PLAY IT SAFE

Since today is April 20^th, I thought I would post the following story from my collection “Honey Signed The Waiver”.  The events occurred and the story was written long before cannabis was legalized in Canada.  Twice now, I've read this story at public readings and it was well received both times. I hope it makes you laugh, and I especially dedicate it to anyone like me who is NOT celebrating 4-20 today!

 

DON’T ROCK THE BOAT

     When Honey’s sister, Diane, and her husband, Phil, came for a visit one recent weekend, they laughingly reminded me of how Honey sometimes drags me along on unexpected adventures.  Specifically, they remembered one Canada Day weekend when Honey had taken me to visit them in the Kelowna and Lake Country region of British Columbia.  They lived in Lake Country, but worked in Kelowna.

     Phil and Diane owned a business that rented out small scooters and big Harley motorcycles to tourists in Kelowna from May till October each year.  So when we went to visit them in the summer we were generally on our own each day, until early evening, when their business closed for the day.  That weekend, there was a push on to view all the expected fireworks over Lake Okanagan in the evening on Canada Day.  So Honey and I met up with Phil and Diane just before their closing time.

     “Okay, here’s the plan,” Diane said, being the consummate business owner and planner.  “Andrew owns a houseboat, moored by the bridge on the west side of the lake.  Jeremy and his girlfriend Cherise will meet up with us and then all six of us will go meet Andrew at his houseboat and we’ll push out on the water to watch the fireworks.  Won’t that be neat?”

     I knew Jeremy was Honey’s nephew, Phil and Diane’s son.  I’d also met Cherise.  “Who’s Andrew?” I asked.

     “Oh, he’s Jeremy’s friend.  They went to school together,” Diane said.

     I knew Jeremy suffered from the lack of good paying full time employment, which was scarce in the Okanagan, so I asked what Andrew, also in his early twenties, worked at to afford  a houseboat and also the motorhome they told me he had.

     “Um, he runs a greenhouse with his relatives, I think,” she said rather evasively, refusing to look at me.

     “Okay.  So what do we do for supper then?  Since I’m diabetic, I have to eat something, somehow.”

     “Oh, no problem.  Andrew said we’d barbecue on the houseboat.  We’ll do hamburgers and a salad, and I’m picking up the booze,” Phil said.  “Party time!”  He laughed.

     I looked at Honey who just raised his eyebrows and shrugged, as if it was out of his hands.  I did know that if beer was included he’d be a willing participant.  I also knew that as the only non-drinker, I would be the obvious designated driver.  Unfortunately, I did not know how to drive a houseboat.

     Jeremy and Cherise arrived at closing time, booze and groceries were purchased and the six of us headed for the west side of Okanagan Lake, in two vehicles.  Jeremy and Cherise were in his old pickup, newly painted with black matte barbecue paint, and the rest of us were in Honey’s Dodge Caravan, which he was still capable of driving at that point.

     It was a gorgeous evening after a hot day, with the sun lowering over the mountains in the west, and the waters of the lake a placid mirror of the blue sky.  The fireworks would be stunning, in more ways than one.

     We parked our vehicles and the other five carried supplies out on a dock toward a small houseboat.  It was floating, but looked a little worn on the outside.  I followed with my cane and carrying a jacket, in case it was cool when the sun went down.  Honey solicitously helped me board the houseboat, which rocked precariously with seven adult bodies on board.

     “Just so you know,” Andrew boomed, “you can’t all stand on the same side of the houseboat, or we’ll tip over.  Part of a pontoon is missing.  And anytime somebody walks down the middle inside, the boat rocks back and forth, but that shouldn’t cause it to tip.”

     Good to know, I thought, as the vessel started moving away from the dock and into open water.  Being cautious by nature, I decided to park myself on the rear deck by the barbecue, and stay out of the way.  There were already six people preparing drinks and food in a small kitchen area barely big enough for one.  After much laughter and clinking of ice cubes in glasses and popping of beer bottle caps, Honey came out to light the barbecue.

     He opened a valve on the forty pound propane tank, turned the dial on the burner, and used his Zippo to ignite the flame.  Then he put the lid down to let it warm up and went back inside.

     Left alone, I sat serenely beside the lit barbecue, enjoying the scenery and sipping my allotted can of diet pop Honey had brought me, as the boat rocked in synch with his footsteps.

     Then my peaceful meditation was interrupted by a scent that wasn’t food related.  At first I wasn’t sure if it was Honey’s cigarette smoke or the medicinal marijuana the inflicted were smoking for self-healing.  I sighed, resigning myself to a long evening and probably a late supper.

     The reflection of the setting sun off the water made my eyes tear, so I pulled my sunglasses from my purse.  When I put them on and my eyes adjusted, that’s when I saw it.  The open flame under the barbecue.  As Phil looked out from the doorway, I pointed it out to him.

     “I think the barbecue is on fire,” I said, trying to stay calm and not panic.

     “Oh, stupid thing,” he said as he turned the valve off and seemed to tighten something and then re-lit the barbecue and went back inside, rocking the boat.

     My eyes never left the barbecue.  I was sitting beside it feeling very nervous as the boat rocked back and forth every time somebody moved inside.  When the flame erupted again, this time I screamed.

     “Fire!  Fire!  Fire!”

     I debated whether I should hope for sanity from those in the depths of the houseboat, or if I should just jump into the water and try to save myself.  We were a very long way from shore and not wearing life-jackets.

     That’s when Honey surprised me.  He heard my scream and came running from inside with a fire extinguisher which he pointed at the flame, as I crouched in my corner as far as I could get from the barbecue.  He aimed the extinguisher precisely and swamped the flame.  Smoke billowed out and up, while the boat pitched back and forth and tipped precariously, as all the others tried to see what was happening.

     “Spread out!  Don’t tip the boat!” Andrew yelled.

     “Are you okay?  Are you burnt?” Honey yelled at me.

     “What happened?” Phil bellowed.

     Voices were incessant, but hardly recognizable, because the siren from the police boat overpowered them all as it approached us.  But I did hear one command from Andrew.

     “Flush all the pot down the toilet!”

     The boat rocked again as everybody rushed back inside toward the toilet.  I was left sitting alone on the rear deck as the police boat pulled alongside us.

     “Is there a problem?” the uniformed officer asked, pointing to the trails of smoke still wafting from the barbecue.  “We saw the smoke and the houseboat rocking dangerously.”

     “Um.  No.  The barbecue caught fire, but my husband put it out with a fire extinguisher,” I explained, hoping he didn’t also smell the marijuana smoke.

     “Whose vessel is this?” he asked.

     “It’s Andrew’s.  I don’t know his last name.  He just invited us out to view the fireworks tonight.”

     “Where is he?”

     I raised my voice.  “Andrew!” I yelled like a mother about to kill her errant child.

     He poked his head out the rear door and had a short discussion with the officer.  It was decided firmly by said officer that the only course of action would be for Andrew to immediately take his houseboat and passengers back to shore.  We were to view the regulated fireworks from there, instead of trying to produce our own.

     That was just fine by me, since the sooner I could put my feet on solid ground and put some distance between myself and my stoned and intoxicated companions, the better.  Apparently my face reflected those sentiments because Phil and Diane vividly remembered how I looked, like a trapped rabbit among a pack of wolves.  They howl with laughter every time it’s mentioned.

     Later that night, as I climbed into the driver’s seat of the Caravan, I instructed Honey that he had to buy me some supper at a decent restaurant, or there would be more unexpected fireworks for him to watch and he’d darn well better not rock my boat anymore that night!

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By Lisa A. Hatton