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Volume 6, Issue 1
Editor's Note
A couple months ago, I went sailing with my brother. We had a few hours. Our father's boat was new, and we thought ourselves competent. We loaded the lifejackets into the dinghy and rowed out to the mooring.
We should have known that the high winds that pummeled the dingy meant that it wasn't the best day to sail unsupervised. I hadn't sailed in ten years. For Finn, it had been even longer. But how hard could it be, especially on such a neat little catboat? So, we tied the dingy to the mooring and pushed off.
Finn started the motor. I rolled the sail cover. As soon as we were mostly clear of the mooring field, I hauled on the halyards, raising the boat's only sail. We were still pointed directly into the wind and under motor power. Then one of us said something foolish like "let's do it," and we started making mistakes in rapid succession.
Finn turned the motor off and pushed the tiller away so our sail could fill with wind. It did fill. Quickly. We heeled way over. Far enough that we just about threw ourselves over the windward rail trying to right the boat. That didn't do much except make the both of us panic. So, Finn brought the tiller close, hugging near to the wind, attempting to slow our course. Unfortunately, there was a moored lobster boat in the way. We were drawn to that boat. Finn's eyes locked in place. He tried a couple of futile maneuvers, pushing the tiller away again, pulling it back into his chest. All we had to do was release the mainsheet. We'd be dead in the water, reset, rethink, go home. But it had been ten years! Who knew which rope did what. The impact knocked me forward. Our forestay snapped. Our sail dropped. Disaster.
Afterward, when we were ashore and the adrenaline had worn off, Finn told me he felt like he was ten years old again. Like in all the twentyish years that had passed since then, the two of us hadn't learned a thing. Here we were, about to call our father to confess to breaking his boat.
Many of the following stories involve adult children. Incompetent grownups flailing for instruction. Who teaches you how to say goodbye to your parents? Who teaches you to survive a breakup? There isn't a moment in life when you suddenly know everything. You just do the things you're good at until something new finds you, and then you're a kid again, lost and clutching the rail, praying you won't fall in.
Thank you for reading.
— J.B. Marlow, Editor
Cover Artist (Riding the Cog to the Top of Mt. Washington)
Table of Contents
Bubbles
The heartburn came on behind Ross’s breastbone at ten past six, in the middle of Dee’s pontoon story, and there were bubbles in it...
How to Kill Your Father
The attending physician will be wearing remarkable shoes. Impossibly glossy patent leather pumps that will overwhelm her lab coat and hint at the full and fabulous life she has outside the hospital...
Old Beelah's Boy
When the little boy’s head washes up on shore, Old Beelah is the one to find it...
Outskirts
Since he quit drinking, Dad arrives early to pick me up. He parks at the Petro Canada down the bend, waits for my call, then drives the five-or-so minutes of bumper to bumper, holding me on the phone until one of us spots the other...
Story of Adultery
I rolled over and grabbed my glasses off the end table. I wanted to see her in all her clarity, her steely resolve, silent and sitting with the knowledge of what we had done...
The White Edge
Dillan was packing the car when I pulled into the drive. The hatch stood open, and the black cases were stacked the way he always arranged them, the largest against the backs of the passenger seats, the smaller fitted into the spaces between them...
My Uncle's Swimming Pool
I learned to swim at my uncle’s pool. First, you put your face in the water. Blow bubbles. Go full-body prone in Deadman’s Float...
The Party in Question
On the night of the party in question, everyone was having a wonderful time...