda. Jeremy is a tangerine, full of grace. Claark and Anna agree that they should help Jeremy when they can.

“Come back when you have dropped that off in the kitchen,” Claark tells Jeremy as he passes the bar.

Jeremy takes a moment to sit on the stool beside Claark van der Merwe. His deck shoes are saturated with cooking oil and sadly in need of replacing. He tucks them under his stool and sighs. Take Theo out for dinner, or shop for clothes? Take Theo out to shop for clothes, Jeremy decides. Lekker Braai supplies the red and black T-shirts for the staff, which helps with expenses. Unfortunately, working at Shekerley Boatyard takes its toll on Jeremy’s meager wardrobe.

His boss interrupts Jeremy’s thoughts. “Do you know Christian Cove Resorts?”

“No.”

“It’s over in Willoughby Bay. Anna and I are friends with the owners. They are family oriented. They offer parents a day program, get the kinders uit die pad, keep kids busy, understand?”

“Sure.”

“They are short staff this week and need someone quickly. I mentioned you to them, said you would be good with kids.” Claark eyes Jeremy. When he is out front, the boy pays attention to the young customers.

“So,” Jeremy draws out dubiously, “like daycare?” Claark slides a brochure over to Jeremy, Warblers and Merlins Caper he reads. Children between the ages of five and twelve, “Okay, so no diapers,” Jeremy grins relief at the man. “What would I be doing?” It is an ungrateful question, Jeremy knows. He knows he has to take the gig. “When do they want me?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I am scheduled to work tomorrow,” Jeremy recalls. There is also Mary Rule, just come into port. Jeremy had hoped to spend the day with her.

“That’s not a problem, we can manage.”

“Next week, I’m off for two weeks doing the Man-o”-War Bird charter for Mr. L”heureux,” Jeremy worries out loud.

“Jeremy, you will still have a job here when you get back,” Claark reassures him. “You would just be helping the experienced staff with their program. You can read about it. They build a fort, hunt for treasure on the beach, build a raft, escape from pirates, you help with that. They might need you because I said you could teach sailing from their marina too.”

“I need to use my boat?”

“No, Christian Cove has a range of dinghies, some small catamarans, you can handle those?” Claark asks. Jeremy nods, still reading over the polished pamphlet. “I don’t know how long they will need you. They like to use people who are local.”

“I”m local,” Jeremy points out.

“People who are more local than you,” Claark explains to the white boy, “local color,” he adds. “So, you give my friend a call, maybe right now.”

Shirley Heights Lookout, Antigua

November 6, 2018

Mary Rule and Zion Baptiste are standing at the edge between cement posts looking down at the picture-perfect curves of English Harbour’s shallow waters. Zion points to something toward Falmouth Harbour across the isthmus separating the busy bays. Unbeknownst to the pair, Zion is pointing towards Fourteen Gates. From where Jeremy stands with Theo near the reconstructed guard house, he cannot see his property.

Mary Rule and Theo are the tourists so Zion brought them to this station of the tourist industry cross. The British fort is mostly ruins, and this early in the winter tourist season it is forgotten. Jeremy leans against a wooden fence that circles the historic site’s only color, the reds and yellows of flowers bedded into white gravel. The weathered stonework of Shirley Heights’ buildings reminds Jeremy of the oldest parts of crumbling Fourteen Gates. At one time, all this knit together as a bastion of British çeşme escort Empire. At one time, this dry hilltop was full of uniformed and lonely men.

Mary likes Jeremy’s friends. She has rented a car and explored the island on her own while Jeremy worked. He offered her his old Yamaha Zuma, happy to share it. “Lord love a fool!” Mary responded, “I’ll leave that to you young immortals.” Jeremy on his scooter weaving about Antigua’s pothole-busy lanes (on the wrong side of the road) reminds her too much of Nova Scotia teenagers wrapping cars around icy telephone poles. Today, Mary is treating the teenagers to dinner at Clarence House.

“Who wouldn’t want to dress like Jack Sparrow?” Theo asks enthusiastically. Like Zion Baptiste over by the lookout, Theo is still in his school uniform-not-uniform. Whatever line the school tries to draw, Theo walks it with flair. Jeremy has reached the stage where touching is important. At the moment, he would like Theo to step towards him and slip a palm behind his neck, demand a kiss. Just a tilt taller, Jeremy can relax back into the hand and meet the warm lips. His thigh can slide between Theo’s long legs and press a little into the softened hardness.

“Me, for one,” Jeremy pivots into the conversation again. Mary Rule does not know about Fourteen Gates, and Jeremy has not told his Antiguan friends. The Levi-legacy is unresolved in his mind, and worse, it raises questions about Fourteen than Jeremy does not want to answer. It is an agony that his parents know all too uncomfortably. The old man left our kid property on an island — for what? Supper conversation in the Gates house Jeremy would rather not hear about.

“The regular staff had to be the good guys; well, they did know how to organize the kids. I didn’t have a clue, not the first day, at any rate. Anyway, they decided, since I knew how to sail, and did not know the whole program, that I was to take a resort dinghy, run up the pirate flag, and come ashore for a game of hide and seek.”

“My poor boy,” Theo replies with insincerity, “There you are, dressed like Johnny Depp, acting like a drunken Boomer rocker.”

“Yeah, well the kids were calling me Jack, but I wanted to tell you about this kid at the Christian Cove Resort. He must have been eleven. Total madon that his parents dumped him in this program.”

“That bad?” Theo cannot sympathize. His mother works in a Jamaican resort, and what can you say about the tourists? Theo’s father Rolando Solis took him to Orlando with the stepsisters. That, and his voyage on High Grade with the Norrell’s, was the only time he saw what the 10% experienced.

“I thought it was pretty cool. They shipwreck these little kids on the beach, basically have a scavenger hunt finding food, learning some ecology, then they have to put the parts of a raft together. So I was telling you about Marvin.”

“Oh dear, Marvin?”

Jeremy holds an L up to his forehead. “This kid was spoiling the day before they left the resort marina. So they dumped him on me; told me he was going to be another pirate. They gave me a radio and told me to hang around in the bay until I got the word.

“Marvin really got into the pirate costumes, totally turned him around.”

“Of course, honey,” Theo flashes a smile, “the dress is so important.”

“I kept him busy with one of the catamarans they use to teach people sailing. I sort of lied to Claark. I’ve never sailed one, so I was curious about it. Very stable, easy to move around. I can see why Anton doesn’t like them, though. Sailing upwind and tacking was frustrating. I liked the speed on a run or broad reach.”

“Yes, sailing,” Theo patiently sighs, “Jack Sparrow?”

“I let the kid be Jack. We beached the cat with the Jolly Roger flying and started playing hide and seek with the kids on the beach. They had buried this treasure chest in the sand, swag bags for the kids. We were supposed to go back for it. That gave the kids and their babysitters time to launch their raft and escape the dangerous pirates.”

“It sounds like you had fun. Are you going back?”

“Till Friday,” Jeremy replies. “Claark and Anna are pretty good about it, but tomorrow I think I’ll go in as soon as I can. Kenroy doesn’t seem to care whether I come or go at the boatyard. Geo will be happy I’m away, anyway.”

“Fuck that Rasta, Jeremy.” This is sort of cold. Jeremy glances at his friend. Theo notices Jeremy’s concern, “Oh Fergus, don’t mind me. Sorry. I get nervous. I got this blood condition.” The line is delivered reflexively. “Wish they’d put the Christ back in Christian,” he adds. Just to keep the peace at home, Theo goes to church with his aunt and cousins. Some day, he will wear his best dress, fuck you very much.

Theo takes a glance around and then gives Jeremy a peck on the cheek. He moves off to join the ladies by the view. Jeremy’s heart flutters at the touch. Theo’s casual reference to religion reminds Jeremy of Geo still being stubbornly annoying. Geo looks for weaknesses and Jeremy’s legendary suffering of fools is wearing thin. Theo’s and Jeremy’s relationship is a favorite topic now.

His life is pretty much on track, if George Thomas is the biggest thing he can think of to worry about. Like Sophie Wright in San Diego, Jeremy gets to chill with Theo on Anton’s beautiful ketch. The pieces are falling into place nicely, and not by accident. Kenroy likes his work, recommending him to Claark and Anna, who in their turn open a door to a gig at Christian Cove. Emancipation looks like this, Jeremy tells himself.

Build a good name. Do good work and protect your own work, Jeremy’s dad advised him. Jeremy does his best, and his dad’s conviction seems to hold true. He has not touched the money in his Chillicothe Credit Union account. Another month or two, and he might finish paying back the $400 he borrowed from Anton’s emergency stash. Shirley Heights does not command the view that Mount Obama does, but Jeremy is on top of the world.

Jeremy’s phone chimes. It could be his parents or pregnant Sophie, Shekerley and Lekker Braai never message.

🟤

Fourteen, darling boy, need to have a chat. I’m huddled here away from the cold all night with nothing but Daniel to keep my toes warm, while you work on your tan. Face to face, so we can be serious, unclothing optional.

🔴

KK, message you when I’m ready.

Jeremy talks with Anton Schroeder every week, just so the man knows Sirocco is in one piece. Tonight, Jeremy will tell Anton and Daniel about Theo. Too bad Theo has school tomorrow, Jeremy watches his (boy)friend chatting with Mary and Zion. Theo has a dancer’s grace and strength. Well, you have work to do too, Jeremy tells himself.

The phone slips back in his pocket. Theo is good for him, he feels it. All his friends are good for him. Theo still sings at Chandler’s Caribbean Cafe and the parties on the yachts, Jeremy cannot compete with them, and Theo has no expectations. (Fucking) Cordell was happy to pocket Jeremy’s money, Theo understands how hard Jeremy has to work.

He follows Theo to the harbor view and joins the conversation. Before the three go to Mary’s rented car, and Jeremy retrieves his scooter, he touches Mary’s shoulder, holding her back. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it, Jem?”

“We will pass the turnoff to Antigua Slipway on our way to Clarence House. Do you see the Lieutenant Governor’s Residence? The spit of land where Antigua Slipway lies across from Nelson’s Dockyard? Just off the road nearby, that group of four buildings in a square?”

“Yes, it looks like a school,” Mary nods, “What about it?”

“I told you about it. That’s Fourteen Gates.”

Three days, all he can do is give me three days? Jeremy is stunned by Anton’s breezy news that the ketch is being taken away from him. His reaction is a solid wall of silence. Jeremy’s face is the Pillars of Hercules and Anton’s hyper-cheer breaks futilely against it. At some level, Jeremy understood Sirocco would not always be there for him, but Anton’s ketch remained the foundation of his plans. Really, the sailboat was the only thing that made emancipation work.

Part-time work at Lekker Braai, Shekerley, and the gig work like the kids’ program keeps Jeremy fed and clothed, but only because Anton’s boat is there. Jeremy tells himself boat sitting is another job, perhaps his main job. Well, now he lost it. God damn his trusting soul! How many times are you going to be surprised when men fuck you over? Jeremy’s face conveys none of this to Anton.

“Okay,” a flat acknowledgement.

Jeremy just blinks as Anton shifts the conversation to Daniel Ayers’ work and the trivialities of the men’s new life together. It is not fair to blame Anton.  It is always Jeremy who thinks a familiar now will never change. This is Fourteen imagining life in Hershey, Pennsylvania with his abductors. Fourteen travelling endlessly west, Far East with Levi Fisher. Pretty Boy deluding himself that (fucking) Cordell would come back to Chillicothe with him.

Stupid, stupid! Jeremy even told Daniel on the slopes of Cosigüina Volcano that it was inevitable that Anton would beach him — or he would go his own way, as he nearly did with Zachary Jain. Jeremy was so prepared back then, because in whatever now it was, he did not have to face after. I had it all worked out! he complains bitterly to himself.

Anton stops his deflection and the false effervescence. He has stunned the boy with his decision. The transfer could be easily delayed, but the supply skipper is available, and Fourteen’s nonsense ought to end. Anton might have sailed for Britain on a young man’s boat, Anton skipped off so many times, but you go home, go back to boarding school (till next time). Fourteen had a home to go to, so why not now? Anton did not share Daniel’s inclination to keep underage (statutory-raped) Fourteen half a world (safely) away. Fourteen’s age never had much impact on Anton, and he is convinced it has none on his young friend. Anyway, if you count the years between, it only depresses!

“There is a place for you on the crew. You are welcome to stay on my boat in Maui. I won’t be there all the time, of course. I’d appreciate your watching her like you’re doing now. While Daniel is wrapped up in work, I could show you the islands. I can help you find work in Hawaii if you like.” Anton pauses. “You can always use the plane ticket.”

None of this gets any reaction from Fourteen. Anton might be looking at a photograph if it was not for the blinking eyes. “Well, you have some time to think about it.”

Three days, Jeremy echoes.

“Thanks, Anton,” Jeremy breaks his silence. “Thanks for letting me stay on your boat. Hawaii sounds really sick. I’m good. It’s okay. Sirocco will be ready for you.”

“Well, if I knew you were bringing her out to me, I’d be certain everything was ship shape. Fourteen, Hawaii would be closer to home. You should go home.”

“I’m doing fine here.”

“Antigua is not your home.”

“It will be.”

Jeremy stands staring at a very battered rowboat with a peach waterline. V.T.F., that is all he can make out of the name. Vintkey? No, it is Whitney 2B78SH. The shifting tides have dropped the rowboat’s line into the water and brought them up trailing seaweed. It is like the familiar experiment of growing sugar crystals on a string. The line, the hull, Jeremy Gates, everything wants to cling to these marina boats.

Beyond the marina, seaward, the coast gives way to a rocky shoreline and Shekerley Mountain. Kenroy Jean-Baptiste’s dockyard enterprise has grown beside an old quay. A massive rusting iron capstan suggests that once large merchants moored at this end of Falmouth Harbour. Perhaps flat-bottomed barges, the bottom is shallow this close to the beach. Jeremy distracts himself by standing on the ruinous, sulfur-yellow concrete cap along the quay. He leans over the edge to examine the vertical wall. Square black timber dissolving in the wash of waves.

“What are you doing, Fourteen? Come to bother me?”

Jeremy turns to see George Thomas silhouetted by the light of a bare bulb. The taunt is rich coming from the Barbuda fisherman. A day at Shekerley Boatyard is not complete without Geo’s cigarette-draped lip directed at Jeremy’s expense. Here is someone who will be glad to see Sirocco gone. The line of unused shipping containers provide a backdrop. A second story has begun at one end. The containers remind Jeremy of the empty shed behind Lekker Braai.

“Didn’t know you were about still,” Jeremy replies.

“Just here to snoop around my business?” Geo dismisses Jeremy, but despite the inexplicable animosity, the young man stands before the open container sharing the tropical night.

“What are you doing here?” Jeremy’s curiosity overcomes the need to be alone with his burden. Geo mumbles something and turns back to the light. Jeremy crosses over the ground without an invitation to see for himself.

It is the Antiguan metalworker’s workshop, but Jeremy can see some domestic touches. Geo has a hot plate and an icebox lifted from the dockyard’s pile of discards. There are old cushions that might be a place to sit, or a bed. “Are you sleeping here?”

“What is it to you?” Geo growls. The American boy is not welcome. “It is a long way back to St. John’s,” he reluctantly admits, “Sometimes, I just stay.” The Thomas family is squished into a small apartment. Monica does not have room for Geo. The shipping container at Shekerley Boatyard offers peace and quiet.

“No,” Jeremy nods his head, “that makes good sense.” He wonders where George Thomas lives about the island. “You said Kenroy was crazy to think people would want to stay in a shipping container.” Jeremy places a palm on the naked metal. It still radiates the heat of the tropical day.

“Sal up during the day, for sure,” Geo agrees. This is his handiwork, so he doesn’t mind showing it off just a little. “I’m cutting windows and doors in the boxes.”

“Not here?” Jeremy looks around the one they are standing in.

“Jean-Baptiste doesn’t know what he wants. These containers on the bottom are going to be something, who knows?” Geo waves above their heads. “He has it in his head that the ones on top are fancy hotel rooms. Open up some windows, he tells me, put doors in the back,” Geo shakes his head. “His money, so I cut the metal.”

The cost of steel to build stairs and walkways makes George Thomas shake his head. Kenroy Jean-Baptiste talks about craning everything into position every other day, but as far as Geo can tell, it is never going to happen.

“You could set up a tent,” Jeremy ponders. Anton’s news has him desperate for alternatives to going home to Chillicothe, or sailing to Hawaii.

“The box is here, I can lock the doors, more space,” Geo explains.

“It works, doesn’t it?” Jeremy asks Geo.

“My father is back home living under tarps until the Chinese get the roof back on. He is trying to patch the side of our pirogue.” Geo shares.

“Boats are expensive,” Jeremy observes, thinking about Anton’s ketch.

“Another fishing boat will cost two hundred thousand dollars,” Geo responds. The frustration is clear. “Dad has to try and patch ours up.”

George Thomas is using East Caribbean dollars. Jeremy thinks that works out to about $80,000 US. How could it be so much? Anton’s ketch is half a million, but Mary Rule’s Dufour 29 is far less than that. Given his current dilemma, Jeremy feels sympathy for George Thomas and his family. “A man needs a boat, eh?” he replies.

“A fisherman needs a boat,” Geo corrects him.

Jeremy thinks about the empty shipping container at Lekker Braai or the ones George Thomas is carving up here at Shekerley Boatyard. He walks back to where Anton’s Zodiac is moored. Could he stay with Theo in the shed behind his aunt’s house? He has to find a way out of this. How long would it take to sail to Hawaii? Jeremy has to think about this possibility. As much as he does not want to be Anton’s vacation-Fourteen, it is another distraction-adventure, another way to delay the consequences of his determination not to just go home to Chillicothe.

Hawaii is not an option. Jeremy procrastinates his new problem into the three-day after. I’ve time to work this out, he decides. He has till Friday and he is not even sure Sirocco will be moved immediately. Monday following, Jeremy is on the Man-o’-War Bird charter for the rest of November, well, till the 25th anyway, Jeremy calculates. Emil L’heureux might let him berth earlier, might let him stay later. I’ve time to work this out.

Yet, now, Jeremy finds himself packing his nine months of life on Anton’s ketch. How sadly simple that is. The bike bag from the thrift store in San Diego will not do anymore. Schoolboy things can fit in there; his tablet and the project material he is working on with Rita Clement. He knows Sirocco’s every cranny. An empty sail bag can hold the rest. He sets everything on the pilot berth.

There is Anton’s emergency money in the desk drawer. He was so close to paying it back! Ryder Herumtreiber told him he paid $30 a night at the hostel in English Harbour. Jeremy’s money was not going to last long if he had to do that. It is resentment that prompts Jeremy to take the money and shove it into his bike bag pocket where he keeps his passport. Just for emergencies, he promises.  

Jeremy is propping the small guitar against the duffle bag. The strings sound lightly as his palm compresses them against the neck. It is an cim cif yapan escort invitation. Jeremy sits on the berth and starts a piece. He will bring the guitar with him on the charter.  Emil L’heureux, skipper of the 60-foot Gulf Star, will stock the galley for him. He has his sources and he knows the client’s American preferences. Children on board, lots of basic foods, Emil told Jeremy.

“There”s a lady who”s sure all that glitters is gold ♪♫♬

And she”s buying a stairway to heaven

♪♫♬ When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed ♪♫♬

With a word she can — “

Jeremy stops there and surveys the galley and salon. What stores will they need for passage to Panama? Eight or nine days if things go well, the new skipper will have to stock up. Jeremy has not emptied the diesel tanks with his shifting between dock and mooring ball, but the water will be low. Sirocco will have to go back to a slip at the marina. I’ll talk to Kenroy in the morning ….

“♪♫♬ With a word she can get what she came for ♪♫♬

Ooh, ooh, and she”s buying a stairway to heaven, ♪♫♬”

Jeremy stops again. This is not his problem. He has kept Anton’s ketch in good shape. He even tried his hand at scuba diving under the hull to scrape the growth free. Anton’s new crew will buy what they need. Jeremy’s time living on Sirocco is ending. The realization leaves an aching emptiness in his gut. Now, he wants to reach for his phone and call home, ask advice, get some reassurance from his mom and dad. He really does not have everything in control.

George Thomas is not thinking about his conversation with the kid, Fourteen. Mona is working at the casino in St. John’s, otherwise, he would take the late bus or catch a lift back into the city. The apartment with his family is too crowded. The shipping container suits him for a night every now and then. The sounds of outboard motors always fill the night in Falmouth Harbour. Geo can even hear the heavy sounds of diesel starting up. Some rich boat slipping out or simply circling the bay to entertain the late night revels. Jeremy’s return surprises Geo.

“You want a drink?” Jeremy holds up a bottle of vodka. A heavy shopping bag dangles from his other hand. Geo puts his phone down. “I brought you a present.”

“It looks like you have already started.”

“Not at all,” Jeremy replies soberly, “we’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?” Geo asks from the cushion bed he pushed together.

“Well,” Jeremy hands him the unopened bottle of vodka, “maybe you prefer tequila? I’m sort of off the stuff myself.” He looks into the bag and fishes another bottle out. He hands it to Geo, then goes back into the bag for a particularly fine bottle of rum for himself. “Here, take the rest of this; not leaving it for the pirate bastards. Anton can buy more in Hawaii, all he wants!”

“You’re giving all this to me?” Geo asks.

“Sure, better you than them. Boat’s going, poof!” Jeremy jazz hands with his free hand. He has not been drinking, does not feel like getting drunk with Geo. He just does not want to call his parents, call Theo, radio Mary, think about what is going to happen after. Jeremy just does not want to be alone right now. He points at Geo. “Not much for me to celebrate, but you should celebrate.”

“You’re not going to get me drunk and put your evil sodomy on me batty boy.” Geo picks the vodka and breaks the seal.

Jeremy takes a sip of rum to be sociable. “Get over yourself, Geo.”

“My girlfriend calls me Geo. You’re not my girlfriend.”

“I’m not Fourteen, so we are even.”

“What does your girlfriend call you?” Geo asks.

“Jimmy, Fergus, Jeremy,” Jeremy counts the alternatives out, “not Fourteen.” He takes a second sip. “Not here to fuck around, not in the mood. You’re straight, I’m queer. You’re on the stairway to heaven, I’m going bat out of hell the other way, get over it, nuff said.”

“Why are you in a mood tonight, white boy?”

“I’m beached!” Jeremy drops onto the bed beside Geo. “Gonna live in a tin can like you, maybe. I lost my boat! That should make you happy!”

Geo takes a pull from the vodka bottle and puts the cap back on. “A man loses his boat, it’s never a time to celebrate.”

“Fix your pirogue, George. You’re a miserable bastard without it.”

“When are you going?” Geo asks Jeremy.

“I’m not going, gonna stick it out (somehow),” Jeremy sighs, not wanting to drown his sorrows in Anton’s rum. He has to go back to Christian Cove in the morning, teach some kids to sail dinghies probably. He should go to bed, but he stays beside George Thomas.

“That sailboat is very pretty, not a working boat, but then it wasn’t meant to be,” Geo offers an olive branch. “My dad’s boat,” Geo stops.

“Tell me about fishing,” Jeremy prompts.

Lekker Braai, Falmouth

November 9, 2018

Mary Rule was settled into the flow of life without Kate. She never could sit still. You could not teach school if busy bothered you. Sailing kept a body busy too. Here, there were things to see, new people to meet. The Antiguan LGBTQ community that Jeremy introduced her to by way of his police friend Branko. Count on my fairy Puck to charm his way into the fey crowd, Mary smiles to herself.

They kept their own routines, Mary the visitor, and Jeremy finding his way on Antigua. She let Jeremy come to her, always with her door open. The boys come to the classroom door, shy like the wild things they are. A person does not push too hard, it is not what they want. She tried to keep up with his messaging, respond to the pictures and emojis that were so much like dealing with the chatter of the loquacious toddler she never had. The adolescent stream of consciousness was so regular that it took a few days for Mary to notice what was happening to Anton Schroeder’s ketch.

There was a party one night after Jeremy gave up the mooring ball and took a slip in the marina. The perilously open Theo was there with cautious-closet Zion Baptiste and two other teenagers. Mary decided Theo stayed the night, because the effervescence of the Jamaican boy was on Sirocco’s deck early the next morning in an embroidered silk kimono sipping coffee.

Later that day, Jeremy insisted Mary join him for dinner. The boy had whisked every incidental out of the Super Maramu 2000’s spacious salon for the occasion. She was reminded of how clean and economical he always seemed. Caviar and smoked salmon on pilot bread crackers with a crisp white wine. “Anton would tell you this Burgundy has gone bad,” Jeremy assured her. “Manic temperature shifts, constant vibrations, the unavoidable aspects of cruising,” Jeremy poured more for himself. The evening recalled the Pearl Islands and their comfortable two weeks together. Mary was glad she had come.

Nothing seems amiss until next morning when Mary notices Jeremy welcoming three men on board. She watches from Gravity, still anchored by the mooring ball she expects Jeremy to return to. Fourteen with men, the troubling thought comes unwelcome to Mary. More men, and him so addled by his hormones, so ready to be a man, she shakes her head. Jeremy has told her about his determination to be emancipated. She is not convinced this is best for him.

He thinks he is ready, or he is convinced he must make himself read. Perhaps he is, Kate. Mary has known many boys to men during her years teaching. The range of adolescent heights is nothing compared to the way some boys mature before the others. Lord knows some men never find their way out of childhood! Sometimes, looking at Jeremy was like studying the sepia-aged image of a pit-pony boy beside a Cape Breton coal mine. Just a smudge-faced urchin determined to do a man’s job. You know this nineteenth-century child pulled his weight, but you cannot believe it did not break him.

As Mary watches, Jeremy leaves the sailboat for his black scooter. This summarizes the situation in Mary’s mind: a kid too young for a license, deflecting authority with his pixie grin, driving on life’s rough roads while playing chicken with adult men he’d best avoid. She liked Jeremy’s consorting with his teen friends all the better for that.

Jeremy is leaving with a heavy bag of laundry on his back. The boy said the night before that today was make and mend till he went to the restaurant. The laundry makes sense, but not the three men moving over Anton’s ketch. “Could just drive over there and ask,” Mary tells herself.

Lekker Braai was Friday-night packed at 8:00 pm when Mary Rule arrived to talk with Jeremy. The tables under the yellow and white umbrellas were mostly full. A woman balancing a wooden board with barbecue ribs and an equal serving of vegetable medley paused to tell her she needed a reservation.

“I’m just looking for Jeremy, did he come in today?”

“He’s in the kitchen.”

Jeremy was plating Lekker Braai’s Pap ’n Wors ‘n Sous: farmer’s sausage, cornmeal, with a tomato-wine sauce. He glanced at the kitchen door and smiled at Mary. “Got you message,” he assured her.

Damn Anton anyway! “Can you get a break to talk?” she asked him.

“Totally crushed, Mary,” Jeremy fended her off. He would rather stay as busy as he could until he reported to Emil L’heureux in St. John’s after the weekend. Mary Rule wanted to talk, that is clear. He was pretty sure why. She would not be put off. “Maybe out back? I need a few minutes,” he apologized to her with a wave at a row of plates.

There was a picnic table in the back. It was like the ones out front, bright yellow and blue. It was just a spare left by the kitchen, just for breaks. Mary sat at a matching bench. Well you can’t put this on Anton Schroeder, Mary reasons. The man had every right to have his sailboat close at hand. She really did wish him well with Daniel, but what it does to Jeremy!

It left Jeremy in a mess. It left Mary Rule in a panic that hardly explained itself. This needs setting to rights, she nods to herself. Mary knows the stubbornness of the boy, and also the charm of his open mind. There has been more than enough time to think the problem through while she waits for Jeremy to come back to the boatyard. He has to leave with her.

He has his plans. It’s a shame, Mary feels. She likes Antigua. The men and women Branko has introduced to her are circumspect about their private lives. Canadian as she is, Mary thinks the world has to move on from such intolerance as it mostly has at home. Antigua’s closet reality reminds her of her past, perhaps because she grew up this way, Mary manages it. Mary is skilled at negotiating closet doors, recognizes signs of change. What little she has seen of the young people in Jeremy’s expanding circle, things will unfold as they had for her and Kate. Thoughts of Kate remind her of the Jamaican boy who has eyes for Jeremy.

“Sorry,” Jeremy grins when he joins her. “It’s just I’m going to be away for two weeks and Claark and Anna are being so helpful to me. You’re worried about the boat, aren’t you?” Jeremy makes no apologies for surprising her.

“I’m worried about what you are going to do. Before you say anything, I think you have done well. If I were you, I would be proud. Your parents should be proud. For what it is worth, I’m very proud of you,” she finishes awkwardly.

It matters quite a lot. Mary Rule has been a witness to his life, and her opinion validates his conduct.

“You needed this time, Jeremy,” sometimes you punctuate with a name to underscore the importance of your words. Jeremy is listening with trusting eyes. It never fails to move Mary.

Teachers lecture on civics and ethics endlessly. Most of the time, the predictable words come out without much hesitation. Schools are there to mitigate-mold the Lord of the Flies reality of young people’s first forays into independence. It is all about reaching mastery and independence while still belonging, and always responding to the soul-nurturing generosity that Mary Rule is certain resides in us all.

The words come predictably, the curriculum well-established in her teacher mind. It was Jerem’s response she was looking for. Her thoughts on necessary signals, what is the child’s body language, the real mirror of the listener’s soul? He sits forward attentively, hands open to accept, and face listening. Mary recognizes rejection and reserve, skepticism. Jeremy is tense, because his circumstances are always precarious, but he is willing to listen to her.

“I understand this, because after Kate died I needed time away. Sailing to Alaska, I needed that time to get away from the hurt.” Everything about Halifax and Dartmouth was a constant ache.”

“I understand,” he nods.

“I can’t say why, but after riding out the storm in Mobile, I felt that ache drop away. I missed my home, and I realize I have been running to nowhere with Kate still somewhere by my side. I’ve decided I have to take Kate home.”

Mary looks away. Kate would want to be near dogs and all the love they shared together. Mary needed to be there too, walking the path around the lake, greeting the damn strays. There had been cardiac events to remind her she was not invincible. In any event, she was a Maritimer and the North Atlantic called to her.

She looks back at the boy. “I’ll stay here a while, my young Puck. November gales have come and I’m in no hurry to meet them. Then I’m turning Gravity north to catch the Gulf Stream, probably take the coastal waters. Jeremy, if you have changed your mind about staying, what with Anton’s boat going, you could go home too.”

Jeremy starts to speak at this. Mary stops him with a hand. “You can come with me. No rush, we can take our time. There are islands to see. I’d take you into Chesapeake Bay, or New York harbor if you like. Your folks could meet us there, then, it’s home if you want to, boyo.”

It feels like such a peaceful solution to Mary. She could sail into Halifax comforted by the knowledge that this unexpected child at her classroom door was finally safe.

Jeremy thinks before he speaks. He cannot fault Mary for the doubt she sows. Mary has some sense of what he has been feeling, he has told her his wretched story, but it seems it is not enough. “Everyone tells me to go home,” he finally replies.

“Sailing away with you is tempting,” he grins. “I’m not sure what Kenroy thinks, but Claark and Anna have been super cool about my crewing charters. The money is good, and they know I love to sail. But it would be fun to sail with you again.

“Mary, I could get home anytime I wanted to. San Diego, those guys Patrick and John, well, they’re not part of it any more.”

“Yes,” Mary remembers Jeremy’s relief. His learning that he had not been the only boy. The need to end the guilt he felt that he had not done anything to stop the men, but also the continuing confusion in his mind about the steady one, John Cannon. Finally, freedom from the anxiety that the young man, Cordell, might betray him.

“Anton left me an open ticket to fly home, first class,” Jeremy grins again.

“Of course,” Mary smiles. Just talking with Jeremy dispels the panic that sent her off to interrupt Jeremy’s work.

“I’ve my own money for a flight. You know my mom and dad would put me on a plane in hours. You know that’s not the problem.”

Mary lets that rest between them. Since she met Jeremy, she understood he was his own master. Whatever doubts the boy might have, and he has raised many, he was determined to be independent, more so now than ever. Jeremy left his supports behind, or kept them at arm”s length.

“Anton invited me to work for him in Hawaii — that’s where they are taking Sirocco,” Jeremy pauses.

“Yes, the supply captain told me that. He didn’t mention you might go.”

“Man, the times mom and dad talked about going there,” Jeremy shakes his head. “I just have to work out a new place to stay, that’s all.”

“You’re thinking of Fourteen Gates.”

“Not there,” Jeremy interrupts, “I really have nothing to do with that right now. I’ll work out something.” His eyes drift over to the small shipping container between Lekker Braai and the van der Merwes’ bungalow. Windows, some sort of roof, his thoughts drift.

“You’re welcome to stay with me on Gravity.”

“Theo said I could stay over. I left my things there till I get back from this cruise.” Anton has blindsided Jeremy. Theo is just a possibility. “When I get back, I’ll stay with him until I find a place to stay.” The thought comes out to reassure himself.

Mary places her hand over Jeremy’s and presses it, then she stands up. She needed to remember what Jeremy had told her as they explored Reserva Hidrológica Filo del Tallo in Panama together. I want to be a man. Not just one people rely on or look up to, but one who is self-reliant and has pride in himself.

She wants to tell him he always had that, had never lost it, even when the evilness of those men tried to strip it from him. Good riddance to the four of you, she adds. She wants to tell him he would have it back in Chillicothe with his family and old friends wrapped around him. She won’t. Mary came to Jeremy’s door tonight, needing reassurance, wanting to help. Jeremy is still intent on Antigua.

“Sailing north, it’s just a thought,” Mary apologizes, “I talk too much.”

“It’s a good thought,” Jeremy assures her, “and you don’t. You won’t vanish on me while I’m gone?”

“No chance of that, fairy boy,” she says this soft and firmly.

Brief, Anonymous Survey:

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