As I've said, many times, there's nothing quite like a sunrise. Especially in the summer. Sunrises are particularly beautiful, when you're watching it from the deck of a twenty-six footer ambling along at three knots in the middle of a very calm Chesapeake Bay.
"You and your eggplant sandwiches," says Kathleen, at the helm. "I can't complain, though, they're so good."
"Thanks." Brenda is sitting here with me, enjoying coffee from an old Thermos. "George really loves my eggplant sandwiches. Don't you, dear?"
"I'm making 'em myself now. So, yes..."
I explained this before, so, it's good for a reprise: thinly sliced, breaded, and fried eggplant (with the skin ON), ultra-sharp provolone, very thinly sliced mushroom, roasted red peppers, topped with a very, very thin layer of marinara- on a French baguette. In fact, you spread the marinara on the bread as you would a light application of mayonnaise. Carolyn calls it 'Brenda's Eggplant Sub'. She insists on removing the skin from the eggplant, which to me is a sort of desecration. Kind of like removing the clothes off of Dick Cheney. I don't know why anyone would do that.
"God, it's beautiful out here," I say, sipping my coffee. I'm drinking it from a mug Kathleen provided. It's a big, plastic one, with the multi-colored Maryland state flag on it; the caption reads, 'Maryland is for Crabs'. "I wish I could just live out here, and wake up in the morning, and come out and see this."
"Makes life worth living," Brenda remarks. This from a person who nearly succeeded in snuffing out her own life a few years back, before finally doing something about the drinking. "Mindy wouldn't do this, she gets seasick from just looking at a boat."
I look ahead. The sun is now hitting all four suspension towers of the Bay Bridge, thus making them appear a lighter shade of dull gray than they actually are. It's a twin span bridge, just like the Delaware Memorial. One span was subsequently built after the other one; each span has a different design. It's officially known as the Governor William Preston Lane Memorial Bridge. Very few people know that, though. "Carolyn likes stuff like this. She went on a whale watch once, that she talks about. Too bad she couldn't make it, she'd have liked this."
"So, how did you guys meet?" Kathleen asks.
"We met when George was driving a cab."
"Yep."
"George was there one day when I got into an argument on the taxi line at the Princeton Junction train station with this fat slob who's been there for years." Guy named Murray. Word has gotten back to me that Murray is laid low by emphysema. "He came up to talk to me afterwards. We've been friends ever since."
"Yep. Although I never listen to her when she gives me advice."
"Right. And the results always end in a burned ass for you, my friend."
Kathleen chuckles.
"Like with your friend the bimbo. The one who used to drive your car at night. I told you not to mess around with her, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did. I should've listened." This was while I was still with my last girlfriend. I was completely unhappy with my last girlfriend. I started messing around with this woman- a sworn enemy of Brenda, who she claimed was a pushy, ill-mannered dike- and it did turn out that the woman was nuttier than a hundred and fifty thousand Hershey's almond bars. She had a great sense of humor, however...but the mental illness cancelled that out. Pity. "You're right. Would've saved me a lot of trouble in the end."
"How did you two meet?" I ask.
"Kathleen and I met at school. She became a really good friend."
Kathleen stands at the helm. She's an erect, confident, handsome woman, with graying temples, and circle framed eyeglasses. She looks to be between fifty-five and sixty. A woman who loves the outdoors. "Well," she says, "I've always tried to be one."
A few minutes pass. There are now craft of all kinds in the bay, as the sun rises higher in the sky. There's a cool breeze, heading towards the eastern shore, that ruffles the front of Brenda's almost white mane. She turns to me, and says softly, "Kathleen's widowed now. Been five years. Took her a long time to recover from that one."
"You mean, she's...not..."
"Nope. You think you're the only friend I have who's straight?"
I let that one pass.
"Your sister have straight friends?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Same thing."
I don't know what to say, so I say, "okay."
"There's more coffee," Kathleen shouts. "If you want, help yourself."
Which, I do. The coffee's very good. It's the regular Colombian bean- not any of the boutique, yuppie stuff that's so endemically popular nowadays, but a very rich Colombian bean. It's delicious. I realize right now that I resemble a figure from a Maxwell House commercial, commiserating with Nature while enjoying that oh, so important morning cup of Joe. I'm smiling, in the bracing air.
"Hey," Brenda says. "Don't hog it! Leave some for me!"
"Uh, no. Get your own coffee."
She gives me a menacing smile. I hand her the urn. I haven't stopped smiling. It's good to have one of those, when circumstances produce it naturally.
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