Robert Brouard rowed the old green boat, nicknamed the Love Boat, into the middle of the silent reservoir. The surrounding hills seemed to smoke with ragged cloud vapor and unwillingly, he thought of the crematory giving off smoke as it transformed his beloved Sandra’s body into nothingness. All he had left of her was an urn of ashes and the boat she had built long ago.
He reached the middle of the reservoir and picking up the urn, he started dumping the ashes out into the water. He didn’t feel sad—at least no sadder than he had for the last week. It was hard to think that the grey dust had ever been a part of her. He accepted it objectively, but he felt no need to say good-bye to it. The boat had more of her spirit left in it than that grey, dusty ash.
Sandra would always sit in the back when they went rowing together. She would smile lovingly at him and that would keep him going as he sweated and worked to row them out into the middle of the reservoir for a picnic, or to look at the stars, or just to be alone together. He thought of that first night in it, after she had finally finished and launched the thing that had taken up her spare moments for two years.
He had been so proud of her—I’ll bet I’m the only man in the world whose wife can build a boat, he’d said. It probably wasn’t true, but it made her glow with pleasure and when she was happy, he was happy. They had drunk the champagne instead of smashing it on the prow and then made love in the tippy little craft under the stars. It had been awkward and precarious but passionate, and forty years later, the memory was still electrifying.
Robert put down the urn and picked up the hatchet, prepared to chop through the bottom. “I’m going to come join you now, if that’s okay, dear,” he said. “Just you, me, and the boat.”
It wasn’t that he felt depressed. He felt none of that black cloud of despair that had sometimes afflicted him as a teenager. It just seemed natural, logical even, to go this way. He had no purpose without her; he was just a lonely old man waiting to die in order to be with his beloved again, so why wait? And he could not leave the boat to be sold off and used by others who did not know its significance and history. Memories were not for sale.
He closed his eyes and with a swift movement, struck the bottom of the boat. He chopped again and again, making a fist-sized hole while water flooded in.
It had covered his calves when the water stopped flowing in. He sat there for some time with wet shoes and socks, wondering why the boat wasn’t sinking. Wood floated, of course, but he had filled the boat with weights to make sure it sank. Still, it refused to sink, as if some of Sandra’s obstinacy had imbued the very timbers. Finally, feeling foolish and confused, he rowed slowly back to shore.
Later that evening, he used the truck winch to pull the boat onto shore and examined it to find what had caused the miracle. He pried off one of the sidewalls and found that it was filled with foam. He checked the others and every space was filled with foam: enough to keep the boat above water, even if it got a hole in it.
And he had never known. Back then, she had been a star swimmer, while he could barely do a lap. Just in case, he could imagine her saying. Just in case we spring a leak. Just in case we’re stranded.
Just in case I die first and you take the boat out alone.
“I’m going to have to fix that hole as soon as possible,” he said. And then, for the first time in that horrible, tragic, soul-crushing week, he began to cry.
April 21st, 2013 at 11:14 pm
I loved it, absolutely loved it.
April 21st, 2013 at 11:18 pm
Thank you. 🙂
April 22nd, 2013 at 12:01 am
Just beautiful. A brilliantly conceived story. I liked it very much.
April 22nd, 2013 at 5:03 am
That’s sweet, she knew him well. 🙂
April 22nd, 2013 at 5:50 am
I’m sad, but I’m glad. 🙂 Sad to see he loved her so much he wanted to go down with the boat, but glad that he could not make it sink, as if she knew what he would try to do, and she prevented it with her ingenuity and design in the way she built it. Now, he needed to cry, let out all his grief and maybe he was ready to start over, without her, only with the memories. I wanted to cry with him. Great story.
April 22nd, 2013 at 9:44 am
Loved the story, brother.
April 22nd, 2013 at 10:10 am
Such a touching story. You have a gift for conveying meaningful emotion, and I’m glad I found your blog!
April 22nd, 2013 at 3:31 pm
Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
April 22nd, 2013 at 11:33 am
A love story weaved so beautifully. Glad that dam finally burst – he needed that I think and she helped him. Loved this story.
April 22nd, 2013 at 4:44 pm
It is probably her way of saying that he had made the wrong decision. Feel sorry for him and his lonely life ahead. A powerful tale of emotions.
April 22nd, 2013 at 6:54 pm
I think that when she was making the boat 40 years before, she wasn’t thinking of that eventuality, but that’s how he saw it at that moment, as her looking out for him from beyond the grave. Hopefully it will be a turning point for him, but I’ll leave that up to the readers’ imagination.
April 22nd, 2013 at 6:02 pm
this is one of the most beautiful love stories I have ever read!!!!
April 22nd, 2013 at 6:55 pm
Thank you. I’m not sure where it came from exactly, but that’s writing. I took this picture this last weekend on my camping trip.
April 22nd, 2013 at 6:03 pm
btw what are you doing with your fantastic travelogue?
April 22nd, 2013 at 6:56 pm
posting the next chapter today actually. I took a week off from it since I didn’t want to post something too hastily. It probably has 3 chapters left, maybe 4.
April 23rd, 2013 at 12:29 am
This was beautiful and really touching!
April 23rd, 2013 at 2:26 am
April 24th, 2013 at 4:20 am
Arrrrr, too, too sweet, David, and so realistic.!
His tears were a wonderful touch; the beginning of clarity….!
April 29th, 2013 at 1:32 am
This is beautiful. Their love for each other is palpable.