Sailing

Luna
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It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

"I hate military time," Josh mumbled, trying to adjust the settings on his watch.

"It's actually called Zulu time," Sam informed him, without turning his head.

"I know that." Josh gave up on the watch as the spray off the ocean hit him. "I just don’t see why we're using it."

"Because we're on a boat," he explained. "We might cross time zones."

"Sam, we're about two miles from the shore. What are you talking about, we might cross time zones?"

"In theory."

"In theory, coming out here with you was a good idea."

Sam handed Josh a rope. "Hold that. You're not having fun?"

"I told you, I'm not a sailing kind of guy."

"I am." Sam grinned as the wind ruffled his hair. "I love this stuff. It's in my blood. Hell, it's in my name. I'm a natural mariner. I'm a seaman."

Josh looked at him and burst out laughing. "Seaman," he repeated.

"Did you turn seven today?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm eight."

"Pull on that line," Sam directed him.

"What line?"

"The one you're holding, doofus. Didn't you ever do this when you were a kid? Out on... what's up by Connecticut, the Long Island Sound?"

"No, we're landlubbers in my family. It goes back for generations. My grandfather came to America on a boat and never stopped complaining about it."

"You were missing out," Sam declared. "Look at this. The clear blue sky, the freedom of the open sea. It's invigorating. We could be fishermen, Josh. We could live off the ocean, rolling with the waves and the winds--"

"And die of dehydration," Josh finished for him. "Hey, Captain Ahab, when you're done waxing poetic, watch what you're doing. Are we supposed to be tipping over this much?"

"No!" Sam started to hustle back and forth. "This isn't good."

"Even I knew that."

The small craft rocked, and both men were thoroughly splashed and dripping by the time they had righted themselves.

"Well, that was an adventure," Sam said, after awhile.

"No kidding." Josh wiped his eyes and snickered. "I thought you were a born seaman."

"Shut up. I'm a little out of practice. Anyway, you didn't hold the line right."

"Oh, so it's my fault now? Who taught you to sail, Gilligan or the Skipper?"

"My dad, actually." Sam's teeth chattered slightly. "The Pacific's warmer."

"I just bet it is."

"When I was little, we'd go to the beach on Saturdays. We'd get hot dogs and Cokes, and then we'd go out on the water."

"That's very sweet," Josh commented, making a futile attempt to dry his face on his soaked T-shirt.

"Yeah. My sister never liked it, though. She always just wanted to lie on the beach."

"I gotta tell you, your sister's sounding more and more like my kind of girl."

Sam looked reluctantly at the coastline. "We should head back, huh?"

"I don't know." Josh frowned at his dysfunctional watch. "What time is it?"

"13:39."

"In normal time, it's about twenty of two, right? Yeah, we should. I've got work to do."

"There are probably ten pounds of paper on my desk." Sam eased the sailboat into a turn.

"And at least fifteen on mine," Josh mused. "How much you want to bet my 'in' pile weighs more than yours?"

"I'll bet lunch on it."

"No, no, no. You owe me lunch already for coming out on the Good Ship Lollipop."

"Not if you keep making fun of it!" Sam shook his head. "You know you're having fun."

"I'm freezing my ass off, I have salt in my eyes, and I smell like brine."

"Yeah." Sam chuckled. "It's invigorating."

Josh returned the smile. "Yeah."

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