My Journal by Harriman Nelson- Lean on Me

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My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

36

“Admiral?” the summons came through with a knock on my cabin door, “Sir?” Sharkey asked again, his voice barely penetrating my sleeping brain. “The skipper’s on the phone...sir?” he tried again, gently shaking my shoulder. “Sir? The skipper.”

“Hmm, wha...”

“The skipper. On the phone. Line one.”

“Why the heck didn’t you say so!” I ranted, first sitting up, then padding to the phone on my desk. “Lee?” I said into it, perhaps louder than I should have. In my own defense, being awakened at 0237 didn’t make for a very clear head. I didn’t even notice, or thank Sharkey, who disappeared out of sight beyond the partly opened door. He was, I supposed later, waiting for news on what Lee had had for dinner. Everyone was anxious to win the culinary lottery.

It must have been an interesting one sided conversation that Sharkey must have overheard....

“About time you called,” I scolded Lee. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Oh...slight accident? What kind of accident? Are you okay? Oh. A farm truck on the tracks? Stalled out or hit by the train? Well, thank God...what? Fourteen sheep? You and Joe helped to round them up but you fell on a what? Yes, of course you needed to shower and change as soon as you got to Bologna and the hotel...that still doesn’t account for...call from the SecNav? Well, think about it at least. I see. Well, as long as you’re okay. Yes. I saw the broadcast. Lee, lad, I’m not happy about you going there alone tomorrow.... I know you’re a grown man! Trust me, Italian public transportation is iffy at best...of course you can read a map...I’d still feel happier if...no, I don’t want Joe to miss his pasta class...oh very well, but if you get lost don’t come running to me...yes...yes...er...Sharkey’s Spaghetti & Meatballs...you? Ah. Well, I suppose not everyone likes Tortellini. Yes, she’s fine...Chip’s fine, we’re all fine...yes, it is late...sorry I snapped....yes, son. Love you too...good night.”


“Come on back in Francis," I called out on my hunch, "he’s fine. Farm truck stalled on the tracks, the rear gate fell open and sheep escaped out of it. Lee and the some of the male passengers helped to round them up. He fell on a sheep pat though. Took him awhile to clean up after they got to the hotel, so his dinner was a bit late...had Tortellini. Didn’t like it. At all. Something about the seasonings. Had a couple of servings of Gelato to make up for it, that’s a kind of Ice Cream but different from Spumoni.”

“Er...the call from the Sec Nav...”

“What you think it was? But the skipper is still of the same mind that he hasn’t made up his mind. Why is he so damn stubborn at times! Well, it’s late, thanks for waking me up to take the call. I certainly didn’t hear the PA or intercom.”

“Anytime, sir. And Admiral? He’ll resume command when he’s good and ready, you just wait and see.”

“I’m not so sure, Francis.”

“Well, I am sir. As soon as he sees Seaview off the Irish coast, he’ll realize he’s just lost without her. He is, you know. Might not act like it right now...but he just ain’t complete without her.”

“Remains to be seen. And how did you know about my plans to skirt around Europe to the last place on the itinerary?"

"I must've heard Lt. O'Brien or Mr. Morton mention it...."

"Very well. Goodnight.”

“Night, sir,” he left, closing the door behind him. I was sure that Tortellini would be on tomorrow’s menu.

 

It’s 0500 and I didn’t get a wink. Visions  of Lee racing around in a Lamborghini, spinning out of control, flipping upside down or flying into the air to a fiery crash below haunted me. I had to wonder if they were premonitions. Then I realized in each gut wrenching scene, he was driving a different model. Some were even different colors, so at least I could put that fear to rest. Though...an accident could still happen.

 What if he decides to race one of the factory workers, or the museum’s curator. What if he tests the cars to their limits? Their track’s not Daytona for Pete’s sake.

 

It was a bleary eyed me who joined Chip in the Wardroom for breakfast, the galley crew busy with prepping pasta for dinner later and trying to decide what kind of meat stuffs to use. It’s not as if we have some of the same ingredients on hand. Wouldn’t be surprised if Cookie uses Spam...no, he’d never try that. Would he?

Entry #37