My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
81
I was having a nice dream. Seaview was riding the surface offshore
the Cliffs of Moher, and Lee was in the conning tower with Chip and I. My boy
had come home. Everything was right with my world.
Until I heard the phone ring.
“Mmm. Mff?” I think I mumbled as I could hear Lee speaking,
though my still slumbering brain didn’t register what he was saying.
“Go back to sleep, Harry,” I think I heard him say, but the next
thing I knew sunlight streaming against my eyelids and I heard the sound of a
toilet flushing. Then it dawned on me. I was late! I blinked my eyes open and
sat up on my bed quickly. A bit too quickly. I think I moaned from my sore
muscles. Probably a side effect from yesterday’s excursions.
“Relax, Harry,” Lee said, his mouth full, reclining against a
propped up pillow on his bed, a fast food bag on his fully clothed lap, “the
front desk called earlier to say all trains have been delayed. Some problem on
the tracks...we won’t be out of here till after noon. I already called Seaview
about the delay. So, Egg McMuffin?” he said, nodding toward the desk, loaded
down with the fast food bags, and cardboard containers of beverages. “We’ve
also have Sausage McMuffins, various McGriddles, Hash Browns, French Fries, coffee
and Chocolate Milkshakes.”
“Don’t forget the Cinnamon Rolls and Chocolate Chip Cookies,” Joe
said emerging from the bathroom, also in stocking feet like Lee.
“A real feast,” I said, pulling on my robe before groping around
in the bags, spilling a couple of French Fries on the floor, as I pulled out a
breakfast sandwich. (I didn’t care which kind it was. It turned out to be a
sausage McGriddle). Then I chose a coffee and sipped gratefully.
Just then there was a knock at the door, which Joe answered.
“Mrs. P.? Morning, ma’am.”
“Morning, Joseph. I just wanted to make sure everyone had gotten
the message about the train and....McDonald’s?” she gasped, “oh, boys, boys,”
she said sadly.
“Lee made me,” Joe pointed to Lee, who was drinking a Chocolate
Milkshake, and nibbling on his French Fries.
“We were up early,” Lee said, “way before the restaurant was open.
Hash Browns?” he asked, pulling one out of his bag, offering it to her, with a
grin.
“You realize,” she said as she neared him, accepting the offering,
and taking a bite, “that as director of a culinary tour, accepting this is sacrilege.”
“So is this,” Joe said, regarding the Egg McMuffin in his hand.
“Doesn’t taste right.”
“Ah, well, that’s probably due to the fact that most chickens in
the British Isles and both Irelands are fed fish meal...makes the flesh taste a
bit different from the corn fed birds you have in the States. The eggs here are
probably also affected...”
“Oh,” Joe said, “it’s not that it tastes bad...just...different.”
“Well, the milkshakes are sure better than the ones at home,” Lee said,
slurping up more of his thick drink with his straw.
“Milkshakes for breakfast,” she sighed, “fries too, it seems. You
boys are incorrigible.”
“Does that include me?” I asked.
“You, Admiral, have an
excuse, as you’re not technically on the culinary, though, I must say,”
she said, finishing the
Hash Browns cake, “fast food can be tasty. In any case, the bus will be here at
11:30 to take us to the train station. Admiral, will you be joining us?”
“No, I’m heading back to Seaview today,” I said, and quickly
retrieved the box of candy from where I’d stashed it in the closet. “This is
just a little something to thank you for putting up with me.”
“You are sweet, but it’s really not necessary,” she said as she
opened the box. “Rum, Vodka, and...Champagne flavored cream fillings. How
lovely,” she added, giving me a peck on the cheek, then, “by the way, you’re
all in the local papers and the New York Times. They’re holding a few copies
for you at the front desk.”
Lee moaned.
“Afraid the whole world knows about your following tradition, Captain. The best thing to do is to
just ignore it. Well, I must be off to check with the rest of the group about
the train...goodbye, Admiral. Bon Voyage or Anchors Aweigh, I'm not sure which to use.”
“Thank you,” I said and escorted her to the door.
As soon as I closed the door, I was greeted to kissy noises from
both Lee and Joe.
“It was just a thank you,” I warned.
“Face it, sir,” Joe said. “She can hide behind her ‘directorship’
all she likes, but she kind of fancies you.”
“Nonsense.”
Lee just smirked.
Before I knew it, I’d consumed two McGriddles, and one Egg
McMuffin, an order of Hash Browns and Fries, and it was time to pack up the
rest of my personal
belongings.
“I still have so much I want to say, Lee,” I dared, glad Joe had
gone downstairs to purchase a few postcards and a map of Northern Ireland.
“Harry...I...I’ll think about it...”
“Seriously, this time?”
“Seriously...what do you mean, ‘this time’. I’ve considered it so
much I’m blue in the face. Part of me would resume command in a heartbeat. But
then...the other part of me...tells me I’d be a cad if I did. Then I think
about what you said about Chip. And what Chip told me. But...I’m torn, Harry.
It’s like being pulled in opposite directions at the same time...damn. I think
I saw more with my heart when I was blind than I do now when I can see.”
“You’ve always seen with your heart, son. Just let it make your
decision, not your pride, or honor, or whatever you want to call it.”
He was going to say something but Joe chose that moment to return.
The moment of possible decision had passed, damn it.
Joe was showing us the section of the New York Times that had a
picture of us at the Pig’s Ear.
“‘The famous eatery,’" Joe was reading aloud,"
‘was visited by
Americans Admiral Nelson, Captain Nelson-Crane, and Commander Jackson, in full
dress kilts, supposedly to honor their stay in Ireland. The tartans, we’re
told, were not name based, but that of County Clare in Ireland, where Miss
Edith Nelson has indicated a possible link to the family’s early progenitors.
What they’d say about the captain’s traditional wearing of the kilt is, of
course, known only to their ghosts.’ That’s all it says. Not a bad picture,
either, except for your bony knees, Lee.”
“My knees are not bony!”
“Are too.”
“Are not.”
“Are too.”
“Enough!” I said, checking my watch. “I think it’s time to go,
Lee. No telling about the traffic to the airport.”
“Right,” he said and called the front desk to hail us a cab.
“Well, Joe, if I’m late getting back, tell Mrs. P. I’ll get to Armaugh as soon
as I can.”
“You don’t want me to go with you? Hell no, bro. Where you are,
I are,” he joked.
“Come along then, Joe, Harry. The desk just said they already had a cab
that just left some folks off. They’re holding it for us.”
It was a short drive and we were greeted by airport security that
then drove us to the tarmac where the flying sub was parked.
‘Skipper!” Kowalski greeted
Lee, as he and Chip emerged. “Good to see you, Sir!”
“Kowalski, Chip,” Lee said fondly, “who’s minding the boat?”
“Actually, Sparks has the conn,” Chip said as we boarded.
“Sparks?” Lee and I both exclaimed, surprised.
“Yes, why not? And O'Brien could use a break. Besides, Sparks is a qualified deck officer...I see you don’t
approve, Lee.”
“It’s not that....but...never mind, here, brought you something
you haven’t been able to get lately,” Lee said, handing him one of the hotel’s
courtesy laundry bags.
“Dirty laundry?” Chip asked, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to do
your laundry?”
“Relax,” Lee said and dug into the bag pulling out a paper
McDonald’s bag. “We had some leftovers...thought that bottomless pit of yours
might appreciate them...oh, by the way, the Egg McMuffins don’t taste quite the
same, but they’ll do in a pinch. Don’t worry. We kept them in the room’s fridge
for safe keeping. Fresh this morning. You can have the crew draw straws for
them, if you’d rather,” Lee added as he absently stroked the craft’s tail fins.
“Good idea...we have some disappointed men whose names for the
kittens weren’t chosen, here,” he said, digging out his cell phone and showed
off pictures. “They’re a bit ugly right now, but Doc assured me they’ll grow
out of it really quickly.”
“Ugly’s too nice a term,” Lee said. “Cheech. I thought all kitties
were supposed to be cute.”
“This one’s Ace. He’s the first born, and this is Bandit; he kind
of looks like one, with that dark fur around his eyes. Ulysses...”
“Ulysses?” Lee asked, incredulous.
“Ulysses. And this is Tiger...and this little girl is Aphrodite,
but Fluffy came in pretty close, so there will be a run off.”
“She doesn’t look very fluffy to me,” Joe said, leaning over Lee
to see.
“Give her a chance, Joe. Even a half breed Maine Coon will be
pretty fluffy. No reason to believe she won’t be.”
“No offense.”
“None taken."
“Flying Sub,” Flight Control radioed, “are you going or aren’t
you? We can’t have you sit there all day.”
Chip grabbed the mike. “Copy that...well, Lee, Joe, enjoy the rest
of your tour.”
“Will do,” Joe said as he exited the hatch.
“Chip...” Lee began, hesitating, then changing his mind about
whatever it was he was going to say, “have a good flight. I’ll let you know when I
get to Ennis, Harry. And...bring your kilt.”
“Oh good grief.”
“It will do the village honor and all of the possible relations in
the cemetery.”
“Very well, son...you know, Lee, you really do have knobby knees.”
Lee grinned, then, “Um, Chip, did you watch our music videos?”
“Never laughed so hard in my life. At yours, not the Admiral’s.
Um, one little problem though, somehow Sparks put in on all the monitors.”
“Oh Lord,” Lee moaned.
“It was your idea to be a chipmunk, I seem to remember,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah...so I made a mistake.”
“I’m not sure it was a mistake,” Chip said, leaning against the
view ports, “we would have had to plug our ears if you’d crooned like Perry
Como or Elvis.”
“Very funny.”
“Flying Sub,” Flight Control radioed, “are you going to request to
taxi or aren’t you?”
“Keep your pants on,” Lee said into the mike.
“Who’s that?”
“Captain Nelson-Crane. The flying sub will request permission when
she’s ready. We’re discussing…vital information, okay?”
“Oh. Copy that, Captain.”
“Well,” Lee grabbed Chip’s hand, “take care of...things. And
whatever you do, don’t let Cookie add too much spice to the barbeque. He over
did things last time...I swear my tongue was burnt for days.”
I’d noticed that he hadn’t told Chip to take care of ‘his’ best
girl, or ‘Chip’s best girl, just ‘things’.
I didn’t know whether to take the substitution as a good thing or
bad thing.
“Flying sub to Control Tower,” Chip said into the mike, as I
strapped in, “requesting permission to taxi.”
“Permission granted.”
“Roger that,” Chip said.
“Have a good flight,” Lee said warmly and jumped out of the craft
to return to Joe and the security cart.
Chip taxied, revved the engines, and took off.
Soon the airport was just a blur beneath us, as was the town, and
we headed the short distance to Scotland and Seaview.
We arrived a short time later, and I was greeted by Doc who shook
his head after I’d climbed up into the Observation Nose, panting from the
exertion.
“All right, all right,” I said, patting my stomach, “it’s a
culinary tour after all.”
Just then Chip climbed up, carrying the laundry bag.
“They want you to do their laundry?” Will asked, incredulous, just as Chip had.
“Surprise,” Chip said as he emptied the bag onto the table. “Compliments
of the skipper. Sharkey? Organize a drawing.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
My groaning stomach insisted I stop by Sick Bay for some Pink Stuff, but
I made a quick detour to see Maleficent (it was still hard for me to call her
Mallie) and her kittens. True to what Doc had told Chip, the kittens were fluffing up
nicely, though their eyes were still closed.
I noticed the crew’s bulletin board as I headed down the companionway.
It had that newspaper picture of Lee in his kilt, and
a screen capture of Lee and Joe singing with the chipmunks pinned atop some
other pictures and articles about Lee’s adventures.
Lee’s adventures.
Only a few more to come before I’d meet him in Ennis, and tromp
through the old ruined abbey’s cemetery with him.
Only a few more adventures for Lee before he would tell me of his
decision, that once made, I was sure would be final.
Later, a bit down in the dumps, I
asked Sparks to play Lee’s video on my cabin's monitor.
‘We Are Family’, Lee aka Chipmunk sang to my amused grin again.
Family.
And no matter what happens,
Lee and I always will be. I might be disappointed with his decision, or not,
but whatever the case, indeed, we will always
be family.
