The Snorkel King of Florida

[March 1992]

I passed my exit and kept driving south. Nope, no work for me today.

Ohio’s a boring state, but I kept going. I powered through the mundane. Determined. Unsure where I would end up, but anywhere seemed better than there.

Goodbye to my boss. Goodbye to my friends. Goodbye to my father.

Cornfields and bridges and rivers and trees. Mile after mile of Ohio scenery I hoped to never see again.

Eventually I stopped to fill up, use the restroom, and grab a snack. I took the map from the glove compartment to look ahead. It was purely ceremonial - I knew my destination. I knew it in the back of my mind all along, whether I said it aloud or not.

South. All the way to freaking Florida.

As I drove further, I started planning it all out in my head. I’d be a New Me. With capital letters. Sure, still Jared Keller. Still 23 years old. But everything else would be different.

No longer the son of Pastor Keller. No more selling used cars at my uncle’s lot. No more loser friends. No more lousy luck with the girls. No more shyness or lacking confidence or paralyzing fear. In Florida I’d be a new man completely. The New Me.

I drove all day, parked at a rest stop and slept in my car for a couple hours. I got some crappy coffee and kept driving. It took a day, but I made it to Florida.

The Florida state line was not my destination. A few years back we took a family vacation to Marathon Key. It was there that I discovered snorkeling. I fell completely in love. It was at once completely soothing and relaxing, yet simultaneously the biggest rush of my life. All the sounds and colors and so many different types of fish. Breathtaking and exhilarating. And I even saw a shark! I later learned it was a nurse shark, completely harmless - but at that moment it was a thrilling dance with death.

My first task in Marathon would be to find a job. I knew there were tons of little boats that did snorkeling tours. I’d find a job on one of those boats. I’d start small, as a lowly crew member. Eventually become captain, and get my own boat. Captain Jared. The Snorkel King of Florida.

I kept driving. I was tired, sure, but I was kept awake by the crappy coffee combined with a sense of purpose I’d never had before in my life. My destination - no, my destiny - awaited.

My new life awaited.

[May 1992]

I was in love.

She probably had no idea I loved her. Sure, she knew I existed. Hell, she cussed me out several times a day. She made her demands, corrected me when I did it wrong, and at the end of the shift shared a drink with me.

Captain Jessica was amazing.

Not too many people will claim that their minimum wage job - and again, one they get cussed out repeatedly at - is their dream job. But man, was I living the dream.

I worked on the OutCast with Jessica and one other team member, a quiet older guy named Gil. We did 3 tours a day, every day of the week. Crappy pay, hot sun, and hard work. But the best part, the highlight of my job, was to be the guy in the water with the customers, making sure everyone’s safe and having a good time. I was basically paid to snorkel!

Free advice: find a job doing what you love. Your life will be grand.

At the end of our shift, Jessica would have a drink with Gil and I. Usually a watered down rum punch or Mai Tai. We’d BS and laugh about the day’s adventures. She’d then go off to whatever she did in the evenings, and I’d head to the bar.

O’Sullivan’s had quickly become my favorite hangout. Of all the local places, it was the least depressing. People actually came there to talk. I’d see card games or darts or pool. Rarely any fights. If the mood was right, some dancing, even though there was no dance floor. And if Buffett came on, get ready for a sing-along.

After a few drinks, I’d wander the beach down the street. Known as “Mommy Beach”, where the local young moms would bring their little ones during the day, at night the beach was a serene place to kick back and watch the waves crash in.

I’d found an apartment nearby too. My roommate was a guy named George. To this day I have no idea what George did during the day - all I know is it was some sort of office job. But at night, every night, George would go out dressed as a woman. He never invited me along, never told me where he was going or anything about his appearance. Same thing every night. Rinse and repeat. Good for George.

Money was tight. I lived off PB&J and Spaghetti-O’s. Cheap beer and salty tap water. It was a one-bedroom, so I slept on the couch. We had a small tube TV, but honestly I had no desire to watch TV. I was in Florida! I wanted to experience life!

And what a life I had - days on the OutCast with the love of my life (either snorkeling or Captain Jessica, depending on my mood), and nights at O’Sullivan’s and Mommy Beach. I wanted nothing more.

[August 1992]

Let me tell you a little about Gil, the third crew member on the OutCast.

Gil was a pretty quiet guy. When I met him, he had an eye patch over his left eye. That only lasted for a couple weeks, but for some reason I’d always still picture him with the patch. He was also missing two fingers on his left hand. I tried asking him about that once, but he skirted the question.

Gil kept to himself. Sure, he’d have a drink with us at the end of the day. But never shared a personal story or anything about his past. The man was a complete mystery.

I’d heard some shifty rumors about the guy. But as far as I knew, they were just rumors… right?

Honestly, he always kind of scared me.

One night, as I was meandering down Mommy Beach, I came across a man. He immediately looked familiar, and I quickly gathered that it was Gil. He was stumbling as he walked, and in the moonlight I could see his leg was bleeding. Not pouring out or anything, but definitely seeping blood at a steady pace.

“Jason…”

“Uh, it’s Jared.”

“Jared… I need a favor.”

Oh boy.

“Umm, yeah?”

“I need you to hide something for me.”

Crap.

“What do you need hidden?”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol. I’d never seen a gun live and in person before. It scared the hell out of me.

“Uhhh… is it loaded?”

“What do you think? Yeah. Don’t worry, the safety’s on.”

I wanted nothing to do with this. But how would I say no to Gil? Again, the guy scared the hell out of me.

“Just for the night, Jared. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“Gil… I really don’t feel comfortable with this.”

“Please. I’m asking nicely.”

“No…” I’m not sure where my backbone came from. I guess I really did reinvent myself when I moved down there. “No. This is too much to ask, man. I’m sorry. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Gil gave me a look I’d never seen before. Pure contempt. He shook his head, muttered something to himself, and kept walking.

Completely unnerved, I made my way back to O’Sullivan’s. I was getting myself a beer at the bar when I saw Gil walk through the door. He clearly saw me out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t acknowledge me.

Unlike me, he didn’t come in for a drink. He made his way towards the back, and began talking with a couple guys playing pool. At various points, I saw them look in my direction. They pointed. Some nodded. None looked happy.

This is when I started getting worried.

[September 1992]

For the next couple weeks, nothing happened. Neither Gil nor any of those guys did anything. I didn’t see them around town, even at the bar.

Meanwhile, Gil stopped showing up for work. I’d check the news repeatedly, wondering if anything happened to him. Captain Jessica had no news, and eventually replaced him with another guy.

Life went on.

One night as I was leaving O’Sullivan’s, I picked up my backpack and heaved it over my shoulder. It was heavier than usual. Puzzled, I unzipped it, peering inside. My favorite t-shirt, which I hadn’t worn that day, was balled up. And… covered in… blood?

I looked around the bar. No one was paying any attention to me. I started pulling out the shirt, but noticed this is where the extra weight came from. Tucked inside the shirt was a gun - the same gun Gil had asked me to hide weeks earlier.

But whose blood was this? Gil’s? Someone else’s? Crap crap crap.

It was at this point when I started hearing sirens in the distance, and growing closer.

Had Gil - or someone - set me up?

My life as the New Me was ending. It was time to move on again.

I started thinking about the life I’d made for myself down in Florida. Of my crappy little apartment and couch bed. I thought of George and his crossdressing. I thought of the OutCast and Captain Jessica. I debated what I loved more, my beautiful captain or the incredible snorkeling. I thought of cozy little O’Sullivan’s and sing-alongs to Buffett. I thought of drunkenly wandering Mommy Beach after the bar. I thought of the sun, the constant warmth on my skin. I thought of the ocean breeze, the salty air.

I’d reinvented myself down here. But I was on borrowed time. It was time to go.

But where? Home back to Ohio with Pastor Keller was clearly not an option.

South. Further south. South America? Nah. The Caribbean.

From what I’ve heard, they have great snorkeling down there too, right?