Sailboat for Sale or Rent

Sailboat for Sale or Rent

FOR SALE OR RENT. Inquire within.

The sign on the sailboat caught his eye immediately. He’d wanted a live-aboard sailboat for years, but the salary from his city editor job would never support the gaping financial mouth at the front end of every sailboat, no matter its size. But since Edie had announced for the last and apparently final time that she couldn’t take it or him one more day, he’d been sleeping on the couch at his brother’s house.

Two weeks in a house with an older, responsible, successful brother and his ambitious, anorexic wife with their two perfectly awful children plus the slobbery dog, the hissy-fit cat, and the gerbil that ran in his squeaky wheel all night in the next room—and Dan was desperate.

Owning a sailboat was out of the question. But renting. Now there was an idea. A damn good idea. A boat, a place to live, and a great pick-up line. Want to come aboard?

Life was definitely looking up.

Two Little Goldfish

Two Little Goldfish

We brought the two little goldfish home from W.T. Grant’s Department Store in a small cardboard box coated with something waxy. The box had a slim metal handle that dug into my palm after a few blocks so Mary and I traded off carrying the thing every couple of blocks. We had pooled out tiny allowances and my babysitting money, which meant that I had by far the larger investment. But, seeing that we had spent all our money on the fish, the salesman threw in a box of goldfish food in the price of the fish.

When we got home, Mama transferred the two fish to a giant pickle jar that she had filled with tap water before we started out for Grant’s. “We have to let the water sit for awhile to let the chlorine escape,” she told us. “The chlorine isn’t good for the fish.” I didn’t think to ask why chlorine was OK for humans.

After she dropped the fish into our jar of de-chlorinated water, they swam around and around in the clear, translucent water. We were mesmerized. Even though Daddy was a commercial fisherman, I don’t think we’d ever seen a live fish eyeball to eyeball before.

Mama opened the box of fish food—about the size of a deck of cards, and showed us the thin sheets of fish food. “Just a tiny corner of a sheet each day,” she said. “That’s enough to give them at one time.”

The next morning, the water in the fish jar was murky and cloudy, and the two fish floated sideways, still, at the top.

Mary cried. “I just thought the fishies were hungry,” she said, “so I gave them a whole sheet.”