Relax. We're Here.

We were seventy-two miles off shore and not a ripple in sight. It looked as if the ocean transformed into a reflection pool of the sky- so flat that the horizon disappeared into the calm of the air.

My brother and I looked at each other after our two-hour journey into the gulf-stream and were literally speechless. Neither of us had ever been this far off the coast, before. There is an unprecedented bond in the shared isolation of the beauty that makes words unnecessary. This was his first visit since I moved here for school four years ago and, as the younger sister, I wanted nothing more than to amaze him with the new world that I discovered on the coast of South Carolina. I didn’t realize that I, too, would be blown away with its majesty.

My dad began rigging the lines for our adventure. If there’s one thing that the three of us share in common, it’s our love for the smell of fresh cut ballyhoo and a chum bag. It brings us all back to our family vacations spent on that water- where our only responsibility was keeping tension on the line of a new prospect. My dad’s newly frosted grays looked like sun-kissed streaks, erasing the years since my childhood. The AC/DC track blaring from the speakers brought out the careless youth of my now businessman brother. My salty skin brought me back to the years spent as my boys’ first mate.

We trolled around the oil-slick ocean but something was different this time. Instead of the having the competitive demeanor that we used to share in game-fishing, we were content with the simple experience of being together. We didn’t rush to the next best spot on the chart; we savored the journey. We didn’t even notice that three hours deep, we hadn’t scored a single bite. How could we? We were together, again, in an unfamiliar place that we somehow all called home.

When we realized that a blue marlin was not going to be on our agenda, we decided to take the trip back slow and enjoy the wildlife that was surfacing around us. My brother spotted a few dolphins and, for the first time, my dad let go of his ambitions and wanted to explore. We slowly made our way to the playful mammals and the few dorsal fins began to multiply. Suddenly, we were surrounded by hundreds of these graceful creatures. In school of six or seven, they would come up to the boat and investigate. At first, they would keep a distance of a couple yards. But when we turned off the engines, they came within a trusting arm’s length. We hung ourselves over the side of the boat, and would splash and whistle at them. A few of them would let us briefly touch their rubbery, dabbled skin. They all looked so different and unique. Some were white with spots that looked like black ink had been sprayed on them. Others were solid gray like Sea World’s Flipper. A few showed their maturity with injuries to their fins. But one thing was consistent about all of them: they had a genuine kindness in their eyes when they turned on their side to look at us. It was a breach of specie-hood and traditional communication that translated into a common understanding. With that eye contact, one thing was certain: We all came in peace.

That evening, I watched the red sun melt into the church-sprinkled skyline of the Holy City. There was so much that I had to show my brother about my new home; so many places that we had to go. He had to see the timeless awe of the Battery; experience the aerial views from the Arthur Ravenel Bridge; taste a praline sample in the market. But, then, like my dad that day, I relaxed. Sometimes, it isn’t about how many fish you rush to catch. It’s about breathing in and savoring the moments that we have with the people that we care about. Pralines in the market have been there for centuries and won’t be leaving anytime soon. But being in the sole company of my dad and brother is something that’s far too precious to hurry through.
Plus, we told everyone else that the we dropped the camera in the water.
You know— the one with the marlin on it.
-Trina N.