Erin was really just a good midwestern girl from a good midwestern family.
Her parents are hardworking salt of the earth types who were a little bit tired by the time she came along, the youngest of 5 and the loudest baby the small Indiana hospital had delivered in decades. Erin announced herself to the world as if a foghorn was attached to her tiny little mouth and her tired mother looked down at her with love and amazement, and also the quiet determination she was known for to get this baby under control.
Erin’s mother was very good at doing what was needed and what was needed was to restore some peace and quiet to the orderly and efficient maternity ward. What quieted Erin down was attention, so attention she got.
Her other children showed independence almost from the moment they were born. They were content to lay in their crib, or play in their playpen, expelling polite little whimpers to let their mother know when they were hungry or needed changing. They slept through the night and took their naps and got along with all the other children in the church nursery on Sunday mornings.
Erin’s older brothers and sisters, two of each, had made Erin’s mother feel quite adept at mothering. She listened to the exhausted grievances of the other mothers of young children in her bible study group and thought to herself, Good grief. It really isn’t that hard. If you’re tired, just put the child to bed and take a nap.
Now she understood. Erin could not be put to bed so Erin’s mother could take a nap. Erin refused to be left alone at all.
Erin’s mother, who was tired but also very good at doing what was needed, strapped Erin to her chest and kept on doing what needed to be done. She never dreamed she’d be one of those mothers who let their children sleep in her bed, but that’s what kept Erin quiet and occasionally asleep, so that’s what she did. What was needed was to keep Erin quiet and that required never leaving Erin alone for a second.
Were there other ways to deal with a loud, attention seeking child? Perhaps.
Did Erin’s mother feel some bitterness over never for one second being without her youngest child? Maybe.
Did Erin’s older siblings start to look at her with resentment for being so dramatic and taking a disproportionate amount of their mother’s time and attention? Definitely.
Did any of that change who Erin was? No.
And also, yes.
As she got older, Erin became aware of all the ways she was being managed. She wanted to be like her older brothers and sisters and be content to sit quietly and read, or do her homework in her room, or never have to be told to practice the violin (all the children were required to learn an instrument) or brush her teeth or put on her shoes or be quiet.
She tried. Really she did.
But she felt that being alone in her room was a special form of torture and she couldn’t fathom how anyone could spend hours absorbed in the pages of a book when there was so much happening in the world, and she absolutely hated the violin. She hated anything that didn’t involve some kind of interaction with another human. She hated shoes, and dresses, and clothes in general. She wanted to dance and play her music loudly and sing along loudly, and have lots and lots of loud conversations with everyone in the whole wide world.
None of this was possible in her quiet family of good people who always did what was needed and never made a fuss.
Erin loved making a fuss. It was one of her favorite activities.
So, when Erin was 18, she left. Not far. Being away from her mother caused some anxiety so she chose a good midwestern university that was away from home but not so far that she couldn’t drive back in a few hours. She joined everything. She went to everything. She made friends with everyone.
She dreamed and schemed and talked endlessly about moving to New York, or Los Angeles, or San Francisco. She wanted to be in the heart of a big, noisy city. And everyone who knew her, everyone except her mother, thought that’s where she belonged.
Twice, while she was in college, she took a trip to a big city. Once to New York and once to Los Angelas. In the middle of a big city, no one paid her any attention. It didn’t matter what she did, how loud she was, how many conversations she tried to start. She was surrounded by more people than she’d seen in her whole life, and she was invisible. Anonymous. Alone. She was miserable.
Erin needed an audience.
And an audience is much easier to be had in a small town.
So, with graduation just around the corner, she did something no one expected and took a job at a small company in a small-ish town in Michigan, just 5 hours from where she grew up. She got an apartment with a quiet roommate who didn’t want to talk but who was great at listening and a quiet cat who was content to follow Erin around and sit on her lap whenever Erin required attention. Which was often.
One day, in early June, a coworker put up a sign in the office that read, Boat for sale, Harbour Towne Marina. Erin went to the marina and looked at the boat. It was kind of loud and a little bit distasteful, and had a hot pink jet ski tied to the stern.
She loved it immediately.
And so she bought it.
Erin knew exactly nothing about boats. She’d never been on a boat and knew nothing about how to operate one. This bothered her not at all.
She hung hot pink flamingo lights on the dock pilings at her slip. She bought bright, colorful beach towels and several bright, colorful bikinis. She stocked the boat with snacks and hot pink plastic cocktail glasses and bottles of pre-mixed cosmopolitain.
She went to the marina almost every evening, immediately after leaving the office. On Fridays she wouldn’t leave until Sunday night. The second she stepped onboard she changed from her work clothes into one of her many bikinis. It didn’t matter what the weather was doing that day. It didn’t matter what she was going to do while onboard. She was doing it in a bikini.
She sat out on the deck of the boat and called her mother and her sister and her other sister and her best friend and her roommate (who was quite enjoying the empty apartment) and her old college roommate and her brother’s wife and her other brother’s wife. She sat with one of her colorful beach towels draped over the deck chair, the phone on speaker with the volume turned all the way up and a hot pink cosmo in a plastic hot pink cocktail glass that matched the hot pink jet ski she also didn’t know how to operate but really liked to look at.
When there was no one to call, or no one who had answered, she’d crank up the music and dance on the deck like she was at the office holiday party, where things always got just a little bit out of hand and she could be almost as loud as she wanted without anyone raising their eyebrows or telling her to tone it down.
When she had some energy to burn off, which was often, she’d fill a bucket with soapy water, crank up the music, grab a scrub brush and scrub the deck to a blinding white shine.
The scrubbing gave way to dancing every time her favorite song came on. Erin had a lot of favorite songs.
As a boat owner who never actually took her boat out onto the lake, Erin could be brave and adventurous without actually having to be brave and adventurous. She’d slip the boat into conversations like it was no big deal. “I love that show! I watched it last weekend on the boat… What’s that you say? Oh, yes. I have a boat. Would you like to come see it?”
Erin loved having guests on the boat. Most of them, understandably, showed up expecting to go out on the lake.
But first! There was a grand tour of the boat, and several hours on the deck snacking on pimento cheese dip and Mexican street corn dip and queso served with tortilla chips in take out containers from the beach restaurant down the street, and a couple of sugary cosmos that no one liked but everyone drank because after shouting, “Who wants a cosmo?” while placing a hot pink plastic martini glass in their hands and declaring “They’re my specialty!” they understood that it wasn’t a question they were expected to answer.
Often, as other boat owners walked by, Erin waved hello and shouted out an invite to come join the party, which they sometimes did.
For the first couple of hours, Erin’s guests thought that once they got through the appetizers and cocktails and the small talk with the other boat owners that they’d head out onto the lake. But, after baking in the summer sun with too much sugary vodka sloshing around in their stomachs and nothing else to eat except pimento cheese dip that had been baking in the sun right along with them, they managed to find a polite excuse for why they needed to go even though they had such a good time and let’s please do this again!
Erin would toss the takeout containers into the hidden trash bag of empty cosmopolitain bottles, walk it over to the dumpster, and then go back to the boat, turn on some music, and sit on the deck, waiting for the next person to walk by.
She always felt a little bit sad when people left.
But one of the best parts of being in a marina is that it’s only a matter of time before someone new walks by. And besides, her favorite song just came on.
About the artist
is an artist, designer, and vegan food blogger based in New York City. She earned her Bachelor of Design in architecture from the University of Florida and incorporates those skills and her love of design in her work today. They specialize in watercolor, digital art, and colored pencil but love exploring new art mediums and creative projects. She enjoys many hobbies outside of work including figure skating, dancing, running, crocheting, writing, and spending time in nature.Check out their Instagram, portfolio, and food blog! For any inquiries or commissions, send Sarah an email at sarah@alternativedish.com
This is incredible! I’d read a whole BOOK of these short stories. :)
I love Edna. Thanks for conjuring her up!!!