I’m still thinking about Harley

 

A heads-up.  This one is a little different.  There is repeated profanity.  You don’t have to go there.

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Harley is a young guy I met in Alaska; maybe 30 years old.  He was on his boat at the edge of a marina.  I was on shore on the berm slightly above him, leaning over a rail to talk to him.  I asked if I could take his picture.  He said “What the fuck for?”.  I said he had a boat like we weren’t used to seeing where I was from.  He said “Why the fuck not?”  I said, well, I was from Colorado and we didn’t have an ocean in Colorado.  “You don’t have a fucking ocean in fucking Colorado?”  (His words, not mine.)  The conversation went on like that as he sat in front of the pilot house of his fishing boat, painting the deck between his feet.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Steve.”

 

“Mine’s Harley.”

 

Harley talked freely.  Moods swung.  He grew up being passed back and forth between his mom and dad from Seattle to Alaska and back.  He has his own fishing boat.  It’s hand painted.  It’s a little rough.  He works it solo.  He can bring his catch in to the cannery on shore where everyone else does.  His dad had a fishing boat.  His mom is still in Seattle.  He likes it in Alaska.  He doesn’t want to work for anyone else.  He likes working alone.

 

“What’s your name again?”

 

“Steve.”

 

It turns out:  I’m always in fucking trouble and I don’t fucking know why.  I can’t even fucking go to fucking Canada just fucking because I have a couple fucking felony assault charges.  They fucking didn’t fucking even talk to the two fucking guys that fucking said I fucking assaulted them.  I could fucking go to fucking Japan, they don’t fucking care, but I fucking can’t fucking go to fucking Canada.”  (His words exactly.)

 

The conversation lasted half an hour.  It had its ups and downs, emotional highs and lows, Harley talking, me listening, and occasionally interjecting a question or trying to steer the conversation away from a particularly sensitive point for Harley.  It was heartbreaking.  He could use a friend, but his volatility would make it dangerous to get close to him.

 

Harley may not remember Steve now, these several months later, but Steve certainly remembers Harley.