Southern Cross...A Perfect Storm: Short Story

A few summers ago a personal “perfect storm” gathered. My life had slipped into utter and complete chaos. I turned forty, went through a brutal costly divorce, and contemplated a career change. Amid this confluence of personal woe, I managed to arrange my first and only true sail date. It became the best and the worst date I have ever had.

My wife and I had harbored and sailed out of the Lake Michigan port town of South Haven, Michigan for several years. We loved South Haven and sailing. It is a beautiful touristy city full of shops, restaurants, bars, marinas, and boats - located on Michigan’s west coast. Unfortunately, my love of sailing outlasted the marriage. The bloodletting of divorce left me both boatless and emotionally bereft.

Anyone who has passed the event of turning forty knows it can be a life-changing occurrence. For those who

haven’t yet reached this pivotal point, trust me-- your time will come. My receding hairline relocated itself to my

back and in my ears. Younger women now gave me the jaundiced glance of a neutered parental type.

Everything about my life seemed out of date. I faced these issues with cold reality, I mourned the loss of things past but came to relish the freedom of not giving a damn.

A metamorphosis occurred. I quit wearing suits, socks, and most times underwear. I grew a goatee, quit cutting my hair, began wearing boat loafers, bright Hawaiian print silk shirts, Columbia trail pants, and a natural straw Panama Jack hat. I began smoking small cigars like Clint Eastwood smoked in the spaghetti westerns. I also acquired a taste for Mexican beer with a lime wedge, Italian Chianti, and 12-year-old single malt scotch.

I quit the well paying job to find myself and sail. I haven’t looked back.

When the divorce was finalized, I licked my wounds and purchased a classic Cape Dory sloop. Because my ex-wife still slipped in South Haven with my ex-boat, I took my new boat about 19 miles north to moor at a marina in Saugatuck, Michigan.

One day at dockside in Saugatuck, a friend that docked across from my boat introduced me to Christine, a cute tanned blonde in her mid to late thirties. She owned a slightly larger sailboat moored in South Haven named Ball-Sea, pronouced "ballsy". We had an immediate common interest and chemistry. After a couple innocuous introductory dates on land and a growing mutual attraction, we set up a late afternoon sail date on her boat in South Haven.

When I arrived that day, I dutifully brought two bottles of chilled Chianti, a small CD player as her boat didn’t have one, a couple of Sinatra CD’s, and a Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young (CSNY) CD. She smiled as she admitted her love for red wine and CSNY.

There were menacing gray thunderclouds several miles out over the lake but from my past experience, a storm, more often than not, blows northeast and my guess was this one would hit the coast about 15 to 20 miles north above Saugatuck. Christine and I had a few glasses, actually plastic cups, of wine while we debated the merits of sailing ahead or behind a storm front. I was for it; she was against. Some of the best sailing winds are right before or after a storm.

We turned on the marine radio and listened to the weather channel. It had very little to add to what we could see. I finally convinced her to sail out to the channel, and if it looked too rough we could just come about, return to the dock, and go to dinner or have our date dockside. As we reached the end of the channel, just beyond the lighthouse, we could see that the storm would indeed miss South Haven and would likely hit landfall somewhere around Muskegon. We raised the sails, cut the engine, and proceeded to sail due west towards Wisconsin.

There is something cathartic about passing the South Haven lighthouse and entering the open water of Lake Michigan. Once the motor is turned off, the sails hoisted and filled with air; the silence and tranquility seem to erase the pain, suffering, and turbulence of life.

There were 15 to 20 knot winds and 1 to 2 foot waves. 75 degrees. No bugs. Perfect. I put CSNY in the CD player and poured us each another cup of wine. Christine was at the tiller. It was the most beautiful sailing experience I have ever had. We chatted about sailing and our love of it. The mood, ambience, everything, couldn’t have been planned better. The song Southern Cross came on. I thought – wow, Lake Michigan, a beautiful woman, good wine, good music, sails trimmed I couldn’t help but get well … amorous.

I must admit that I was completely out of my element. I had been married for 13 years prior to my divorce and this was the first “date” that I had been on since Ronald Reagan was President. Getting back into dating was horrifying, awkward, and difficult to say the least. We did a little light necking in the cockpit during the sail but nothing beyond G rated. Ok, maybe PG13.

So we sailed for a couple of hours, came about and returned to the channel just as the sun was setting. And oh what a gorgeous sunset it was. The sky was full of bright yellows, muted oranges, and vibrant reds that very few painters can duplicate. The clouds were disbursed and reflected sunbeams in varied shades as the sun descended into the horizon.

As we sailed up the channel, I felt as if I was one of the luckiest guys on the planet. We docked, tied up, and buttoned the boat up. It was then that she gave me the brush off. She said she had to meet some friends, and when I turned around she was gone. I never saw her again. I tried to call her a few times, but she didn’t return my calls.

When I think back to that time, and I often do, I see that the wounds inflicted by my personal situation had left me unfit for female consumption. The wounds were exposed and I, still too bitter. It was too fresh and it showed.

Every time I hear Southern Cross it brings me back to that wonderful sail. Those moments spent in the company of an intelligent woman, the taste of chilled red wine, the sounds of wind, waves, and music. The scent of the lake combined with the beauty of Lake Michigan upon reflection move me still. I long for lost love and love that might have been.

It is said that life is a journey not a destination. My journey continues.