Thin Air - Kane Morrison

T H I N
A I R




by KANE MORRISON




CHAPTER 1


On November 5, 1872, the Mary Celeste, a brigantine vessel, set sail from New York City. The ship was destined for Genoa, Italy. She was hauling a payload of 1700 barrels of raw alcohol to Genoa. The ship was formerly called ‘Amazon’, was 103 feet long and displaced 280 tons, and hailed from Nova Scotia.

In early December of ‘72, it was found abandoned in the Atlantic, between the Azores and the coast of Spain. No crew or passengers were aboard. In fact, Captain Briggs, his wife, young daughter, and 8 crewmen, would never again be seen.

There was no indication of a struggle. All individual belongings, even monies, were located unmolested. No messages were found stating what had happened, or where they had gone.

A British Board of Inquiry, staged in Gibraltar, found that piracy, and other such foul play, could be ruled out as reasons for the mysterious disappearance of those who were aboard the ship. The vessel that found them was cleared of any wrongdoing. The mystery would continue.

Not one person from the Mary Celeste was ever heard from again.

Ten people had simply vanished into thin air.

Every once and a while I remember this girl I knew for a very brief time; only three months. Those days, that we became close, never seem to be as long ago as they actually are. It was now two decades since we spoke in the New Wave, early 80s, Ottawa.
Amy was a fairly attractive young girl, long straight dark hair and a knowing smile. In fact, for someone who had been involved with my life for months, I found myself thinking of her quite often.

How could I have let her die?
Why didn’t I stop her death when it would have been so easy to do so?

Amy had attended this private school, run by Nuns. We had first met as the result of a blind date. A date orchestrated by my friend’s girlfriend, Stacey. I only accepted to follow through on this blind date as a favor. Stacey had gone to the same school as Amy, and Amy needed a date for their upcoming prom.
I had just gone through a hellish break-up with another girl, in fact another blind date that had been detailed by this Stacey chick. I didn’t like playing the same games young males my age always go through. On my first date with Amy, I brought her to see a movie, “Richard Pryor Live.” This was, in no sense of the imagination, a “date movie.” Amy enjoyed it anyway.
I was older than Amy was by a few years. She would be graduating from grade thirteen, while I had taken a year off and was waiting to enter College. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life and in fact still don’t, some twenty years later.
Amy was as attractive as Stacey had billed. She had an irregular sense of humor and strong personality, even abusive at times, which I enjoyed. In a short period, I grew to like her quite a bit.
I was her date for her Grad, and we had a gas at the several parties thereafter. After all the steam had left the last party we attended, Amy furthered our evening, not wishing to go home. We ended up going to this isolated beach at Andrew Hayden Park, where we soon fell asleep in each other’s arms. We woke up at noon when we were almost run over by a madman with a whippersnipper. And when I say slept together that is what we actually did, sleep.
At this time, Amy and I continued to see each other, just about every night. We had a great time, no matter what we seemed to do. That summer she worked in a grocery store, a Loblaws, as a bulk foods person. Meanwhile I was slaving it away painting the exterior of homes. Thank God I didn’t have a job that required brain activity because when Amy and I got together at night it ended very late. We’d go either to a film or one of her friend’s houses, or end up back at her place. Her parents gave her an unnerving amount of privacy.
We would watch TV and talk to all hours, often having the bars and tone from the television set as the background noise. We would make-out, but not consummate the relationship. By the time we usually called it an evening, it was five in the morning. It was always 5AM by the time I got myself into my car. No matter if we had planned on making it an early night due to sleep deprivation.
But, as most things do, the situation became complicated over time. Amy wanted me to make love to her, which was the only thing we had not yet traversed. I was reluctant, even with the hormones that drive one at that age.
I guess I still stung from my savage break-up months prior. Amy was also a virgin, which I believe had more to do with my reluctance. And yes, she was a virgin, which I was certain of, so this was not some sort of veiled attempt by her to appear pure. Amy was always very truthful about things.
She accepted my stance with a mild degree of frustration, since she knew I was not a virgin. Then it came up again, and again she pressed me as to why I wouldn’t. Didn’t I like her? Didn’t I find her attractive enough?
I dug down deep and wanted to tell her the truth, as I always had. Since I really had grown to like Amy I told her the exact reason. The reason I would not make love to her had nothing to do with her looks. She was attractive, thin, etc... Why I really could not make love to her was because I didn’t want to be the one that she would lose her virginity to, pure and simple.
‘Not someone like me’.
The fact I wasn’t a virgin, and held this tenet, stunned her. I simply liked her too much to become the one that would take that part of her, be that memory.
She probably thought my reason was utter bullshit, some kind of line I had designed so I wouldn’t hurt her. She was really mad. She was rapt with confusion over my statement, as I guess most would be in her situation. I had tried to tell her how I felt about this issue in a nutshell, and it came out causing more grief than good.
I told her that if she had already lost her virginity we would have surely made love quite often by then. Since this was to be her first time, I wanted it to be something really special for her, with someone really special to her. I didn’t feel I represented those things.
I know I was looking back at what had happened to me, how I lost my innocence, how I still was very bitter with the one that cost me my virginity. Actually, I was still stuffed with unmitigated hatred toward that girl. I didn’t want Amy to make the same mistake, and then end up being hated by her.

In the end, I was an object of hatred anyway.

I really did like her very much. I even said that we could wait, see what would develop between us in the long run.
Amy and I broke up a few weeks later.
I had to pull the “I just want to be friends” line. She wanted to be more than that and would not settle for less. What I never told her was why I had said this, and it had nothing to do with her, or I.
My ex, my first, Nicole, had called me back into her life, and I went. Not that I really wanted to, but for moral and ethical reasons. She thought she was pregnant, and the guy she had been with after me had split. Deep down, that is why I said I wanted to be friends, just in case it was an error on her part. It was trying to keep an oar in the water.
It did end up as a false alarm, and the truth came out that Nicole had been using that story to get me back. Then she dumped me again.
I could not go back to Amy. I was utterly ashamed. She would forever feel second place, and her trust in me would be long gone. I blew it.
I still believed she wasn’t thinking of me with any permanence in mind. We never really discussed our deeper emotions with each other, just glossed over them, and kept having a good time. I know I didn’t want to throw a crux into what we had going, and thought because she never gravitated toward emotions, she was on the same angle.
I wanted her to love the one that would take her virginity, and vice versa. I really felt strongly about Amy, stronger than most women I have been involved. She was a kindred spirit.
I think, when you meet this “kindred soul,” at such a young age, you don’t really understand what it can mean. These spirits don’t come around very often; sometimes you’re lucky to meet more than one of them in your lifetime.
I returned to College a few weeks after she decided we should halt our relationship. Months later a found a few messages in my room. Amy had called a few times while I was out, or in class. The course I was taking had long hours and a long week. I never found the time to call her back. Okay, that was crap.
I could not call her back because I was ashamed of my behavior. She did deserve better than anything I could offer. I had been poisoned and needed time to work that out of my system and come to terms.
Yes, I did miss her, more than I imagined I would have. I missed Amy even months later, years later. Yet shame, in not having called her back, had made me a coward to approach the thought of talking to her again.
By the time I realized what it was I felt toward her I knew I had let things go silent between us for too long.
I did call her house once, years later, when I was feeling low, and remembered how she used to elate my soul. I was bewildered by the conversation that took place.
Amy’s Mother answered the phone. Both of her parents were originally from Britain and still possessed those telling accents. I could understand what she said without a problem, since my Mom had a Scottish accent, although I can never hear one. I was also a “Monty Python” fan.
I asked her Mother how Amy was doing and if she would give me her phone number, guessing she no longer lived at home. Her Mom turned slightly cool; she wanted to know my name. That was understandable; I could have been some maniac, a stalker. I readily told her my name, but thought she wouldn’t remember me from such a long time ago, and a relatively short time as well.
‘Pat, Pat MacKinnon’, I paused, thinking I would have to add in some more details in order for her to recall who I was. I knew Amy wasn’t in the directory. My name did mean something to her Mom, however, which came as a surprise.
‘She’s happy right now’, her voice firmed up a notch and grew increasingly hostile with each word she passed. ‘You’ve caused her enough problems, so you can forget about contacting her. You’ve hurt her enough’.
I tried to interrupt her, retrieve some sort of explanation as to what on earth she was talking about. I knew I had caused some stress, but not on the level that was being described. Amy had been a very strong girl, on top of her emotions, restrained even.
Her Mother continued to vent. ‘We finally got her straightened out, so don’t get involved in her life again!’ The next noise I heard was the clatter on the earpiece as she crammed the phone back into its cradle.
What the hell was that all about? I thought she had me confused with someone else. She thought I was someone that had really hurt her. Not me.
I knew that Amy’s Father had passed away about three years after I had last talked with her. She had been very close with her Dad, and didn’t get along with her Mom very well back then.
Did something about his death have to do with me? I couldn’t understand how so much hate had been thrown against me for seemingly no reason, or even an elusive reason. Then I thought about it. I thought about what I could have possibly done to deserve such a reputation.
I thought back to those notes my parents had left in my room, decades earlier. My parents never told me Amy had called, fearing I would start coming in at all hours again, and have my grades topple. I was sure they would have told me if she had been distraught, agitated, or even crying. It wasn’t as if she had called my place to the point of being incessant.
Maybe Amy had felt something more than I thought she did for me. I couldn’t see why she would have, honestly. I guess she put up a convincing facade, as far as her true feelings were. I thought, to her, I was disposable, in a way. She never let on. I know she wanted me to make love with her, but I thought that was void of any strong emotions. I thought she just wanted to elevate her sexual experiences, be more in flux with her rampant friends. I thought it was her loins, her hormones doing that talking.
Maybe she had missed me as much as I missed her. Maybe she also felt more than she thought she had, as I had learned about her.
I had often thought about Amy before this call to her Mom’s. Now I think about her a lot more. Wondering what might have been, wondering what she looks like now. Remembering what a great pair we were, and what that might have built into.
But it was entirely gone, all gone. But we would also never forget each other by the sounds of it, one for good and the other for bad reasons. I wonder if Amy thought as much about me as I had about her over all these times.

Who knew I would have to let her die. How could I have not even tried to stop her death? I had that chance.

I remember this seminar that we both attended, one she dragged me to down at the University. Amy would be going to University for a Business Degree, with a side interests in advertising and technical writing. I found out later, after bumping into Stacey one day, she had become a technical writer with a computer firm.
The topic of the discussion was controversial; Subliminal Advertising. I remember thinking, and saying, that it was a load of crap, but went along anyway. I thought about whispering sarcastic remarks to her all evening, which would not have been out of the ordinary for me. Amy persisted that I behave myself, and emphasized her statement with that smile, and damn twinkle in her eye. She seemed to hold the ability to actually make them twinkle whenever she felt like it would get her something.
It did end up being interesting and even provocative. At times there seemed to be proof that subliminals were being implemented by agencies and they were reaping the effects of sales increases. After, even Amy admitted that in many instances they were reaching, seeing things that weren’t there, typical conspiracy theorists.
Amy and I used to talk about all kinds of subjects. We were both knowledgeable on a wide variety of topics and ideas. I remember watching this television documentary on the mystery of the “Mary Celeste.”
The Mary Celeste had been this small ship that saw its passengers vanish off the coast of Spain. They had a cargo of denatured alcohol, which was intact. The vacant ship was discovered by a Spanish vessel, called the “Dei Gratia”. The Mary Celeste was just floating along aimlessly, wherever the flow of the ocean was taking it.
An inspection by the crew of the Dei Gratia revealed that the ship had simply been abandoned, and all valuables had been left behind. Even a meal, set out on several tables, had been untouched. The forward hatch was open. The compass had been smashed. Both bow planks were lowered and resting ten meters above the water. The sails were partially rigged. The one lifeboat was missing, which could have held all eleven of them. The thing was that nothing on the ship seemed amiss. Everything was normal, except the compass. There was nothing to indicate a dangerous situation.
Whatever it was that had happened had come quickly and suddenly. Eleven people had simply vanished from the face of the earth. No trace of them would ever be discovered, although theories were wide and even ludicrous.
Amy and I had our own believable theory, right after they mentioned that eight of the barrels of alcohol had leaked. We were not buying into a Bermuda Triangle or abduction by aliens explanation.
The leak coupled with heat from the sun and the limited air flow in the hold; a noxious and caustic stew must have been created. This would have been enough to make them abandon ship, for either fear of imminent explosion, or poisonous fumes. Perhaps they went to the lifeboat to avoid being overtaken by the gases. Perhaps that is why the front hatch had been left open; in effort of airing the cargo bay.
Maybe they had entered the lifeboat for what they assumed would be a relatively short period, enough time to let the gas dissipate. Since the sails were partially rigged it is conceivable that while they were waiting a strong gust of wind may have snapped the tether they had made with the boat, forever separating them.
We were convinced of our theory. It made sense. It was far more logical and believable.
This was one of many conversations we had had. It stood out from the others since we both agreed without deviation.

Losing Amy, and they way I kept her at bay, then ultimately lost track of her over time, is something I will always regret. She was someone I valued being with, held with esteem, and trusted. She was someone I wished I had known my entire life. Amy was a great character and she could make me feel great just both the spark from her eyes. But I let her slip away, without a fight. What are supposedly good qualities caused this error: honor, pride, and sacrifice. Of course, there was also a good measure of guilt, shame, and fear.

I would allow her to die, and not even attempt to save her when I could have.

It would have been worth seeing where those emotions could have taken us, especially knowing that she might have felt more strongly for me than I anticipated. And she undoubtedly did not know how I felt about her, since I did not let her know.
What ever happened to Amy and I was a mystery, like the Mary Celeste. Although I was young, I should have been able to see the beacon that she was. It was like the seasoned Captain Briggs, who made several ill-fated errors trying to save his family and crew.

Who knew that the reasons for both events would be connected? The reasons would be nothing anyone could have imagined. The same thing that took that crew from the Mary Celeste would be the same thing that would take Amy.