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Isaiah Jones vs the Sea (A 21st Century Odyssey)

chapter 3 The Three gifts: A Compass, A Sextant, A Chronometer

Super Moon Birthday, Thursday the 7th birthday Sunday May the 10th 2020

‘Happy Birthday’

“Like the lantern on a tree

Your burden bright as weary be

Periwig on parakeet

You’re God’s great paramour and sweet

[Chorus]

I’m happy, I’m happy

Your birthday brings a pardoning

I’m happy, I’m happy

You’re like a bird that will not be”

-Sufjan Stevens

For as long as Aeon had known Isaiah, he loved to sail, and he loved and feared the sea.

He earned his ASA (American Sailing Association) 101 the year they met. And 10 years later, he was ASA 108, which was all just a bunch of fancy pants sailor talk for celestial navigation by the stars with a compass, sextant, and chromometer set to Greenwich Mean Time. In plain English, it meant he was basically a human GPS. The walls of his room were covered with all manner of maps and navigational charts, almanacs, and Mercator charts, plotting sheets NOAA and star charts. Maps of the trade winds and the trade routes that brought his kidnapped ancestors to the Americas in chains within the cargo holds of 17th-century slavers ships. Nights, they would lie on the balcony outside of Aeon’s room that overlooked the pool, and she would stare at the night sky while Isaiah pointed out the brightest constellations, christening the denizens illuminating the darkness of the heavens.

He had even, on several occasions, taken her sailing in one of the tiny dingys at White Rock Lake. The tiny 2-mile-long, 1-mile-wide, century-old manmade lake is located five miles east of downtown and only 2 miles from their home. This is where his mother had continued teaching him to sail when they first arrived in Dallas. Aeon could see it in his eyes as the small craft skimmed across the tiny lake that there was not enough water; he saw only the open seas and heard only oceans. He had his father’s height and ebony skin tone, but those green eyes were his mother’s and, like her, there were oceans in his eyes. Isaiah was happiest during the summer on the chartered catamaran in the Caribbean with Helena as the Captain and Isaiah acting as her first maté. Everyone else on board was well, they were just passengers, it was an elegant dance seeing them work together, sailing across the Caribbean summer waters. Isaiah and Aeon’s parents vacationed together every summer for the last ten years. It was when you saw them on the boat that you understood Isaiah and his mother were in perfect harmony, sailing together.

Aeon had seen his ever-growing collection of maps, compasses, sextants, and NOAA charts fill his room over the years. She watched him plan his escape, and still it seemed unreal until today. Now that he was old enough to leave, the thought of her life in his absence overwhelmed her with sorrow. Isaiah was terrified of natural bodies of water; lakes, rivers, and the sea terrified him at a primal level. However, he had no fear of the water when they were in a swimming pool. Growing up, he and Aeon spent half their free time hanging out in the pool in her backyard.

When they got back to her house, she gave him a quick kiss and promised she would see him tonight at his and Helen’s birthday party. She handed him the leash, and Django followed him and Dakota down the block, one house over to his home, before she went upstairs, she left the net bag of fruit on the kitchen counter. Her parents sat at the kitchen’s small round glass top table, sipping their hazelnut-scented coffee and reading their morning papers while listening to NPR on the laptop. She hugged them both and kissed each one gently on the forehead with a genuine heartfelt

“¡Hola, mami! Estoy tan feliz hoy, te quiero un montón.” Aeon said before switching to Tagalog, “Mahal kita, Pa.” before she headed upstairs.

Well, the tall, clean-shaven, middle-aged Filipino man in khaki shorts and an amber bowling shirt and hemp sandals asked casually in Tagalog.

“Sino ang minamahal ni Aeon ngayong linggo, babe?” Alexander Zavala asked, looking over the top of his reading glasses at his wife, the thickset Dominican woman, her hair in 4 large plaits, wearing her usual morning uniform: grey yoga pants and a black sports bra, sitting across the kitchen table reading the Times Herald between sips of hazelnut scented coffee.

“Isaiah.” Barbara Gabriella Zavala replied with a heavy Dominican Spanish accent.

“Nakakatuwa, akala ko lahat ng kanyang huling apat o lima minamahal ay mga babae.” Alexander said thinking aloud.

“They were mostly girls, not all girls. But these things are not carved in stone, Papi Chulo. I think maybe she wired more fluid sextually like you, and goes wherever love takes her.” Barbara said absentmindedly, caressing the tall, lean Filipino American man’s calf with a bare, perfectly pedicured foot under the table as they talked.

Alexander looked up from his crossword in the New York Times, stirring a heaping teaspoon of raw sugar from the porcelain bowl filled with sugar sitting in the middle of the glass top table into his coffee as she spoke.

“We’re going to the Joneses’ tonight to help them chaperone their birthday party.” She reminded her husband.

“Matagal ko nang inaasam-asam ang gabi na ito sa loob ng mga buwan!”, he said enthusiastically with a mischievous smile. “Already got my drums set up over there and everything.”

Aeon pulled the Thalo-blue cardboard box with gilded edges from beneath her bed and examined its contents; a hardbound copy of ‘Maiden Voyage’ by Tania Aebi, Jessica Watsons ‘True Spirit’, ‘One Girl One Dream’ by Laura Dekker, a poster of the replica of the Amistad signed by William Deltoris Pinkney III, Watson and a framed 8X10 black and white photo of Teddy Seymore along with and a copy of his diaries. Each signed by his heroes.

Tonight, she would give him the antique mariner’s compass once owned by a John Howkins [5.2], captain of the SS Saloman, a 17th-century slave ship. A gift from her family and the rest of his skateboard crew pooled their money in order to purchase it from a collector online. Isaiah had explained shooting azimuths, bearings, and dead reckoning on numerous occasions over the years, and yet a compass was all but useless to her; without her cellphone’s GPS app, like most of the earth’s population, she was lost. Tonight, she would tell him the truth. How could she say the words to him when she couldn’t even say them to herself? Aeon picked up the 10-year-old Newspaper and reread the Associated Press article.

[Labor Day 2010 Tragedy Strikes Maiden Voyage of SS ‘Horizon Disparu’: 28 people Perished in Maritime Catastrophe …

Porto di Catania, Italy – Labor Day weekend marked the maiden voyage of the SS ‘Horizon Disparu,’ a 100-foot cruiser by ‘Atlantique Voiles,’ a distinguished French shipbuilding company with a four-century legacy. However, this much-anticipated journey from Sicily to Carthage turned into tragedy, claiming 28 lives.

Of the twenty passengers and ten crew members on board, only Lieutenant Helena Jones of the US Navy stationed at NAS Sigonella and her 5-year-old son, Isaiah, emerged as survivors. The vessel departed from Porto di Catania under favorable conditions but encountered a fierce storm shortly after 11:00 PM (37°37’37.2″N 11°20’48.2″E), approximately fifty miles off the Sicilian coast. Tragically, as passengers slept below deck, the keel bolts detached, causing an abrupt capsizing that thwarted all attempts to deploy life rafts despite the captain’s SOS distress signal.

Amidst the chaos, Lieutenant Helen Jones secured her 5-year-old twins, Emily and Isaiah, using shirts to lash them to her adult-sized life vest amidst the flooding cabins. As the vessel sank, however, the fabric securing Emily tore away, separating her from her mother in the chaotic darkness.

In the aftermath, Lieutenant Helena Jones and her son, Isaiah, emerged as the only survivors amidst the desolation of the capsized vessel. For seven arduous hours, battling winds up to 50 knots and towering 20-foot waves, they clung to hope in the unforgiving Mediterranean until search and rescue helicopters located and rescued them at sunrise.

This catastrophic maritime incident has spurred a thorough investigation into the circumstances leading to the SS ‘Horizon Disparu’s demise after her bolt-on keel detached on her maiden voyage. As the world grieves, heartfelt condolences pour in, offering solace to all the families and loved ones affected by this tragic loss in the sinking of the SS ‘Horizon Disparu.’

The Associated Press reporters will continue to diligently follow developments in this Labor Day weekend calamity, the worst peace time nautical disaster of the 21st century awaiting answers and closure while the memory of 5 year old Emily Elisabeth Jones, lost at sea with 28 other passengers and crew, leaves an indelible mark on this unforeseen maritime catastrophe. Copyright 2010 The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.]

Isaiah found his parents in the backyard, lounging on the Cedar deck that overlooked the small garden and large greenhouse. He removed the leashes from the dogs after he entered the house and both darted across the living room’s hardwood floors skidded across the kitchen tiles before scrambling through the dog door into the back yard to greet his mom and dad as they sipped their morning coffee, read the morning papers listening to NPR on the radio. Isaiah set the bag of fresh fruit on the table, and they both stopped reading just long enough to grab some fruit before continuing with their morning ritual.

Thank you, Baby Boy, and happy birthday. Helena, the diminutive red-headed green-eyed white woman, said, glancing up from her New York Times for a moment to flash a wide smile at the 6-foot-tall black boy who was her son.

Happy Birthday, Momma. Isaiah replied, leaning down to hug his mother and plant a quick kiss on her cheek. Ughh, Mom’s your face is greasy.

Helena chuckled, Sunblock, babe, she sniffed the air and crinkled her nose as she replied. You were out all night. Please get some rest so you’ll be ready for our party tonight. Helena said with a laugh as she went back to her morning coffee and news.

Alright, I’m going. He hugged Helena again, then grabbed another plum from the bag on the table before heading back into the house.

Take a bath first, you smell like teen spirit! Helen shouted as he headed back inside and made his way upstairs to his room. Once in his room, Isaiah brought up his favorite classical playlist, then plugged the phone into the speakers as the soundtrack to A Clockwork Orange filled the room with Ludwig van Beethoven’s synthesized 9th.

Helena sighed with a weary smile.

The guests had all gathered in the backyard where they chatted nervously amongst themselves. The tables were labeled for each family and set six feet apart. As per WHO (World Health Organization) recommendations. Having a pandemic strike after years of watching ‘The Walking Dead’ seemed almost prophetic or ironic; everyone was vaccinated as well as wearing a mask when they arrived, and they all removed them once they reached the backyard and saw the layout.

The soiree, like the Jones home, was being paid for by Helena’s mother, Granny Culpepper, even though she would not be in attendance; she had spared no expense. The neighborhood buzzed with excitement as preparations for the dual birthday celebration of the Jones family unfolded. Granny Culpepper, despite residing in the Panhandle, had orchestrated a most grandiose affair for her daughter and grandson. She handpicked a local rising star in the culinary arts to cater the event, Chef Anastacia Quinones. The menu reflected the birthday boy and his mother’s love for Mexican cuisine, a feast of Latina taste and culture.

The Menu Highlights: included Appetizers: Street Corn Queso Fundido with Tortilla Chips, Mini Chicken Tinga Tostadas with Avocado Crema, Guacamole Trio: Classic, Mango, and Spicy Pineapple.

Main Course: Tacos de Tacha using the in-house nixtamalized heirloom corn masa from Masienda, Chili-Rubbed Short Rib Tacos with Pickled Red Onions, Grilled Shrimp and Pineapple Skewers with Chipotle-Lime Glaze, Vegetarian Enchilada Casserole with Roasted Tomatillo Sauce

Sides: Jicama and Watermelon Salad with Tajín Seasoning, Mexican Street Corn Salad with Cotija Cheese, Cilantro Lime Rice.

Desserts: Churro Ice Cream Sandwiches, Mexican Chocolate Molten Lava Cakes, Mango-Lime Sorbet Beverages: Margarita Bar with Various Flavors (Classic, Mango, Strawberry), Hibiscus Agua Fresca, and Mexican Craft Beers and pitchers, French 77 for the bubbles to toast.

At seven pm, Kennedy, dressed in khaki slacks and a cerulean blue and white vertical striped shirt, wearing his black jazz man hat, adjusted his wire rimmed spectacles as he approached the mic on the Cedar deck that was now being used as an improvised stage for the evening.

Test!? Test? One, two.

He tapped the microphone with a beefy index finger. “THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!”

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the tall, neatly groomed, salt and peppered bearded man began. I am your host, Kennedy Leonardo Jones, and I would like to welcome you to our home and thank you all for coming tonight. As you all know, we are gathered here to celebrate the birthdays of my love, my life, my remarkable wife, Helena. I love you, and Happy Birthday, Babe. It is also the birthday of our son Isaiah, but it is a dual celebration for this young man. Tonight is also celebrating his graduation from a fine university with a BS in engineering. Isaiah, I love you, son, and we are all honored to have had you in our lives for the last 16 years. Isaiah leaves at the end of the month for Galveston, where he’ll begin the adventure of a lifetime and sail from America to Africa solo.

The crowd applauded courteously as Kennedy continued with a story. “Growing up, I never paid any attention to the watch my father wore every day until he retired from the Marine Corps the year before I graduated high school. But after he retired, the old man put the watch away, and I never saw it again until I enlisted in the Corps the next year. He gave me the watch that I had seen on his wrist every day growing up. I had never bothered to look at the watch, other than it was old-fashioned looking to me, but when he gave me the watch, I read the name on this box and on the watch for the first time. I wore this expensive hunk of metal on my wrist every day for the next 20 years, and when I retired from the Marine Corps, I took off the watch and put it back into the box, and I put the box away until it was time for you to leave. And now, I give the watch to you, my son. Kennedy gently opened a small pale sea green colored leather covered jewelry box adorned with a single small medallion of a solid gold crown set as its logo to audible gasp of several in the audience who recognized the box by the color of the leather that covered it as he pulled out the vintage 1966 James Bond Submariner C. ROLEX chronometer. “This was your grandfathers war watch, don’t worry my nigga, it ain’t been up nobodies’ ass.”

The Pulp Fiction reference elicited a chorus of hearty chuckles from everyone over 40 years old in attendance.

Now, as Kennedy continues, accompanied by a squelch of reverb squawks as his baritone rings out over the mic, we’re going to get this show on the road. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome to the stage the artiste formerly known as Prince’s sister from another mother, Ms. Aeon Gabriella Zavala. Aeon stepped to the mic, her face covered with a thin fake mustache, and sideburns all penciled in with eyeliner, she wore a vintage purple trench coat with a single shoulder covered in silver studs a scarf hung loosely around her neck a single black and white button on the lapel of the coat said rude boy in bold ebony font under the trench coat she wore a black lace shirt and pants and black 6 inch tall stiletto heeled boots.

The three backup singers behind her all stood with their backs to the audience all wore similar lace outfits in pastel yellows, electric greens, and ultraviolet blues with black stilettos they stood with their backs to the audience shaking their hips until the music started and on que to the music each one turned to face the audience then danced with the precision of synchronized swimmers while the audience erupted with laughter at the sight of areas three most notorious skateboard hooligans as her backup singers. Trenton, Adira, and Cody in matching beehive wigs. Aeon spoke in a husky tone “this next song is just for the ladies, not all of them, just the sexy mutha’ fuckas’’’ Aeon said with a breathy whisper before launching into a hilariously sensuous rendition of the artiste formerly known as Prince ‘Do Me Baby’ in the middle of her act As Aeon was on top of the piano pretending to hump it like Prince on the brass bed in concert Barbera leaned over and whispered into her husband’s ear as he played the drums “that is your daughter over there.”

“Oo, pero dahil sa’yo at kay Helen, naging fan siya ni Prince. Hindi ‘yan nasa playlist ko, eh.” Alexander smiled. “Tsaka, napigilan ko siya sa plano niyang gawin ang WAP Wet Ass Pussy.”. You’re welcome.

After the performance, as the laughter and applause subsided, Isaiah came to center stage, adjusted the mic, and tuned his guitar. Helen tightened the end of one of his cornrows before giving her son a hug, then returning to her seat on the bench in front of the piano.

“My folks always said they didn’t ever want me to buy them anything for a gift, but to make something, an origami flower, a poem, a painting, a song. So, over the years, we always gave each other a song for our birthday. He paused for a moment, still tuning the guitar as he talked. The tall, slender kid was the spitting image of his father in height and stature. Only slimmer with his mother’s emerald eyes and his hair in cornrows as opposed to his father’s greying Caesar cut.

Before we do the next song, the tall, lanky boy said with his father said speaking into the mic, I’d like to take a moment to introduce the house band. This elicited more giggles from several of the teenage girls as well as their mothers. In a melodic baritone that echoes his father’s, Isaiah continued. On piano, we have the lovely birthday girl herself and my mom, Helen ‘Tickle Monster’ Jones, on queue, she shifted from a walking blues to a ragtime riff, then back to the walking blues.

On percussions, Dr. Alexander ‘Thunder Sticks’ Zavala did a quick flourish on the drums before returning to light brush backing the piano.

On the saxophone give it up for Professor Barbara ‘Big-Bopper’ Zavala the thickset Dominican woman with her hair in an afro wearing a black minidress with combat boots waved cautiously from her seat at the table reserved for her family as if she were slightly embarrassed before she stood raised her horn into the air over her head as if it were Excalibur before she sat back down in her seat seemingly glad that was over not wanting to be in the spotlight. Barbera Zavala, like Isaiah, was by nature a very shy, introverted person. And last but not least, Isaiah continued with the introductions on the upright bass, we have the godfather of fat funky fingers, Mr. Kennedy ‘Sticky Icky Thump’ Jones. Kennedy did a quick jazz riff, then fell back into accompanying the piano. I am Isaiah Jones, and I play the fool. This elicited giggles from most of the high school girls and their moms in attendance.

“I grew up hearing my mom singing this song. It’s one of her favorites, Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black”. He began in a faltering falsetto;

“Il ne m’a pas laissé le temps de regretter

Il a gardé sa bite mouillée

Avec sa vieille qui a fait ses preuves

Moi et ma fierté

Et mes larmes séchées

On continue sans mon mec

T’es revenu à ce que tu savais

Si éloigné de tout

Ce que nous avons vécu ensemble

Et je marche sur une route dégueulasse

Mon destin est tout tracé

Je retournerai en noir

[Refrain]

On s’est dit au revoir seulement avec des mots

J’en suis morte cent fois

Tu retournes vers elle

Et je retourne en noir

Je retourne vers nous

[Couplet 2]

Je t’aime beaucoup

Ce n’est pas assez

T’aimes la coke et j’aime l’herbe

Et la vie

Est comme une pipe

Et je suis une petite pièce de monnaie qui roule le long des murs

[Refrain]

On s’est dit au revoir seulement avec des mots

J’en suis morte cent fois

Tu retournes vers elle

Et je retourne en

On s’est dit au revoir seulement avec des mots

J’en suis morte cent fois

Tu retournes vers elle

Et je retourne en

[Pont]

Noir, noir, noir, noir

Noir, noir, noir

Je retourne en

Je retourne en

[Refrain]

On s’est dit au revoir seulement avec des mots

J’en suis morte cent fois

Tu retournes vers elle

Et je retourne en

On s’est dit au revoir seulement avec des mots

J’en suis morte cent fois

Tu retournes vers elle

Et je retourne en noir”

He never took his eyes off of Aeon as he sang.

After the song, Helena stood beside her son, tears of joy in her eyes, holding his hand and took a bow. She gave him a hug before disappearing into the house as Aeon and her backup singers returned after a wardrobe change into their hip hop ensembles, and as she butched it up hard to lead Isaiah’s friends as they did a cover of 2 Chainz

“Birthday Song”

“Yeah birthday, it’s your birthday

If I die, bury me inside the Louis store

Ha, uh, uh

They ask me what I do and who I do it for (yeah)

And how I come up with this shit up in the studio (yeah)

All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho (true)

All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho (tell ’em)

When I die, bury me inside the Gucci store (tell ’em)

When I die, bury me inside the Louis store (true)

All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho (yeah)

All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho (2 Chainz!)”

-2 Chainz

Helen returned, took her seat at the piano, and sang a slowed down bluesy cover of ‘Rehab’. She had only been out for a month, and it shocked the gossiping soccer moms to their core.

‘Rehab’ -Amy Winehouse

“They tried to make me go to Rehab

But I said no, no, no

Yes I’ve been black, but when I come back

You’ll know, know, know

I ain’t got the time

And if my daddy thinks I’m fine

They tried to make me go to Rehab

But I won’t go, go, go”

By far the most surprising performance of the evening was Helena’s bluesy, almost gospel cover of Rehab after getting out of rehab for the 3rd time only a month ago, when she was finished, most of the people at the party were in tears.

“I can’t believe your mom sang that song tonight it was like she gave every one of these gossipy judgmental cunts the finger and they applauded her for it. Aeon was in awe of Helena, and as she hugged her, wiping back tears, that was the bravest thing, I think I have ever seen. Helen laughed and hugged Aeon and Isaiah. Thank you. I’ll be right back. I gotta go pee. With a single performance, she had been elevated to the planet’s coolest mom in their world.

The final musical performance of the evening began when Kennedy put on his sunglasses, leaned over his bass, glanced at his wrist watch, and spoke into the microphone as he began to play the iconic bassline in the key of F minor;

“I think it’s time we blow this scene,

Get everybody and the stuff together,

Okay, three, two, one, let’s jam.”

as Barbera donned her sunglasses before she stood on the table with her alto saxophone blasting out the opening notes of ‘Cowboy ‘Bebops’ Quincy Jones-esque modern big band jazz anthem ‘Tank’ signaling a dozen kids from the SMU marching bands brass section all dressed in black blues brothers suits, pork pie hats, and ray bans streamed into the back yard from the alley on cue to send their classmate off in style on his and his mother’s birthday. Kennedy on bass, Alexander now on the bongo drums, looked at each other and smiled as Barbara shredded on the sax, the trio having succeeded in surprising his wife and son.

Aeon and Penelope sidled up next to Isaiah to watch the performance. Penelope hugged Isaiah. “Your parents are nerd royalty!” she teased as she handed him her gift, a Weems and Plath Tamaya Spica Sextant. Helen’s face was covered with tears of joy as she joined the guests and gave the kids a standing ovation.

The party that evening was one of the few occasions the Jones house was full of people. There were a couple a dozen neighborhood kids and their parents there; they had been the kids Isaiah went on bi-weekly play dates with when his parents first arrived in Dallas. He hung out with them on occasion because his parents wanted him to try to make friends with kids his own age, but honestly, they had nothing else in common. All the kids his age were freshmen and sophomore high schoolers. Their conversations centered around the latest power fantasy of their video games, the empty spectacle of superhero movies, and compulsively masturbating while ogling social media thirst traps. When they weren’t on their gaming systems, they were watching porn on the internet. Chasing that Digital Dragon dopamine drip cyber junkies ignorant of the fact that they were even addicted.

Aeon and Isaiah were the only two kids there who were not in Catholic or private school. The fact that no one here attended public schools spoke volumes about the failings of DISD/Dallas Independent School District. They didn’t want to come; they all thought Isaiah was a freak and a weirdo, but they had all been dutifully attending each other’s birthday parties for the last 10 years. This was to be his last celebration with them here in Dallas, she thought as she looked once more at the gift-wrapped box containing Izzy’s gift. She knew he would like it; it was from her family, but she had picked the antique compass out herself. Aeon knew this and kept up a happy face for the occasion, but she knew she would miss him once he left for Galveston.

The birthday cake was Isaiah’s favorite, chocolate with white icing shaped like a sailboat. Late in the evening, Kennedy and Helen Jones sat together watching their son as he laughed and joked around, hanging out with his friends at his party.

Sixteen-year-old Helena sighed, 2 dozen of them, in this very house. Aren’t you at least a little afraid for him out there alone in the middle of the ocean?

Nah, the kids been preparing for this his entire life. Kennedy mused, sitting with his arms wrapped gently around Helena, sitting in his lap.

It’s dangerous out there on the open seas. Helen interrupted, looking up into Kennedy’s eyes, obviously growing anxious as the time for her son to leave home grew near. It’s not going to be like summers on the chartered catamaran in the Caribbean. Helen continued.

“Really, Helena, Kennedy said somewhat incredulously. You honestly believe that he will be in more danger out there alone in the middle of the ocean than he is here? I could bore you with statistics about the mortality rates for black boys in his demographic, but you of all people know better than anyone the reality of the perils he faces here. How long before some neo-Nazi in a police uniform tries to fuck up his life by planting drugs on him during their Police state traffic stops. Some racists piece of shit calls the cops on him and lies claims he has a gun and have him murdered by the cops while purchasing a bb gun. One of these rachet ass hoodlums takes shot at him for a pair of sneakers.

America is a delusional shithole of a country; a police state overrun with uniformed fascist thugs and flag waving gun toting homicidal bigots. Any hope for my people’s future is tied to our right of return. So, to answer your question, no, I have no worries about him going out to sea alone. Because I do not suffer from Stockholm syndrome like most African Americans. I never drank that red, white, and blue Kool-Aid. Besides woman, you are the one who taught him how to sail in the first place.” Kennedy concluded, smirking mischievously.

Bastard. Helena retorted with a weary grin, giving Kennedy a hug.

I know, and that is why you love all this here. He chuckled, If I thought for a moment, he could not do this alone, we would not have already sold the house and bought ourselves that catamaran in Mexico. This has always been the plan, well, except the Mexico part. I know you really wanted to be in the Bahamas, but everything’s going to be alright.

She looked into his eyes and smiled, knowing he was speaking the truth. We can always sail there later after we get our boat hauled out and refitted. I guess my momma bear instinct is to keep him close to home for as long as possible. Helen sighed resolutely. There’s a part of me that is terrified every time he walks out the door. She whispered, fighting back the tears.

“That is the way the mother of every black son in America feels every day. Kennedy stated matter-of-factly. The way things are going, I think his timing is about perfect.” Kennedy observed.

“Do you think he will ever come back?” Helena asked as she wistfully gazed out at the revelers, already knowing the answer.

“Kennedy exhaled a long breath before he replied. To visit friends or pick up some of his things, maybe, but to live, no. I do not think our son will ever want to live in the States once he has seen the rest of the world firsthand. Helen, he has never been a stranger in our lives. I know the names of all of his teachers and friends. He said with a wide grin. I know his odd habits, where he and his friends like to hang out when he is not at home. He has practiced holding his breath and swimming underwater while tying and untying sailor knots for the last 10 years to increase his ability to work on his vessel in the water if need be. You have trained him to be one hell of a hunter with a bow, and he has learned to fish with me.

I have watched that boy get up every morning before sun-up and run 3 miles with the dogs before classes began. He has been doing that for the last 4 years, Helen, since he was 12. I find his self-discipline extraordinary. These days he even goes rock climbing with his friends to strengthen his grip and build up upper body strength so he can climb the mast. Our son does all of these things and more of his own accord. Any neurodivergent kid that finishes college while his friends his age are starting high school is going to be fine out there in the real world. And I heard his mom is a total MILF too. Kennedy concluded, gently squeezing the diminutive, freckled-faced, redheaded woman in his arms.

He has your eyes, babe, Kennedy added with an adoring smile and your delightfully warped sense of humor.

Footnote: 5.2 provenance of the mariner’s compass

[Ship nation owner

Voyage ID

98836

Vessel name

Salomon

Vessel owner

Ducket, Lionel (Sir)

Lodge, Thomas

Gunston, M

Winter, William (Sir)

Bronfield, M*

Flag of vessel

Great Britain

Flag of vessel IMP

Great Britain

Place constructed

Year constructed

Place registered

Year registered

Rig or type of vessel

Tonnage

120

Standardized tonnage IMP

120

Guns mounted

Cargo

Outcome

Particular outcome of voyage

Voyage completed as intended

Outcome of voyage for captives

Slaves disembarked in Americas

Outcome of voyage if ship captured

Not captured

Outcome of voyage for owner

Delivered slaves for original owners

Resistance

Itinerary

Place where vessel’s voyage began IMP

Plymouth

Principal place where captives were purchased IMP

Sierra Leonardoe, port unspecified

First place where captives were purchased

Sierra Leonardoe, port unspecified

Second place where captives were purchased

Third place where captives were purchased

Places of call before Atlantic crossing

Principal place where captives were landed IMP

Hispaniola, unspecified

First place where captives were landed

Monte Christi

Second place where captives were landed

Isabela

Third place where captives were landed

Place where vessel’s voyage ended

Linked Voyages

Dates

Voyage duration, homeport to disembarkation (in days)

Duration of captives’ crossing (in days)

Year captives were landed IMP IMP

1563

Date vessel’s voyage began

1562-10

Date captive embarkation began

Date vessel departed with captives

Date vessel arrived with captives

1563-4

Date vessel departed for homeport

Date vessel arrived at homeport

1563-9

Captain and crew

Captain’s name

Hawkins, John

Crew at voyage outset

Crew at first landing of captives

Crew deaths during voyage

Slave

Total embarked IMP

100

Total embarked

100

Total disembarked IMP

93

Captives intended to be purchased at 1st place

Captives carried from 1st port

Captives carried from 2nd port

Captives carried from 3rd port

Captives arrived at 1st port

Captives landed at 1st port

Captives landed at 2nd port

Captives landed at 3rd port

Percent men

Percent women

Percent boys

Percent girls

Percent males

Percent children

Sterling cash price in Jamaica

Captive deaths during crossing

Percentage of captives who died during crossing

Captive Background

Source

Sources of data

HawkinsVoyages,5-7: Hawkins, John, Hawkins’ Voyages During the Reigns of Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth and James I (London, 1878).

Donnan,I,44-46:

Donnan, Elizabeth, ed., Documents Illustrative of the History of the Slave Trade to the Americas, vol. III (Washington, DC, 1930)

Lewis,1969:79-84: Lewis, Michael, The Hawkins Dynasty: Three Generations of a Tudor Family (London, 1969).

Kelsey,15-18: Kelsey, Harry, Sir John Hawkins; Queen Elizabeth’s Slave Trader (New Haven, 2003).]

About the author:

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, Texas.