He had not been unhappy. His childhood memories were good, filled with camping and sailing and snowball fights. Like all young men, he had struggled with living in his father's shadow, and Jack Faulkner was, in many ways, a bigger than life character. He was a gregarious man, the kind of fellow that everyone considered their friend. He had taken the business that had been left to him by his father and turned it from a quiet boat landing into a beehive of activity, opening the carry out diner, renting space in the parking area for shrimpers and lobstermen to sell their catch from the back of their trucks, turning it into a Christmas tree lot every December.
Hannah, Alvin's mother, was a perfect compliment to Jack, as quiet and resolute as he was bold and impulsive. She came from a long line of strong farm women, and possessed many of the their qualities. Together, she and Jack raised three children; Diana, the oldest, Alvin, and Tim, the youngest. Diana was very much in her mother's mold, and Tim in his father's, but Alvin seemed to combine the qualities of both in equal measures. When he set his mind to something, he achieved his goals. But he lost interest quickly as well, always moving on to the next thing that caught his eye. He had been the starting shortstop on the junior varsity team, but never tried out for the varsity, because he was more interested in spending his time on the water or in the woods than on the diamond. He did well in his classes, but never found an area of study that held his interest long.
As he matured, he was popular with girls. He had dated quite a few while he was in high school. Terri Arsenault was the first, and they remained good friends after they lost romantic interest in each other. Then came Jodie Larrabee and Sherri Moody and Caitlin Littlefield. Alvin had entered each relationship sincerely, but each faded in turn. He blamed it on his restlessness. He could not see himself living forever in his home town, with a home town girl. He read Herman Melville and Jack London and Joseph Conrad, and he saw himself in the mold of their heroes, sailing the world.
Two weeks after he graduated from high school, he signed on to crew the schooner Doris, on a slow cruise to Key West.
His mother was furious, and refused to even speak to him as he prepared for his voyage. On the morning he set sail, only his father was there to see him off. Alvin was eager to board, but his father took him by the arm and led him away from the gangplank. The two of them walked to the end of the public landing. Jack Faulkner leaned on the rail, looking off down the harbor. After a moment his son joined him.
"How long do you think Mom is going to stay mad?" Alvin asked.
Jack shrugged. "She isn't so mad anymore. More exasperated, I'd say. But she knows young men wander. It will be alright by and by."
They watched the gulls swooping over the water. "Listen son, I want to say one thing to you before you go."
Alvin nodded, and listened.
"It's not my belief that boys just grow into men. I've known many a boy who never did. Nope. I think that there comes a time, one key moment in time, when the boy makes the decision that he will become a man. And once he does, just by making that call, he takes on being a man."
"I did decide..."
"No," his father cut him off, "Deciding to go for a sail doesn't make you a man."
Alvin flushed. Jack put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Now, don't go and get agitated, it's not an insult. The time will come, this just isn't it."
He patted the side of Alvin's face, then took him into his arms and hugged him.
"Time to get aboard, I suppose," he said as he broke away. He walked his son to the boat and watched him board.
Alvin looked back at Jack and waved, then disappeared below decks to stow his gear. When he returned, his father was gone.
The Moneta caught a good wind and made it's way down the coast. All day, Alvin's thoughts kept returning to that morning, and saying goodbye to his father. He wished that he could talk to him again, to ask him if he approved of the man his son had decided to become.
As the sky darkened, he found a sheltered spot among the islands of Casco Bay, and dropped anchor for the night. He fixed himself a simple supper and sat on deck to eat it. In the distance, he could see the sweep of the Portland Head Light. He took out his phone and checked to see if he had service. He did, and he considered calling Mary, but he decided that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He had the sense that his long settled life was about to be upended, and it made him reflective.
He remembered crewing the Doris through these very waters, heading into Portland. The ship's owner had made a fortune in retail properties, building strip malls all over New England. Now he was enjoying the fruits of his labor by partying, up and down the coat, with a few select friends and their carefully selected younger wives and girlfriends. The six man crew was under strict orders against any fraternization with the passengers. Alvin was busy with his duties anyway, and while he had worked around any number of wealthy people who used his family's wharf, he had no idea how to talk to them.
After Portland, they had cruised down to Cape Cod, and Newport, as he was doing now. Then they moved on, through Long Island Sound, and Alvin remembered staring in amazement at the skyline of Manhattan as they sailed down the East River. They put in there for week, giving him some time to explore the city. He was dazzled by it's sights and sounds, but as they set sail again, he knew he could never live in such a place.
The Doris spent the summer hopping down the coast, occasionally spending a week or more in ports where the nightlife or shopping appealed to the passengers. Alvin walked on the boardwalk in Atlantic City and on the sand of Virginia Beach. He strolled the streets of Charleston and Savannah. He watched a whale breach off the Outer Banks of North Carolina and saw a school of flying fish skimming the water along the coast of Florida.
At each port, some of the guests would disembark and others would replace them, but the non-stop party never ended, and neither did the crew's duties. As August turned to September, they put in at Miami. In the morning, they would make the run along the Keys, and end their voyage in Key West. Alvin would need to make a decision then. Some of his crew mates were talking about signing on with a vessel that was sailing to Jamaica. From there, they would have many choices of employment for the winter. Sailing the Caribbean seemed like a dream to Alvin. But, he felt that any decision he made after Key West would be irrevocable. If he sailed south, it might be years before he ever went home, and he wasn't completely sure he wanted to cross that line.
There was a lot to do to prepare for the the last leg of the voyage, and Alvin was busy with his tasks late into the evening. The night was hot and muggy, and he knew he would not sleep well, particularly with his mind so busy anticipating the next day. He had spent a lot of his down time reading, and he decided that he would do so now, until sleep overwhelmed him. He was in the middle of a collection of Hemingway's short stories, so he got it from his locker, grabbed a battery powered lantern and went topside. Everything was quiet. The passengers had gone ashore to enjoy one last night of Miami nightlife. He dragged a canvas recliner to the bow and set it up in an alcove of the bulkhead. It was not secluded, but it was out of the way enough that it was unlikely anyone would disturb him there. He turned on the lantern and opened his book.
He had only read a few pages when he heard someone approaching. He looked up and saw a woman standing next to him. She was tall, tanned bronze in a very small bikini. Her hair and the bikini were both jet black. She held a half full bottle of champagne in her hand.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
"Hemingway," he replied, as she sat down on the foot of his recliner.
"Is it good?"
"Yes, pretty good."
She held out her hand and Alvin shook it. "I'm Wendy," she said. "How old are you? God it's good to talk to somebody closer to my own age."
Alvin frowned at her. "I'm nineteen."
She laughed. "I'm twenty-eight. Still, that's closer to my own age."
She took a long drink of the champagne and handed the bottle to Alvin. He took a quick sip and handed it back.
"You've got a funny accent, where are you from?"
"Maine."
"Oh. I'm from Savannah. Well, no, I got on at Savannah. I'm from Nebraska. But, I got out of there as quick as I could."
"I know how you feel," Alvin replied.
"I bet you do. So now you're a sailor, huh?"
"I guess so."
Wendy turned towards the rail and laid back, reclining against Alvin. "This is nice here. Quiet."
They sat for a few minutes, listening to the waves slapping the bow. Then Wendy raised her face and kissed Alvin's lips. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. They kissed like that for several minutes, then she turned and straddled his lap. Alvin could scarcely believe this was happening. He felt his cock stiffen and strain against the fabric of his jeans.
