Lost Horizions The edge of the sun begins to peek above the everlasting horizon as the first pot is rung and thrown into the boat. I stand on deck, half asleep, wondering why I woke up at 4:30 in the morning to come out into the middle of Block Island Sound to haul pots and do this with a twenty knot gust out of the southwest and a spray that chills me to the bone. “I know exactly what you are thinking. Why the fuck am I out here“ Yama yelled in his deep heavy voice, trying to overcome the deep diesel engine roaring underneath our feet. “No, you know I love it out here. How could I think of that when I am out here working with you?” I yelled back trying to cover up my pure hatred of this part time job on a sea that means nothing more to me than eight dollars an hour. With no warning, Yama brings the boat to rest in the water and the deep rumble of the engine putter to a stop and an eerie silence settles over the vessel. “You really think I drag you out of bed every other morning just to make you work and make my job easier? Well, maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t. I brought you out on a morning like this to show you something special, something close to my heart.” I look over and instead of seeing him throwing the lobsters down the chute to the holding tank or hurling new bait into the pot, as he’s done every other morning we’ve been out here, he is standing there and staring out into the horizon with every shade of pink reflecting in his eyes. “Your grandfather loves these early mornings. He always looks out at the sunrise to take a break from all the chaos of the world and enjoy this one moment without your grandmother yelling at him to do something around the house. This is his place to clear his mind and just relax.” Slowly, he begins to lower his head as if he is trying to hold it but the weight of emotion is pulling it to the depths of the sea. “He loves having you on the boat. But now he is too weak to make the trip and is being consumed into the world where this was his only escape.” “But why can’t we take him out here and just have him stay on the bridge?” “He is too weak to do that. Remember he couldn’t even come to the edge of the dock to see us off.” “Ya, that is true.” “Well, its bad. He doesn’t want to tell you because he can’t admit it. It would kill his soul to admit to a loss like this.” The tears began to drop from his deep brown eyes. My grandfather is the one man in my life who never lets anything get in his way of being out on the sea and spending time with his son and grandson. His heart is centered around two things: the boat and his family. If these two things aren’t achievable, he has always said that there is no point in living. “Shit we have to get working, with or without him here. I hate it when emotion get in the way of catching lobies.” The engine sputters, trying to get the drive train to ignite the diesel. Soon the engine roars to life and we putt towards the continuous row of buoys. Pulling up to each one, we winch the trap up, take out the catch, replace the bait, and throw it back into the depths of the sea. After repeating this rushed process 350 times, we turn the nose of the boat north and cruise back to port. After about an hour of cruising, we round the jetty and bring the bow around through the channel into the harbor. From a distance we can see the outline of my grandfather, sitting in a lawn chair facing eastwards towards the sea. As we idle into the dock, we notice that he hasn’t shifted his gaze from the eastern direction. All we can think is that he is taking a nap but, I think to myself, wouldn’t the roaring, heavy diesel engine wake him up? We both jump off the boat tie off the lines and walk over to him. “Dzadzi, what are you doing?” Yama calls as we approach but he doesn’t flinch, but just
