The salmon and ginger chews fiasco was vicariously remembered, as-experienced-by-my-eldest, who to this day can't look at ginger ale without vomiting.
Oddly, I do better when the boat's pitching and rolling than I do when it is ever-so-gently rocking. I don't know why. Maybe my brain is distracted by things like trying to stay upright and on my feet, and trying not to get thrown over a rail into the waves, and has no mental clock-cycles to waste on things like barfing.
The deep-sea-fishing trip: I couldn't go to the cabin (it was full of sick people and smelled it); I couldn't look at fish (I was just sick enough that put me right over the edge); I'd made the mistake of thinking dramamine would help (it only made me too sleepy to fight the urge to vomit). I found that bit of the boat, not sure what it's called, that covers the cabin below - I crawled onto it, lined myself up dead center and parallel to the sides - and fell asleep. This boy (he was an older teen who worked on the boat) kept dragging me off, making me reel in fish. I thought he was just making me reel in his fish, for the full experience, and I'm afraid I wasn't nice. He'd shove his nasty ball cap on my head, and I'd reel one in (appeasement), then walk around the boat and hide for a few minutes before crawling back to my "sickbed in the sun." And just as I'd fall asleep, he'd find me, and we'd repeat the dance. I'm sure I muttered some choice words at him. I thought he was just being an obnoxious flirt, and I was so not interested. But the nausea left me without much fight, just a lot of surly unpleasant attitude.
Later, he handed me all the fish I'd caught - about 2 Mahi Mahi and 4 Red Snapper. (He'd hooked them all, I'd just reeled them in.) He'd actually asked me, the day before, I think (that trip was canceled due to weather), what my favorites were. Those were my favorites. He told me they were mine.
I got home with my parents and looked in the mirror - by this time, it was really clear that what he'd done was prevent me from losing my face. I had a blistering sunburn, as it was, that required steroids and painkillers. But no scars. Had I slept on my happy little perch all day, out there on the Atlantic, on a cloudless, sunny day right through high noon, without breaks to swear at the boy over his dirty ball cap and forced labor, I wouldn' t have a face. I have wished him well over the years. I don't know his name, but I do hope he's had a good life and spent it with a woman who appreciates him.
