Always running

Chapter 2

Chester

I've always heard stories about sea sickness. The feeling that you're going to throw up. The dizziness. The paling of your skin. The headaches.

I once talked to a very talkative old lady at a corner store in Louisiana on one of my dad's "let's settle down on dry land for a while to take a break from sailing" phases.

She looked confused when I told her I was a sailor. "Ya don't get sea sickness?" She asked in a hushed voice.

Even at the little age of seven I knew what sea sickness was. I'd read enough of both fictional and nonfictional books about sailing to know it was a very common thing. How could you live on a boat practically the entirety of your life and not know what sea sickness was?

Although I knew about it, I'd never experienced it, so I looked at the woman with puzzlement.

"No, never," I said. She then slapped her hand on the counter and laughed as if that was the funniest joke she'd ever heard in her long life. "I went ona boat once. Puked ma brainz out. Neva did it again. I don't know how ya do it," she said.

And although I've never gotten the type of sea sickness she was thinking of, the type you get that is caused by movement and rocking of the boat, (and what you usually associate with the symptoms above), I have in fact gotten a very different kind of sea sick.

It comes with the same symptoms. The headache, the dizziness, wanting to throw up.
The running to the bathroom and kneeling over the toilet even though nothing comes up.

This was my exact reaction when I was told we were making a long stop to oaksail, Maryland because my dad was going through one of his settling down phases again.

I was sea sick. Sick of the constant traveling. Sick of the constant "settling down" in a new town every time my dad decided he wanted a house instead of a boat.

I was sick of starting at new schools, where I'd eat alone at lunch and hide my face, hoping no one would say hello to me and want to be my friend.

I was sick of looking people in the eye and telling them that I would rather eat alone, or that no, I did not want to come over to their house for dinner that night.

I hated doing all of these things, because at one time I would have loved the idea of having real friendships that anchored me to one place.
But as I've learned over the years, my dad gets bored very easily, and he always ends up going right back to the one thing he truly loves, which is the ocean.

Forming relationships with people is dangerous because it makes things devastating when you have to leave. And you will have to leave.

"Can you believe it? We're finally going to be able to call somewhere home. You're finally going to get to go to an actual school and make friends. And I'm finally going to be able to get a real job. I've never been happier. This is it, this is really it, I know it, Ches."

The one time I ever showed a sign that I wasn't happy about his decision to "settle down", he looked crushed. His face fell and his perfect smile wilted, so as usual, all I could do was act like I was happy about his idea.

All he wanted was to give us both a normal life, and although that dream had already been crushed for me, the last thing I'd do was ruin it for him.

As soon as his back was turned, my symptoms of sea sickness began to kick in and I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door hurriedly behind me. I kneeled on the ground and hugged the toilet as if it was the only constant in my life. Maybe it was.

Nothing came up, as usual, so I continued to sit there for hours until the feeling went away, before going to my very small room and curling up in my very small, comfortable bed.

I couldn't fall asleep, of course, so I lied there, staring up at my ceiling.

There was a small, tiny, itty bitty glimmer of hope left that it would work. That my father would finally be able to get this one right. That we'd buy a dog. That I'd get to go to prom. Or join the football team, or maybe even join a few clubs and allow myself to make a few friends.

But that hope was instantly burned out when I thought of all of the failed attempts before this one. And in each on of them, I had made the common mistake of allowing myself hope.