Zodiacs, Tequila and Captain C

Back in the late 90s I had a house across the street from the Gulf of Mexico, and on the other side of the street was an old salt who called himself Captain C. He had a 12ft Zodiac inflatable. We would push this red thing into the surf, then he'd fire up the 20 hp engine, circle back around in the surf and scoop me up while I was careful not to catch my legs in the prop.

We'd bounce over the incoming waves and finally smooth out to calm water about 3 mile off shore. As we hovered over our dive site, we'd talk, and he'd tell me things about life while he downed a minature Jose Cuervo. I remember life was good at the time.

I was a rep for a medical company and I tried to duck out of work as much as possible. And with no fear of being caught, I spent my afternoons with Captain C. He was one of most intersting people I'd ever met.

Captain C was an older man with salty hair and skin wrinkled from too much time in the sun. He told me of his days as an Arizona contractor and his youth as a navy man. He taught me that diving rules are merely guidelines, and that drinking tequila is easier if you sip it.

I remember after diving, we'd run the Zodiac onto the beach, then drag it to the driveway. Then we'd go inside his cinderblock house and sit at the bar, surrounded by ribbons of his races in the past, the trophies of a middle-aged man of fitness, a tribute to his dedication.

Still, we'd sip tequila. And we'd talk about life. And we'd talk about why I'm dodging so much work. And I realized that work--the work I was doing--was not for me.

So Captain C and I hung out whenever we could I was always happy to take the brundt of the load of the Zodiac when we were pulling it up across the sand. We sipped Tequila without the lime and the salt. He taught me how to dive on my own and a million other things.

So, a while ago a hurricane came across our island. And after the wind stopped, and things died down, I ambled out to see what the damage was. Two houses down, across the street, I came across Captain C sifting through the sand. Behind him where his house once stood was nothing than white sand--flat, white sand. I asked him what he was doing.

"I'm looking for tools," he said.

"Tools?" I responded. "What for?"

"I think I can put it back together," he said. And as he dug in the sand, I saw a tear escape from this stoic man's eye. Even when his entire material life was gone, he was still digging through the sand, trying to rebuild the simple life he once had.

I haven't run into the Captain since we all moved to the mainland while the rebuilding began. But I'm still thankful of all the things I've learned from him. I hope he's doing well and that he's still running, still diving, and still sipping tequilia.