Dusty had laid down for a nap, and I was taking a walk around the ship to pass a little time. The mood was generally positive onboard as our sea trials had been scheduled for Monday, and we finally seemed to be moving toward a launch date. This was coming after over three months of delays for our three-year dream trip around the world.
After walking the length of the ship and past the empty pools and hot tubs, I started down the series of cascading open spaces at the back of the ship. When I had descended one deck, I was met by Robert, who asked if I had heard the latest news. Since I had not, I replied in the negative. He quickly reported that the sea trials had been cancelled, and yet again we were being delayed in our preparations for departure. Opening the app on my phone, I read the news that had been reported by the COO, placing blame on different people and different entities not agreeing on what needed to be done or who had had to approve what.
I was not going to wake Dusty with this news. Knowing where the residents would be gathering to discuss the latest news, I went down to the Morning Light Lounge at the bow of the ship on the fifth deck to find exactly what I expected. Dozens of people sitting sullenly, many with drinks in their hands, talking in the soft tones associated with a wake. Indeed, I was feeling like something inside me was dying, again--the dream of setting off around the world to share excitement and adventures with these same people and indirectly with friends and family that were waiting to hear from me.
There was a piano playing something in the corner of the room. I didn’t notice what song it was. Just background music, like in a mall or something. Dusty came into the room, and I saw her face. She had heard. I confirmed it with words and knew this might be the end.
The music changed. From the piano came the notes of the song played at our wedding forty-three years ago, "Lady" by Kenny Rogers. I put down the glass of wine that I had only just started and found an open spot in the lounge to slow dance with my bride. And cried. Quietly, but there were real tears. Having put so much time and hope into this dream, it hurt deeply to feel it could die right there and then.
Lady ended. Dusty asked if she could have a glass of wine and if we could take a walk. Out we went onto the promenade deck and walked slowly toward the bow. We had never been here before. We stood at the lovely teak railing looking forward to the ship’s bell and the exit to Belfast Harbor beyond. The thought of never exiting that harbor on the Odyssey was becoming a real possibility.
After a warning to Dusty, I was yelling at the top of my lungs to release the anger and disappointment that was about to explode from inside of me. She put her glass of wine on the railing in front of us and gave me a big two-armed hug that reminded me of a time before we were even married. The kind of hug you don’t want to ever end. I said I was sorry that I got us where we were. She said it wasn’t my fault and then asked what I wanted to do. I said, “I want this thing to happen, but that doesn’t mean it will. I’m willing to walk away if you say so.” Again, she asked me what I wanted to do. I said that I still had gas in the tank and was willing to hang in there. We would see which way fate and facts pushed us.
It was now dinner time, and we made our way to deck six aft because that was where they were serving dinner. Fred was sitting alone at a table for four, so I asked if we could join him. We had spoken several times, and he was happy to have us sit with him. (Fred is an amazing fellow, and I look forward to writing about him in some detail later if he approves.)
After gathering our first round of grub from the buffet and sitting down at the table, a solo traveler approached and asked to sit as well. I had seen him the day before as he had just arrived from the United States to embark on our joint (delayed) adventure. Fred was already familiar with him, and he introduced himself as Joe David.
In the course of standard small talk introductions and so forth, he mentioned Covina, California. I said I was from Glendora. He acknowledged that he too was actually from Glendora. In talking about ears (I am an audiologist), he mentioned that Dr. Zalta had been his ear doctor in Glendora. Serendipity went from "wow" to "holy shit."
Ed Zalta shared a birthday with my father. They had parties celebrating together. I recall the punny invitations to their Pair-A-Docs birthday party when I was a kid. To take things a step further, his wife was Ginny Zalta. She was my mom’s best friend for life. She was also the only one to see me go into their swimming pool when I was two years old and saved my life. The likelihood of us meeting on this ship? Wow!
As they say on the infomercials, “Wait! There’s more!” Yep. He asked if I knew Dr. Selby. Well, of course. He was my pediatrician. Well, that and the fact he was Joe's stepfather. As we went on about where he lived in Glendora, it turned out that he lived two blocks away from Dusty, my wife. In fact, they both had gone to the same elementary school. He also had a cousin that Dusty knew. They talked a little about her early days and how both Dusty and Joe had spent a lot of time at the same roller skating rink. Dusty did remember seeing his cousin there.
Looking around the table, I felt that I had been sent a message. This trip. These people. All of this was getting too interesting to not see how it turned out. I wanted to meet more of my fellow travelers, to see the ship in motion, and to watch the view change from our balcony. We had invested so much into seeing this launch that to quit now just felt wrong. Let’s see how the old girl does in sea trials and then reassess our plans for the next three years.
Comments