BOAT

boats are a big part of his life—if he's not skimming along the surface of Upper Saranac lake in one with his brother and dad, he's crawling under the old rotten wooden one that's leaning up against the side of the garage in the yard. that one's retired, he imagines. he wonders if it ever COULD float, its so crappy looking. paint peeling off in sheets, soft rot where it touches the ground. the only thing it's good for is a bit of shade on hot summer days—makes a great hiding place-except for the wood-boring bees that have turned it into swiss cheese. AND they kinda don't seem so hospitable. you know there there even when you can't see them. he can feel them watching him and he just know they're waiting for him to come close enough. that's when they start buzzing around him like they're gonna make swiss cheese out of HIM!

the better boat was the one that floats—dad's aluminum with the outboard. dad takes him and his brother fishing on the weekends. they hook the trailer up to the car and zoom down to lake flower to put it in. the boat rings like a bell behind the car on the way. at the boat launch, he can smell the lake water and the “seaweed” that washes up with the dead fish and foam. not too appetizing. getting into the boat is another thing—its like trying to stand on a dodge ball! but once he's in, he feels secure enough. he likes the rocking, and the pounding of the boat on the waves as it tears through the surface of the water, leaving its own waves in its wake.