Pirates Cleaning Up the Carribean

The asphalt races by at such a speed it becomes a blur of black. My thoughts are flying through my mind as fast as the broken line that separates oncoming traffic and my car. Somehow, I manage to stay in between the broken and solid yellow lines, yet I'm hardly aware of anything that is going on. My name is Joe Mouldoon. That is my full name because my parents just weren't able to come up with a middle name. That small fact has never really bothered me, but many seem to think it's strange. If you were to be one of the many passer-bys on this road you would see a man of average height who is showing the first signs of balding and looking older than he truly is. I won't be modest, the years have been hard on me and my face shows every bit of it. The frequent amount of sun that I get does nothing to hide this aging affect. With my premature aging and this large blue Chevy impala I drive, most would think I was about 40 years old or so. Really I am a young man of 29.
It's a matter of fact that when all is going just how you've planned it, one thing or all things will go wrong. when I first heard this, at the age of 18 years old, I felt it was a very depressing thought and completely wrong. How could I have known how true this statement really is? Just eleven years ago, I was living with my mother and father and getting ready to go off to college. I had just graduated from New Jersey Regional High-school, and I had just received my acceptance into NYU's med. School. My home life was better than average.
My mother is and always has been a beautiful woman, and she has loved my father since high school. Her beautiful brown hair has always hung just above the middle of her back. My father wasn't what you would call handsome. He has always been bald, short, and only 5'2". He was a very determined, goal orientated man. When my father wanted something, he let nothing stray him from his course and he got it more times than not. Mom never wanted a career. My two brothers, my sister, and I were her entire life, and that was the way she liked it. I hadn't realized it at eighteen but it is all too clear now that my mother is the happiest person I have ever known. My mother and father what all parents want for their children: a good education, a good upstanding job, and a beautiful family.

As I take a glance in the rearview mirror at a quick approaching truck I remember the conversation which is the single reason among all the others that my father disowned me and won't return any of my phone calls.
"You know Joe, before you go off into that big school you need to pay attention to a few things." He had said just before I left for school as he tried to make a point with those crooked teeth and that strange grimace.
"What would those be dad?" I said glancing at the clock behind him that just struck midnight.
"Well, " dad took a long drink of his soda water and continued, "you're making a big decision in your life. There's a lot of school ahead of you, but I know you can do it. Med. school isn't the easiest choice in the world. But remember Joe, if you start this, you must finish it. I told that to your brother and your sister and look how they've come out." He pointed to the portraits of my brother and sister graduating from college with pride.
"Dad," I began. "Don't worry about it. You've always told me to finish everything I start and I'm not going to let you down."
My dad stood up and motioned me to follow him into the living room. "Joe, I know you won't. So tomorrow take everything in stride and just do your best. Now get onto bed."

You know, I still use my New York University bachelor degree of biological science as a coaster. It had always been assumed that I would be a doctor. When I was in 4th grade I picked up Gray's Anatomy and read it cover to cover. During the two weeks it took me to read the book, I did little more than eat and read. That one literary milestone was a turning point in my life. After reading Gray's Anatomy I devoured knowledge of the human body like most children at that age devour hamburgers. I read and learned so much during the summer of 1979 that when I returned to school I knew more about the body, health, and general biology then my 5th grade teacher did. I've never had problems learning anything. Algebra, Geometry, driving, snowboarding; it all came very easy to me. Then there was English, my dreaded Achilles heal. It's an ongoing battle that I fight to this day. By the time I graduated high school, I had spent every summer in summer school repeating miscellaneous language or history courses. Eventually, I figured out how to put it all together enough to earn my high-school diploma. Oddly enough, if it wasn't for that little problem, my life would have turned out quite differently.
Like high-school, every course that I took came easy to me and I began taking tests to get out of them. I tested out of every anatomy and biology course except my upper division labs that I had to do dissections in. In my second year, I took full loads of English courses and began failing miserably. I figured the best thing to do was get myself a tutor.
My first tutor was a Japanese man by the name of Soto. He couldn't put up with me so he recommended another tutor. I remember it like it was yesterday. The doorbell of the house I was living in with five other guys rang, and I eagerly answered it. Standing in front of me was a 5'10"blonde, with brown eyes and the body of an angel.
"Hi." The young lady said with a strong Jersey accent, "My name is Mary Cassolette. I'm your new tutor."
I stared in disbelief. Soto, a man who hated me, recommended this beautiful woman to teach me English. I immediately fell head over heels, and so did the four guys behind me wuth their mouths agape. "Come on in." I said in my most suave debonair voice as I invited her into a mess of dirty socks, pizza boxes, men and women's underwear, and scattering envious boys. I quickly threw everything into the kitchen. "Do you want a drink?"
"No thanks. Do you want to start the lesson now?" Mary asked as pleasantly.
That night was wonderful. She ignored every come-on that I tried and amazingly taught me quite a bit about the English language. I guess it's true what my dad always told me: All you need is the right teacher and you can learn anything. As she left I stopped her in the doorway.
"Hey...Mary?" I asked fiddling with my pencil almost breaking it.
"Yes ?" she asked pretending not to notice my nervousness.
"Would you like to go to a movie or a bite to eat or something?" I asked as butterflies the size of semi-trucks infiltrated my stomach.
"I'd love to. When?" She asked with a large smile, tilting her head slightly to the right.
I was ready to be turned down and this answer had come as a complete surprise. "Well, how about tomorrow at noon or something?"
"Which is it? Noon, or something?" She joked through a laugh. "A lunch date, huh? I've never been on a lunch date before."
I showed up at her house with a rose and a pre-packed picnic basket just picked out from the store. She was thrilled that we were going on a picnic. Our second date was to a drive-inn, even though we had no car. I rolled out three blankets, popcorn, and two cokes and we were set to watch the movie. Our dates never seemed dull. There was champagne on top of a mountain, breakfast in bed, and after a year of dating we moved in together and ate our first meal in a restaurant. We were married in a little catholic church in her hometown right after graduation..
Our parents paid for a small wedding, inviting only family and friends. Looking back, I'd have to say that was the happiest day of my life. Mary and I had always wanted to go to Florida, so for a wedding present, my mother bought us two plane tickets to Florida and a room on the beach.
Daytona was just how we pictured it. There was sun, sand, beach, warmth, and, of course, it was a tourist trap. It was the beginning of September, and there were very few people in the town. Every person we talked to said this was a very slow time. Mary and I didn't care; we weren't there to meet people; this was our honeymoon. During our time in Daytona, we were busy all the time. We swam, played on the beach, sun-bathed, jet-skied, and of course made love. During those two weeks we made love so much I am surprised we still managed to do all the things we did. But hey, that's what a honeymoon is all about.

Whoa, almost hit a car there. I'm going to have to keep this car on the road. I can't believe that honeymoon was so long ago. This damn road never seemed so long before. It's probably because my heart has never ached this much before. No wife, no family, and all friends leaving you does that. I don't want to think of the present right now; it hurts too much. I like thinking of the past and the good times. That honeymoon in Florida, it sure was a great time. That vacation is the reason why my life is as bad as it is now. I don't know who to blame, my mom or Long-John

Floating down the tranquil Halifax river on a boat piloted by a man who called himself Long-John, no doubt after the famous book. The boat was one of those small sailboats you see being sailed up and down most rivers and seas. It had a nice large deck with the helm in the middle. One door led below deck to a cozy living room. Opposite the stairway were the head and a bedroom. As we had heard many times on our trip, Long-John told us the boat was usually packed. But today, the only other passengers were a young gay couple who couldn't keep their tongues out of each other's mouth. Long-John spent most of his time talking directly to Mary and I.
From the time I walked up the gangplank, I knew we were going to be friends. Mary on the other hand didn't like him. As we sailed down the Halifax he told us about his sailing life; Mary wouldn't acknowledge his existence. " I was born and raised in this beautiful city till I was ten years old. After that, my life got pretty hectic. But that's enough about me, shall we get on?" Long-John set the sail and turned us down a new row of homes. Long-John looked very much as you'd think an old pirate of the 1600's would. He was a tall man of about six feet or so with a head of silver that trailed down his back tied into a pony-tail with a single piece of blue ribbon. Long-John had a face that was golden and almost leather like. His eyes were bright blue, or should I say his right eye was bright blue; his left eye was nothing but a glass ball. He wore a starched white shirt with a red coat like a British revolutionary soldier would wear, and a pair of black pants. He had no shoes; "don't make the boat feel right" he'd say. His right hand was missing, and he walked with a limp. We learned that he lost his hand in a boating accident involving rope, a sail, and a stormy night; and the only reason he walked with a limp was that one leg was shorter than the other.
The opulent line of millionaire homes mesmerized Mary, but I wanted to know more about out captain. So I left Mary with her sure-shot 3300 telephoto, and asked, "What happened when you were 10?"
"Well, it's a long story but if you don't mind hearing it, I'll tell you. Not much actual history left in this town anymore anyways, just big houses and nauseating rich."
"They're not that bad," Mary quipped through the whir and click of pictures, never taking her eyes out of the view of the houses.
"When I was 10 my dad took me to England to escape my crazy mother. My dad was an old seaman and wanted me to follow in his "step foots". He taught me all he knew about life on the water. When I turned twenty I was expected to go into the Navy, so I picked the U.S. Navy rather than England's, I mean you want to be on a winning team right?" He chuckled to himself for a moment.
"What was your job in the navy?"
"My job?" Long-John began handeling the sails of the boat like they were a shirt he'd worn for many years. "I was a pilot, a boat pilot. I piloted every ship in the navy, from a PT boat to an aircraft carrier. After Nam, I decided I had seen enough and was dropped off on U.S. shores; out of work and hated, like everyone else. So, hey, I didn't feel all that bad, at least I had company right? My dad died while I was in and I decided to spend my last dimes to fly over to England and sail his boat back."
"You sailed a small sailboat all the way across the Atlantic?" I asked in surprise.
"Yeah. Not that great of a feet really. In `82 I sailed d'sameboat around the world with a couple of buds. Best time in my life so far, I'd recommend it for everyone. But I think your lady friend is getting bored," and he pointed to Mary who has stopped snapping pictures and was now dozing on my shoulder.
"No, just a late night." I said with a chuckle.
Long-John smiled and said, "That's O.K., the cruise is over anyway." The two men unhooked themselves from each other and went ashore, Long-John helped us out of the boat and invited us to dinner at 8:00 his treat. It was two in the afternoon, so I gladly accepted to Mary's dismay

Damn median. Who the hell had the bright idea of putting those damn things in the middle of the highway? The fuel tank is flashing red and I still have quite a ways to go, better pull off and get some gas. Long-John, Mary, the gay couple, the river, the sun, the stories; can it get any better? I doubt it. Happiness never lasts as long as you'd like it to.

The rest of that day was filled with our first real fight, and Mary telling me all the reasons she didn't like Long-John. Among the many absurd reasons she gave were: 'He looks swarthy and suspicious.' `He'll probably try to scam us out of money.' `you can't trust a man with one eye. ' `I just don't like the looks of him!' Somehow I convinced her to go to dinner. A feat I never thought I'd accomplish, and we met Long-John at his so called "favorite spot in this country" at 8.
It was a bar and grill located right on the beach called "The Beach Pit." Mary immediately didn't like it. I was starting to realize just how snobby Mary was. "The Beach Pit" was split in two parts. The part that held the entrance was filled, for the most part, with the bar. I remember there being about seven tables in the section. There was also a place for a live reggae band that played there. The second part was located directly on the beach. The floor was sand and the whole restaurant was covered with Mosquito netting and boards.
The first thing I noticed in the place was the numerous "sailor type" sayings written on the walls. As I read the walls and listened to Mary's venomous contempt for the place, I noticed Long-John dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, and flip-flops jumping up and down waving at us. You could tell he had had a couple of stiff bevies by the time we arrived.
He continued jumping around and eagerly grabbed each of our arms pulling us to his table. Then, as gentle as I'd ever seen, he took Mary's hand and kissed it as she blushed. We started on our first round of drinks, and he said, "You know, I really enjoyed you guys on my boat this afternoon. I get a lot of people on that deck, and most of the time I can't wait to get them off." He belted down his mug of beer and smiled at us. "We should exchange numbers and addresses. Before I knew it, he was writing his info on a napkin, and Mary thinking this was a marvelous idea, was scribbling ours. To my astonishment, she wrote the correct info. It seemed odd exchanging phone numbers that early in the evening seemed odd. We'd only known the guy for about six hours; now he was asking us for personal information. That just didn't seem very "normal." Of course now, I've come to know that "normal" doesn't exist. Long-John was a peculiar man, and I came to find out this was just another one of his no-nonsense way of doing things.
A number of years after this peculiar first meeting, when I had the opportunity to get to know Long-John better, he explained to me why he did this. He explained, "You have to know who you're dealing with. What people say to your face is merely a facade to what they're actually thinking. Remember, eighty-five percent of all people are not as nice as you think, and will stab you in the back the first chance they get. By finding out their info you have done 4 things. First, you have a way to find out about your so-called companions. Also, if you ever need these people, you know where they are. If you do this in the beginning, you take control of the situation and not the people who are joining you. Plus Joe, at my age, the mind just doesn't work all that good, you know?"
The evening continued with more drinks and Long-John spinning fantastic tales of life on the sea. Then he pulled his chair closer to the table and took on a serious tone for the first time that evening.
"I was sailing off the coast of Sydney sometime after my dad died, and I came upon a small deserted island. That's not the strange part; there are thousands of those things out there. Hell, a couple of me mates have made a killing flying tourists out to those little beaches in the middle of the ocean. I mean really, Daytona Beach is nothing but a large sandbar with hotels and houses." He finished off the suds in his glass, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. " I'd say the island was about four miles in diameter. . if that. In the middle of the island was a small jungle. Curiosity got the best of me and I went in hacking at branches and foliage. All of a sudden I came to a cleared trail. Finding this odd, I cautiously walked up the trail. The trail lead to a clearing, and in the middle of this clearing over a patch of dark green grass was a primitive lean-to. I decided to..."
"What was going through your mind?" I interrupted.
"Well Joe, it's kind of weird. I wasn't really thinking anything at all. I was just curious where it came from. It's not like this was a remote undiscovered island. Long- John signaled the waitress for another beer and she brought one as if she'd anticipated his calling. Her young coy smile came to the table, and was directed at Long-John and only Long-John.
"In the lean-to was a lone battered sailor. He looked up and told me he was dying."
When Mary heard this last sentence she rolled her eyes and smirked, "Yeah that sounds believable."
Long-John looked at her, grinned, and took a drink of his beer. "Yeah, I know. But it's a true story whether you believe it or not. Remember, I'm not gaining anything by telling it to you. Either this a tall tale to entertain some Jersey tourists, or it really happened. You have to decide for yourself if this dying man who wanted to tell me a secret was real or not. The man's secret turned into more of a long drawn out story than a small secret. He told me of an old pirate's buried treasure in a well-known tourist spot in South America. I was on a world cruise so I recorded all the particulars that the man told me, and when I arrived in South America I went in search of the treasure. Now I bet you want to know what happened to that old sailor huh?"
In between mouthfulls of tri-tip we both nodded. Even though she thought this was all bullshit, she was enjoying the tale and wanted to know the rest.