Spare change

The world that he had built over so many years was slowly falling apart at the seams and, for once, Jack had no clue as to what could be done in order to help things settle down. Without any warning things that he had dreamed up years ago just seemed to turn out with one or more small flaws that made them fall apart. And the worst part was that, no matter how much frantic thought he placed into this; Jack just didn’t seem to find in him the ability to stop his dream from falling apart. As far as solutions went his mind only drew a blank.

That was what had brought him to the sturdy old dock where all that one could possibly do was to look at boats of all shapes and sizes for as much time as he or she wanted. For more than fifteen years it had been the last stop of a trip through the highs and lows of the country though neither Jack nor Ashton had ever been able to puzzle out why. The plainest explanation was that the sight of those shells of wood brought them to an eerie state of mind. Small and fragile when compared to some of the creations that nature and time seemed to easily dish out, the variety of sea crafts almost gave off the impression that they were daring nature to tear them down. Still, day in and day out, people walked onto and beneath the decks of those boats and together they set off onto the sea, throwing themselves at the mercy of the waves. And that brought on Jack’s amazement and respect for them, as well as what he recognized to be touch of fascination mixed with confusion.

The small fishing village had always flourished between his trips yet time and time again he came back to find the same people as ever telling stories about how a terrible storm or an unforeseeable accident had robbed them of their fishing boat, of one of their friends. Despite that, not one of them would have had any another reaction than snorting in contempt at the man that would have happened to suggest that they could leave the small coast town. Then they would look that him straight in the eye and plainly say: “You can take the man out of the sea, but you can’t take the sea out of the man, lad.” That was all the explanation they gave and even that seemed to be considered as overdoing it as far as common sense went. Also, as Jack found out awhile back, your age didn’t matter if you asked what they considered to be silly questions; you were a lad no matter what.

As night fell, the fishermen came back, tied their mooring lines to the docks and returned to homes or bars where they shared the stories of that day or of days long past. Fishermen’s tales, some would occasionally mutter, but rarely was this said without an amused smirk or in a contemptuous tone. Actually, if there was one thing that characterized these people that was amusement. Jigs and reels, fishermen’s tales or plain fairy tales, all of these were a part of the day just as important as breakfast, if not more so. They lived life in the now and for them change was just a way of telling right now from five minutes from now.

From what he could gather from random bits of conversation that he overheard jack figured out that it didn’t really matter if the nets were empty or full and neither did it matter if a neighbor had caught more than they had. Each of the fishermen that used to gather fro a nightcap at the end of the day had long ago learned, as well as accepted, that a net that one day was tearing at the seams from being too full could just as easily be empty the next day. This amazed him, the way in which they just took it all in stride. As far as they were concerned this was just the natural course of things.

‘Why couldn’t everything be as simple,” Jack muttered to himself as he looked across the waves wishing that he had brought a fistful of pebbles which he could have lazily thrown over the waves.

The day was windy and there was a chill in the air that just seemed to reach through every patch of exposed skin and reach straight to the bone. The harsh weather matched his mood almost as much as it suited the time of the year. Fingers numbed by the frosty air began closing the buttons of his jacket while the rest of him shivered as a particularly chilly gust of wind fluttered his hair sending goose bumps down the back of his neck.

Grayish white locks of hair brushed against the lens of a pair of spectacles, completely hiding them from those who might have glanced his way and noticed the fine brown frames. An old fashion jacket turned into an average pair of jeans, dusty brown clashing with black at the waist as well as when the end of the pant legs brushed against a pair of wrinkled brown hiking boots and a sprinkle of white marked where his jeans had long ago been stretched by his knees. The fingers of a pair of gloves brushed against his jacket as they reached out of his back pocket. An old timer had been what one of the kids from the bed and breakfast called him and that was what he was.

“Though I do look more like a cowboy in this getup than an old timer,” was Jack’s wry little mutter. A pair of slightly crooked teeth grinned his way, his reflection from a photo that he had asked a kid to take of him during his last trip. His clothes were the same if a bit more wrinkled, just like the face. A few more laugh lines blended in amongst wrinkles from frowns and a fuzzier cheek were what had looked at him from the mirror in the morning. That was how Jack knew that things had changed, but as he sat there he just could not help but asking himself why they had to. Why couldn’t the nets be full everyday? Why couldn’t even stars last forever? And the most important of the questions that were hunting his thoughts was why did bloody change bloody have to happen.

His son used to tell him that things just had to change because otherwise life would have been pointless. That had always been Ashton’s attitude to everything that annoyed his father. Jack complained about change, Ashton would say that it was all for the better in the end. Jack would complain about how it was too cold, Ashton would just point out that a little bit of cold was welcomed after the heat of the summer. And so they would spiral down into a clash of wits and ideas which was how they usually ended up discussing matters that were closer t heart. That had been precisely what had happened during one of their last chats. They had just seen the Grand Canyon and the sun was setting as they sat down and watched the way the sky appeared to have been set ablaze by the stubborn sunset that was struggling to stick around. Those moments spent staring at the sky had been one of the most peaceful times of their relationship.

It had been for that very reason that the trips had been started in the first place. A father and son who suddenly realized that they were drifting apart had decided to try to salvage their relationship. For awhile it had worked and it had been grand. Each trip was captured both in his memory and in pictures, but the last two trips had lacked something. From each picture only one face smiled, only one pair of eyes sparkled and even that was due to held back tears rather than the amusement that had usually been there for all to see.

Still the trips continued to take place and each one ended in that little fishing village. By now Jack was convinced that the thing that had brought him there time and time again had been the sensation of sameness that seemed to flow from every crack of the ground and from each one of the villagers and sailors. Or maybe it was the hope that if they would not change no matter what happened or how much time passed by then maybe so would the rest of world.

“Sup, old timer?” was what froze him still. The voice was the same and so was the tone. Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the tricks that one’s mind could pull on him. Turning his eyes from the photo so to water he simply shrugged and listened to the waves.

He was so intent on listening to the sea that he missed out the sound of steps on heavy wood planks. His eyes and mind were simply out of reach trying to swim to the bottom of the bay. Just as his thoughts reached that place where fish played in the sand they found themselves pulled back as a warm hand gripped his shoulder and patiently waited as his awareness was pulled back into the dry borders if his body.

Jack blinked once, twice and the picture till hadn’t changed. His eyes looked straight into a pair of deep dark eyes that just pilled every ounce of attention towards them. Pitch black hair framed what would have been a serious face if it wouldn’t have been spoiled by a cocky grin and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. A carefully trimmed goatee framed that grin and caused him to smile as he noticed the odd whiteness of his upper lip that had always meant one thing with Ashton.

“You never could eat donuts without getting more sugar on yourself than in, could you Ashton?” Jack asked with a smirk of his very own brightening his face.

“And you never could let it by or call me Ash just like everybody else so I guess that we both have our own little quirks.” And with a deep chuckle, the grip turned into a hug.

It was an eerie sight that people saw on the dock that day. An old man almost disappearing in the arms of a young one while a backpack sat abandoned on the dark planks that kept them over the sea. And none of the witnesses to this reunion could have guessed how comforting the two found that moment.

“Let’s go somewhere and talk,” was what the old man Jack whispered and together they walked away from the dock.

The sun was sitting by the time they once again stood in silence. However this time things were different. Jack had finally accepted that change was good and Ashton had finally learned that it’s never too late to turn back towards a mistake and try to fix it. And so the two sat atop a cliff looking over the bay at how the sea was swallowing the sun while Jack’s finally scrambled out a motto for his last book: “spare change the criticism” and with a stern nod he realized that he had hit the jackpot.

As stars took over the sky, a new pictured grinned back from the digital camera’s screen. An old man and a young man sat in front of an old rickety boat whose owner never would have thought of changing were making the peace sign while sticking their tongues out and so they now sat captured in the frame of a picture. Thus, as night set in, colored pixels showed acceptance, forgiveness and joy in one single frame.