Epiphany

Tuesday night, about 8 o’clock, one of the so-called security guards knocked on Habibi’s hull. He’s a big beefy guy whom I greet as I greet everyone: friendly, but not social. I was already in bed, lights out, and did not answer. I’m in an isolated part of the boatyard and my neighbors were gone. He climbed partway up the steep metal staircase secured to Habibi — a huge no-no, etiquette-wise; always ask permission before boarding a boat — all the time calling “¡Buenas noches! ¡Hola!” 

Those were the exact words of the stalker in Topolobampo last year. 

About an hour later he returned and repeated his actions, only this time he climbed to the top of the stairs and moved a deck cushion in front of the galley port I use to block light. Was he trying to see into the dark cabin? I was on the convertible settee closest to him, and froze. He put the black-out cushion back, and, when I didn’t respond, he went away again.

Why didn’t I respond? Flat-out Fear. I was pretty sure there was no boatyard emergency. I didn’t hear him knocking on any other boats. His attentions were unwanted and distressing. I didn’t even know his name, nor did he know mine.

I considered my options. My favorite? Push him off the seawall into the harbor (¡Buenas noches!). Instead, I roped off the bottom of the stairway and posted a sign: NO me molesta (Do NOT bother me). I looked up the phrase, Get off my boat! (¡Aléjate de mi barco!)

When Joan and Mar returned to S/V Nautilus (parked behind Habibi) after 10 o’clock, I told them what happened. While I was exchanging phone numbers with Mar at the bottom of their stairs, the guard returned to the seawall in front of my boat, about 60 feet away from us. “¿Es el?” asked Mar quietly. “Sí,” I replied, that’s him. The guard said nothing and went away. Definitely not a yard emergency. Or is it?

The next morning, after a sleepless night, I reported him to the boatyard owner. Turns out that Joan had texted a few hours earlier, and the guard had already been spoken to. 

“We can fire him,” said Junior (it’s a family-owned yard), “or move him to another lot.” 

“Move him,” I said, “I don’t want him to lose his job.”

Later I thought, Why? Why?! Fire his ass! He scared the hell out of me!

But life is hard in México, for lots of people. I recently saw a man pushing a baby carriage sans bebé (people use them to carry stuff) while I was carting propane back to Habibi. He wanted to know how much my wagon cost. “It’s expensive,” I said, “Un mil pesos.” A thousand pesos for a wagon. (More actually, I bought it in Puerto Vallarta for $75 USD.) Yes, it folds up, has pockets and burly tires, but a wagon nonetheless. (Joke: No tengo un carro, tengo un carrito. I don’t have a car, I have a cart.)

Habibi’s many tools and treats include a billy club. Yesterday I hung it by the companionway hatch, the main entrance/exit. (The V-berth hatch at the bow is another option, but takes a high pull-and-push-up to get out.) 

Note: I did confront the Topolobampo guard eventually, but I never informed management. Instead I sailed away. When I caught a landlord in my SoCal studio without permission years ago, I moved to Central Cal. Avoidance has been my self-care of choice. Trained to please, placate, ameliorate. To place others’ needs above my own. To disregard my emotions. It took me 10 years to tell anyone that I had been molested as a teenager. So telling folks as it is happening, and reporting his behavior to his employer is major progress. 

I am worth protecting. My feelings matter. I am guarding me.

It has taken a few days to recover. For a while I startled at noises, poking my head out of hatches to gauge the environment. Wary. Tried to discern who was doing what where. Luckily, Anger turned up: How dare he demand my attention? Get. Off. My. Boat!

After a day of drenching rain (I stayed in bed with a rom-com), and another day of boat projects (I can sleep in the V-berth again), the literal and metaphorical storms have passed and I hiked to the ocean. My swim spot was rough and windy, so I stretched, easing Anxiety out of the Bod. And, after a panga full of fishermen passed, I stripped down to my suit and let the waves wash over me, cleansing and scrubbing away Worry. The sky was blue, pelicans cruised by, a little bird rock-hopped to a bathing pool. My Self unfurled and gloried in the galaxy. What an amazing place and time. What a wonderful world. Every single day.

Just released, Shoulds are for Saints: the true life adventures of Suzy Le Speed

—along with Dance First …ask questions later: poems and paintings.