FLORIDA WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE

Jerry felt the first drops of rain hit his cheeks. He cupped his hands into the wind and lit a cigarette. Lowering his center of gravity, he crawled slowly to the front of the aluminum canoe and began to fill two 5-gallon buckets with seawater using a manual bilge pump. The stiff breeze carried the cigarette smoke away at a perpendicular angle.

A passing boater shot Jerry an incredulous look as he roared under the bridge. Probably never seen anyone pumping water into a boat before, Jerry reckoned. He grasped the sides of the canoe as the wake pitched the small craft back and forth. Screw him, Jerry thought. He would need the ballast in the front of the canoe to make it back to the ramp at the trailer park, now that the wind had picked up.

Paddling a canoe solo was no big deal on a calm day; but the day had gotten away from Jerry while Sunshine Daydream, his beloved canoe and “Craigslist miracle,” was anchored under the causeway.

— Here at Florida Weekly, we love a good story. We like finding fin d people and situations that speak to us. And when we write, we strive to capture the essence of life in Southwest Florida as honestly as we know how. We also enjoy it when you send us your stories. This week we present another entry in our latest Writing Challenge and invite the rest of your to try you hand at writing an original work of fiction based on the photograph above. Using it as a starting point for the creative process, come up with a narrative story of no more than 600 words and e-mail it to opadilla@floridaweekly. com. You just might see your name in print next week or in an upcoming edition. We extended the deadline until Wednesday, Sept. 15. Send your stories in Word format. Be sure to include your name, address and contact information with your submission. You may also include a head shot of yourself.  Last night’s epiphany lapped Jerry’s memory as constantly as waves on the canoe hull. Though he hated to admit it — could scarcely admit it to himself and would probably never mention it to anyone else — he knew it was true. His life had become about things.

Jerry had informed his wife the night before that he was going to take a shower and she was invited. She made no reply.

“I’m staying in here ’til you join me or we run out of hot water,” he called from the stall.

“Jerry, there’s hardly room to turn around in there by yourself,” she protested. “I’m not taking a shower with you.”

“We’ve showered in here before,” Jerry countered.

“I’m not sure how much showering got done.”

“Well?”

“You go ahead and finish. I’ll shower when I’m through reading this newspaper section.”

Jerry had just flopped down on the bed, clean and naked, when it happened. Edith finished reading about whatever events happened, refolded the newspaper thoughtfully and headed off to take her shower. Jerry shook open the classifieds and started searching for the next deal.

A thickness planer for $25. A compound bow with trigger release and quiver for $50. A student percussion set with bells, snare drum and case for only $75. Needed or not, it didn’t matter. Jerry would buy anything if it was a good deal. That’s when he realized that perhaps things had taken on too great a role in his life.

Fortunately his inner monologue immediately began to reassure him that without his deal-finding, he couldn’t give Edith the things they had together. But there it was again: things.

Jerry filled his lungs and, with the anchor line in hand, was about to sigh heavily when his rod, a $160 rod purchased on clearance for $39, doubled over in the holder. He snatched up the rod and a minute later tossed a fat mangrove snapper into the cooler with one of his buddies and several blue crabs intercepted by a dip net.

Jerry recalled the glassy-eyed look of the fish on ice in the fluorescent-lit case at the fish market. There was one major difference between those fish and the ones in his cooler. Jerry’s fish lacked the $10-per-pound price tag ($16 filleted).

The rod stowed, Jerry pulled the anchor. Maybe he couldn’t take Edith out to a fancy seafood restaurant, but tonight, Jerry was cooking his approximation of one of the finest meals of his life, crabmeat stuffed snapper. Sunshine Daydream drifted away from the pilings. Thunder shook the low dark clouds. 