Lobsters

There are many dramatic personalities in NJ. I can see it is ripe territory for a writer. The story below is an impression seen through peripheral vision and eavesdropped across the fuel dock where Carrie Rose sat. It might be a product of my ripe imagination but I will let the reader judge.

A lobster boat pulls up — slowly, effortlessly with one spring line — and asks the dock boy if he knows John. “Sure”, the dock boy says. “Can you get him for me, he knows I’m coming”, the lobsterman says quietly. The young man straightaway jogs down the pier to the shore.

John appears moments later. He is in his 70’s slightly stooped with close-cropped hair. Skinny with a cigarette dangling that does not seem to get shorter, he has a deep gravely voice that is somehow sweet. The lobster boat — well used — with multiple large plastic containers sits waiting with its engine rumbling. The other dock boy walks to the side of the boat, takes a deep breath, and says to no one in particular, “This is the smell of money”.

John and the lobsterman have a conversation. They are on familiar but respectful terms. The first dock boy rushes in with the first of two wheel barrels. This one is filled with large sacks of ice. They are emptied into where I do not see. Then he runs back with the now empty wheel barrel, and returns with a cooler in place of the ice.

The lid of a large faded blue plastic container amidships is opened and the counting starts: one, two, …fifty-four lobsters are placed into the waiting cooler. Throughout the process John keeps commenting on how alive the lobsters look. To which the lobsterman says, “Of course, they were caught today.”

I am wondering how much is this going to cost when John says, “I got the money”. Four hundred dollars or so passes hands. John asks if he can step on board, which he does. He offers his apologizes before discussing the slightly less then anticipated weight of the lobsters. He will pay but offers his concern about the weight.

The lobsterman is grateful and respectful to John. I notice that he does not respond to John’s concerns. The moment passes. It ends with John requesting two more lobsters — he’ll pay for them — for the dock boys who have been hanging back a reverential distance during the transaction.

John starts to leave but first tells the lobsterman that he loves him and misses him. He clearly says, “I love you”. I realize the wheel barrel with the lobsters is gone. The boys are back to staring at their smart phones. John leaves as he came, cigarette and all. The lobsterman powers his well-worn boat slightly forward, unties the spring line, and motors out toward the opening of the inlet.

I want to ask the boys about what just happened but I think not. I am unsure if what transpired was legal. I begin to wash the salt off Carrie Rose with fresh water from the hose on the dock and decide to keep my own consul. Then I think; I should write this down and so I have.