George's Boat

The rain stopped in the night, and in the morning we set sail around the island of Corfu.  Near the beach, the sea is a luminescent neon, but the deeper waters are as blue as the stripes on the Greek flag.  George the Gregarious Greek was our captain.  He’s a raunchy, pot-bellied man with a sleazy sense of humor, replete with sexual innuendos.  

 

We dropped anchor near a rocky shore.  Several people hopped off the vessel and splashed into the ocean.  I have always been reluctant to swim in an ecosystem not my own.  I can swim, but I can’t outswim a shark.  When I’m floating in a vulnerable position, I’m all too aware I don’t belong in this particular habitat.  I was nervous as I stood at the top of the bow and gazed at the water roughly ten feet below me.

 

I convinced myself that I didn’t fly halfway around the world to sit on a boat and watch people swim, so I took the plunge and crashed into the cold sea.  I resurfaced, kicked my legs, and chopped through my waves to reach the shore and to generate heat throughout my body.  I was careful about flailing my legs because I couldn’t judge where the ocean floor was and what it would feel like until I stepped softly upon the pebbly surface. 

 

Instead of a sandy beach, there was a narrow passage in a rock wall, and I followed my friends inside a tight crevice.  The water reached my waist and then slapped my belly when the tide rolled in.  The cave grew darker as we walked beyond the rays of the sun.  Some light seeped in from the entrance and reflected off the water and gave it a milky sheen. 
 

Lines of my friends stretched in front of me and behind.  As I inched farther into the cavern, I had to duck.  If the tide moved in and stayed here, we’d have an opportunity to test the strength of our friendships while drowning.  But this was an unlikely scenario borne of irrational concern.  The corridor eventually opened up into a quiet grotto bathed in shadows, and I could stand again in the knee-deep water.

 

The exit was a tiny opening underneath a low-hanging rock that nearly reached the floor.  I lowered my body horizontally in the water and waited for the tide to fill the gap.  When the sea gushed inland, I dove under and propelled myself to the other side and hurried to the boat.  My teeth chattered as a chill coursed through my body. 

 

During lunch the captain reminded us repeatedly that the tzatziki was “good for your sex life.”  While we ate fresh fruit for dessert, George announced that his oranges were “soft and juicy” and his apples were “nice and firm.”  A sign on the cabin window read, WARNING:  63 & SEXY.  He played club music and taught us Greek words that sounded like an English expletive.  I wondered if he was married.

 

With drinks being served and music blasting, I grew tired of being part of a group.  I wanted to find a quiet corner away from the crowd, so I could read The Snows of Kilimanjaro by Hemingway.  Since I was on a small boat, escape was impossible.  I was running out of things to say and found it more and more difficult to connect with the group on a personal level since my friends left in Rome.  I watched everyone singing along to pop songs and wandered why my chemical makeup didn’t permit me to indulge in such activities.  I got along with everyone on the trip, but our ideas of fun didn’t always coincide. 

 

The captain called up the Australians, the Kiwis, the Canadians, and finally the Americans to the front of the boat.  First the captain played the national anthem and then a popular song that embodied each country.  I stood with the newcomers Jackie and Alisa, and we all botched the lyrics to “The Star Spangled Banner.”

After being embarrassed for our lack of patriotism, we were expected to dance.  The girls started shaking and shimmying, but I stood at the front of the boat and held onto a rope.  People in the crowd egged me on, so I lazily moved a few of my limbs to please them.  I wasn’t against dancing; I just wasn’t in the mood.
 

When the song ended, I wondered which was the best course of action.  Should I do nothing and seem out of place?  Or should I join in on the dancing to appease the crowd?  Ultimately, I gave into peer pressure.  I didn’t want to be a party-pooper.  Instead, I wanted to act authentically, and this trip was a great opportunity to practice that and potentially change my personality. 

 

I wanted to be a maverick——the guy who swims against the current and stands still while everyone else is dancing.  My problem is that I want everybody to like me, but I was worried by doing this I could sacrifice my integrity.  I needed to let loose and shake off a few hard-wired tendencies, so I turned to my new friends for options. 

 

Since the group was so large and diverse, I could treat it like a library.  I could rent whatever piqued my interest and return whatever didn’t align with my values.  I danced this time, but maybe the next time I wouldn’t.  And I jumped off the boat because nearly everyone else did, but I didn’t force myself to leap.  I just needed a little push from my friends.