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I've been told that I'm in denial ever since John B left on a search for his father four months ago. They said that he suffered the same fate as his parent; that his small boat capsized and the sharks got him, that he was washed away, or that he was picked up by some shipping boat and whisked away to a tropical destination. I was banking on that last one. I mean, this kid was practically like a second brother to me, and his dad was almost a second father.
When my parents were working and my brother was off doing some academic program or another, I spent my afternoons and summers with the Routledge's. Big John cooked us fresh crab and fish sticks, let us wreak havoc in the backyard with the old baseball bat that we found in the shed, taught us how to drive the HMS Pogue when we were only in fifth grade, and he used to tell us stories about pirates and Vikings and the horrible kooks. Most of all, though, he taught us about the Royal Merchant.
Big John Routledge and my dad, Derrick Miller, went all the way back to their elementary days. They made some dumb promise their eighth-grade year to live next to each other their whole lives, have families that were as close as they were, have barbecues together, and drink their middle-aged years away. and they got that, for the most part. Obviously, John B and I were closer than close, he and my brother were good friends and played sports, we all learned how to drive on the twinkie, the dads let us drink with them, and have bonfires at the boneyard, and they gave us the keg that I still hold near and dear to my heart.
But now, I'm looking at this compass and my dad's fine silver chain with the cross and butterfly pendant on it that my grandfather passed down to him so many years ago, thinking about being told that I'm in denial all the time. Denial's underrated, honestly. You should try it sometime. It's very very effective— plus, it's only denial if you're wrong. And now especially, I'm very sure that I'm not wrong.
Fast forward to tomorrow— I'm taking a ride on the pogue, looking at the compass on my dashboard, and the chain that I had hanging on my chest. The silver metal sparkled in the morning light, peeking through the buttons of the button-up I had chosen today.
But, even after a night of brainstorming, nothing makes sense. Big John and JB are the last two people to get lost at sea. And my father is the last person who would ever want no visitation and a closed casket at his funeral. The mystery of my father's death was becoming beyond suspicious to me, actually. So much so that I couldn't look my mother in the eye because I have a gut feeling that she knows something that I don't.
But why are these things coming back to me? It has to mean something in the giant realm of the universe. There's no way they're meaningless. I'm not a very spiritual person at all— that happens to be Kie's thing— but I swear there was some kind of force telling me that my dad, Big John, and John B were still alive somewhere. And I'm going to find them. Even if it's the last thing that I ever do.
