“There wasn’t some family willing to do this?” Beverly came with me to inventory Capt. Roth’s house.
“He had a daughter, but she hadn’t talked to him in years, and she didn’t want anything to do with all of this.” I stifled a sneeze. The dust we were raising was killing my nose.
A retired charter captain, Roth’s house was packed with old gear from his fleet of fishing boats.
“What are you going to do with it?” Opening a rusty tackle box, Bev picked up one of the captain’s hand-painted lures.
“The fishing museum in town is interested in some of the older pieces,” I took the lure carefully, trying not to get snagged with a barbed hook. “The other stuff, I’m going to put on eBay. Whatever I earn, I’ll donate to Hospice.”
A dozen, barnacle crusted crab traps lined the front porch, and a dozen more rods and reels were stacked against the wall by the front door.
“What was he really like?” Bev moved on to untangling float lines, and sorting out any broken glass globes.
I had to think about that for a moment. I only knew the captain for a few years after he retired, but he was a harbor fixture as far back as I could remember. When he moved next door, it was like having a celebrity in the neighborhood.
People always asked me about him, whether he told us stories of his nautical adventures. I remembered how outlandish he was when I saw him at the marina. Part huckster, part circus ringmaster, part storyteller, in reality he was a reclusive wretch.
“By the time he retired, his family had already left him,” I sat on the floor, the paltry evidence of his life spread out round me. “He put so much of himself into his charters, was so much a part of the sea, that he had nothing left for anyone else. His life was as hollow as those buoys.”
Thin spiral notebook 
*flails for attention*
I just wanted to let you know that I borrowed your little Copyright widget idea for my own blog because I am super-paranoid and you worded yours so beautifully. (: *ceases flailing*
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Wonderful glimpse into a sad life. Balance is so important – sad thing is, I’ve known people in various stages of the hollowness.
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Great character you’ve got there, Tara!
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A reclusive wretch . . . kind of rolls off the tongue quite nicely. Love the pic and your story is strong, too 🙂
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oh what a gorgeous picture.
now please forgive me for this…but this reminds me of a favorite song from the 70’s ..Brandy from Looking Glass. The man in that song sounds like the young man that this older man became. About how he knew she was a “Fine girl, but my love is the sea” .
it’s hard to tear a person from that kind of devotion. As always, I loved your words.
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Crab season just opened. I see crab traps stacked high in front yards. I like your story. It was easy for me to imagine Captain Roth. I might have met him once or twice. However, buoys as an object maybe hollow, yet their symbol/meaning is not hollow.
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I could totally smell the salty, fishy evidence of his life. “Hollow as the buoys”. Wonderfully written and the song “Brandy” came to mind for whatever reason (songs do that to me).
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This is a great little nugget as if from a larger story gold mind. (: lol okay that was random but I do love this!
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A reclusive wretch – nice phrase – says it all. Great dialog and description as others have said. I was with you, moving around the room. And then thinking what would they say about my life from what was left of my possessions. Great job!
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