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    CLJobe
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

the Scuffy - 8. Chapter 8

Our mornings became routine. Our weeks became routine, Monday being the exception.

Wednesday and Thursday, we shopped for the boat. At lunch, we asked Stella to prepare five corned beef and five pastrami sandwiches. We already decided on microwave muffins for breakfast. We also took extra eggs, bread, and frozen sausages. Glen wanted turkey sausages. Without Glen noticing, I picked up two boxes of vegetarian sausages.

Friday, I took the ice chest with us when we went to work. Stella had our sandwiches ready. I placed the sandwiches in the ice chest, stopped and bought ice at a local gas station, hoping the sandwiches would be okay.

When we got home, Nicky was sitting on the porch steps. As soon as we got out of the car, he ran over to hug us. While Glen opened the house, I drove the car in the garage. I filled one chest with the food we bought, added ice to keep it cold. The other ice chest I had I filled with ice. I made a mental note to get more ice. Just as I closed the trunk, Nicky was on me.

“Kev, can I have a party here?” I looked at Glen. He was laughing.

“Nicky, if you think the garage is big enough and you clean it, I guess you can have a party here.”

Nicky’s face fell for a second, “Not here, but downstairs.”

“Did you read the sign on the door?”

“No”

“Go read it.”

Glen went with him, returning, “When did you put that sign up?”

“I didn’t. My dad posted that sign when I was fourteen. I wanted to have a party. He posted the sign.”

“Did you have a lot of parties?”

“No, Nicky, I didn’t have a birthday party till I was sixteen. Then I had no friends. You also need to know it was just a room then. I added the bar with the beer, the popcorn machine, and the movie theater.”

“So, can I have a party?”

“When would you want to have it? You’ll be working the boat on weekends.”

“I could have it on Thursday.”

“Don’t you have school Friday?”

“Yes, but we can have a party from six to eleven.”

“No, maybe from seven to eleven, Glen and I don’t get home from work till seven.” I knew if they watched a film, it would take about two hours. “Why don’t you invite your friends over to watch a movie? I have some very current director’s copies.”

“Yea, that would be cool.”

“Remember the rules. I’m very strict on following the rules.”

“Nicky, why are you wearing those old tennis shoes? You’ll slip and end up swimming with the fishes. Here, wear these.” I gave him the boat shoes I had bought.

“Thanks, Kev”

“You need to thank someone else too.”

He did with a hug. I drove the car to the dock. We unloaded the car, then I drove it back to the house and walked to the dock. As I got close to the dock, I heard Ron, “Captain, permission to board.” I knew the answer.

“Aye, welcome aboard you landlubber” I could hear uncle laughing.

I approached the boat as the last of the food we bought was being carried on board. I had a special gift for the Captain. Uncle was a lonely man, and like most lonely captains, they spent their time at the Wharf, a bar that served food as well as tumbles of beer. I always made sure I was on the boat when we went to sea.

Food loaded, the fridge full, cupboard full, I plotted our course. “We had good luck here last week, so let’s try it again.” Captain agreed, and we were off.

Nicky stood right behind me as I steered the boat away from the dock. Then the questions followed, what is this, what’s that, how do you steer, what happens when you turn the wheel, etc. I remember asking my uncle the same questions when I was fourteen. My dad and uncle laughed at all of my questions, but they always gave me an answer. When we were at the dock, I was allowed the run of the boat. I found nooks and crannies uncle didn’t even know. Now, almost fourteen years later, I know every sound and creak the boat makes.

“Nicky, see this gauge, the pointer indicates the direction the boat is going. If the needle moves left, very slowly turn this wheel to the right.”

“And if the needle moves right, move the wheel to the left.”

“Yes, the wheel is yours. Uncle, I have some clean sheets for you.” There was also a bottle of whiskey tucked in those sheets.

Both Glen and I kept our eyes on Nicky. He was doing a great job. I smiled at Glen, and he smiled back. “Ron, when you get a chance, show Nicky to your cabin.”

“Nicky, let me take over, you did a great job. Maybe I’ll let you steer us home.”

I stopped the engine and switched to batteries for lights. Nicky stood by me the whole time. “Come with me, and we’ll drop the anchor.” Walking to the stern, “You enjoyed steering the boat?”

“Yes, I appreciate you letting me do that.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do for a brother-in-law.” I watched as a confused look turned into a smile. I got a soft punch in the arm. I showed him how to drop the anchor, “Now we get to work.” As we made our way forward, I saw Ron and Glen getting ready to drop the port net. “Come, we need to drop the starboard net, and then we can eat.”

I heated the frozen dinners, passing them out. I went to the stern to sit. There was a bench against the Captain’s cabin, and I could sit while I ate. Soon Glen joined me, and then Ron and Nicky came.

“Well, guys, we better hit the sack. Tomorrow is going to come very early.”

“Do you think Nicky will make it at four am?”

 

Copyright © 2020 CLJobe; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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