Close Quarters
What I learned from summer nights on a boat that slept eight
I took the pillow off my ears and squinted at the digital clock next to me. Two AM blinked back at me.
I lightly nudged my cousin Chris, who was lying right next to me. We were sharing a small queen-sized bed in a small nook in the bottom right of the boat. “You still awake?” I whispered.
“Of course I’m still awake,” he replied, not really trying to mask his voice in a whisper. “How could I sleep with all of this snoring?”
The snoring he referred to had begun around 11:30 p.m. and continued for the next two-and-a-half hours. The sound — which is what I would imagine a chainsaw would sound like if you tried to cut through metal — wasn’t continuous for the full 150 minutes. There were moments of brief reprieve, where the snoring would stop. But as a 13-year-old, the anxiety of trying to fall asleep in those short pockets of silence made it impossible to relax. Then it would start again, and all hope was gone.
It would continue throughout the night. Eventually, sheer exhaustion would overpower the noise and I’d fall asleep. My cousin would too.
Such is life sleeping on a boat.
I still remember the first time my Uncle Nick told me that he bought a boat. Up unto that point, I didn’t know anyone who had one. I was 12, so I didn’t fully understand what I know now, that people living the boat life are to be admired and envied. As most adults will tell you, knowing someone who owns a boat is critical to having a great summer.
My Uncle Nick and Aunt Mel did well for themselves, but weren’t rich. I asked my uncle what made them make this particular splurge. “When you get older Stef,” he said, “sometimes you have to make purchases for yourself. I’ve wanted a boat my entire life, and we’ve done well enough that I can finally get one.”
These were tight quarters, to say the least. There were eight of us: Uncle Nick, Aunt Mel, Chris (who was my age), my younger cousin Cathy, my parents, and my older sister Monique.
Afternoons were spent going into town in Mystic, Conn. — made famous by the world-renowned “Mystic Pizza,” and the classic ‘80s movie — fishing, getting into trouble (wide open areas for teenage boys are typically a recipe for mayhem), games, laughter, and more.
The boat was big, but eight was still a lot of bodies in a confined area, and we all slept on it. The setup: Chris and I had the nook, where we hooked up a gaming system and small TV. There was a pullout couch bed for Cathy and Monique, and two queen size beds for the parents. All of these beds, when pulled out, covered the space a small living room would.
I don’t think our parents appreciated the raucous cheering (followed closely by raucous arguing), when Chris and I scored touchdowns on each other in Tecmo Super Bowl. Uncle Nick’s focus was often put to the test driving the boat, not aided by Chris, Cathy, and I screaming for him to drive it faster. Our fathers paid us back in full at night though, when the snoring would begin.
And our poor mothers. Do you know how hard it is to cook breakfast when kids are emerging from all angles of the boat at 7 a.m. whining that they’re hungry? I don’t even want to imagine what two teenage boys — already playing loose with the rules of what’s acceptable from a hygiene perspective — smelled like living on a boat for three days.
Sometimes I think the closeness led to brief moments of insanity. For example, my mother would cheat at Scrabble every time we played — including if we played two games back-to-back — with the exact same move expecting a different result. She would flip over a tile, disguising it as a blank tile so she could put down a big word, only for us to realize at the end of the game that three blank titles had been laid down. Hence, someone was cheating. And always, it was my mom.
That many people in that small of space certainly sparks arguments — my sister and I probably had our worst yelling matches on these trips — but ultimately, the trips serve as some of the best memories I ever had.
A lot has happened in the nearly two decades since those trips on the boat. Uncle Nick and Aunt Mel sold the boat a few years ago; with all of the children grown up now and living on the West Coast, there wasn’t nearly enough use for it.
My father passed away five years ago, the toughest event our family has ever had to face. My mother moved from our Pennsylvania home of 20 years to Florida, to be closer to other family members.
When Monique and Cathy go on summer vacations, they go with their respective husbands. The whole family beamed when Cathy had her first child last summer.
Chris and I became extremely close from those trips. We talked about girls, growing up, high school, and everything in between. He’s one of my closest friends.
Uncle Nick is one of my favorite uncles (and people) in this world. We still crack jokes about those boat summers.
My mom still cheats in Scrabble, with her patented move. We don’t even get mad anymore.
I grew up during those summers. I learned how to fish. I mastered telling corny jokes. I got really good at scrabble.
Most importantly, it taught me the power of patience. That was a skill honed from constant chaos in confined quarters.
You don’t have to win every argument. If breakfast isn’t ready, you can wait 10 minutes. And if you’re patient enough, you’ll fall asleep through the snoring.
The Life Well Lived section is sponsored by The Guardian Life Insurance Company of America.
