PASSING THE TORCH: Now It's Your Turn

[Paul_Hochman]

The water was cold enough to make me curse. Why the hell had Oliver insisted on mooring the damn houseboat when we had a perfectly good dock?

I scrambled up the swim ladder on the stern of THE CIRRHOSIS OF THE RIVER. At least Oliver had a good sense of humor. I’ll give him that.

Two questions came to me as a bullet crashed through the starboard porthole; would the water-logged Ruger still fire and how many pulls would it take to get the Evinrude outboard running?

[Mark_OC]

The first shot spanged off the top of the motor, spraying bits of plastic. I managed two quick pulls before the next shot snapped the starter cord. Fortunately, I fell over, because the next shot cut through the air where I'd been standing. Even more fortunately, the outboard sputtered to life.

The CIRRHOSIS lurched away from the dock, bobbed, and lurched back. The two-cycle exhaust settled low on the deck, and I breathed it in joyously--the smell of freedom! My heart pumping like a tae-bo instructor's, I felt the boat lurch, bob, and lurch again. I peeked over the side, and saw the boat was still tied up!

I reached out with that dinky little pistol and starting blasting away at that goddamn rope.

[Patricia_J_Hale]

After many shots that even a twelve-year-old with a BB gun could do better, I made contact with the rope and it dropped into the river.

CIRRHOSIS didn’t move an inch. Just to mock me further, it exploded. The engine was dead.

The g*d damn boat was broken and the Coast Guard wasn’t likely to swoop in for a Katrina.

I stopped breathing a few seconds, trying to come up with a plan that didn’t involve my sharing that liquid hell again while being shot at, when I realized it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Message Edited by Patricia_J_Hale on 12-11-2007 01:50 PM