The Pirate of Tomorrow

If he could do it over, the pirate named Patrick Wasted Tymme would follow his
heart and not make the decision that cost him 24 hours. He triggered a curse that
propelled him forward one day in the future. Under a cloudless Caribbean sky, hell find
himself overcome by everlasting regret.

8 a.m.
Rays from the morning sun sneak down through wooden planks and into the crew
quarters of the Hesitation. The dim light tickles the hammock where Pat wakes. He
shakes off the last vestiges of sleep with a stretch and a yawn. Dreams fade and his
conscious mind takes wind. Todays the day, he remembers. Shore leave and Unmatin,
the one woman who can steal him from his life of piracy.
Pat dresses in a rush, encouraged by the thrill of returning to her bosom. He gets
one day, and he wants to make the most of it. He snags the coin purse holding his
savings. He should have enough to buy a flower, some rum and time in Unmatins
chambers. He fails to notice hes the last one out of bed.
He climbs topside, ready to join his crew mates for a trip into Kingston. But
theres no line to the dock. Instead, Hesitation is an anthill of pirates doing their duties to
ready the ship to sail. Pat scratches his head. They pulled into port last night. And since
todays Sunday, the crew should rest for the Sabbath or appease whatever god they have.
Ah, Wasted Tymme finally rises, a burly voice calls. Pat turns to see the sun
behind him eclipsed by Anvil Jim Miller, the quartermaster. The man, the size of an
anvil-head cloud and twice as dangerous, thunders toward Pat until they stand face-to-
chest. Pat whiffs the rank mixture of sweat and seawater boiling off Jims bare chest.
Ye slept in once again, and once again ye be pulling swabbin duty, Jim says,
handing him a mop.
Swabbin? What happened to shore leave, Pat asks. Bolts of laughter crack
from Jims mouth. Some pirates pause their jobs to watch the spectacle unfold.
Dja hear this boys? Ol Wasted got hisself so drunk last night he thinks its
yesterday all over again. Waves of laughter spill across the deck. Jim turns back to face
Pat. Learn to hold yer liquor, ya Irish sot. Get to work. We ship off in a few hours.
Pat takes the mop handle in a careless grip. He stares out at the green hills and
mountains of Jamaica, and sees Unmatin in those curves. Confusion and disappointment
lace his gut with ice.

9 a.m.
Pat strokes the deck next to the mainsail with his mop. His sand-colored hair and
shaggy facial scruff drip with sweat. He stripped his shirt off about a half-hour ago as the
heat climbs with the morning. Tattoos dance with the motion of lean, tanned muscles on
his arms and abdomen. One burns in particular: The image of the Morningstar next to a
full moon above his heart.
He recounts the recent past, trying to figure out how he missed an entire day.
Theres no question its Monday now. Behind the scuffle of the Hestitations crew, he can
hear the rumble of commerce and mayhem along Kingstons harbor. The area would be
almost silent if it was Sunday.
How can this be, Pat mumbles under his breath. I remember we sighted the
city on Saturday and pulled into port that night.
He has a clear recollection of the captain going ashore while the crew unloaded
old cargo and reloaded new ones. He also recalls most of the crew sleeping in their
bunks that night to get ready for shore leave the next day. He remembers nothing else
until waking up this morning. Pat swears he never drank Saturday night. Well, never
drank much. He enjoyed a few sips and quaffs of rum with the boys, but he doesnt recall
having enough to get black-out drunk.

11 a.m.
Hesitation disembarks from Kingston and sails for the open sea. New ventures
await. Patrick watches the island disappear from view and reflects. He joined the ships
crew 18 months ago. Drunk and broke, he craved the adventure of sailing after he was
dismissed from the Royal Navy with prejudice.
A few months later, the ship pulled into Kingston, carrying Pat to his first visit to
the city. He drank with the boys at a raucous tavern and outlasted all but two of them,
earning the nickname Wasted. Each crew member wore a nickname as their badge of
initiation as pirates of Hesitation.
Pat also met Unmatin that night. Their relationship started as a business
transaction: She a prostitute and he another customer. They had sex in the fashion of at
least a dozen of other similar transactions in the tavern that night. But Pat wasnt
satisfied. Her eyes sparkled in candlelight. Silhouetted by the night, she was a goddess.
He gaped in awe. She pointed to his clothes, signaling two words: Business concluded.
A smile blossomed across her lips in silent hope he would return.
He etched her into his memory like the mosaic of a Roman deity. They saw each
other again when the crew made another trip into Kingston three months later. Pat wound
his way to the tavern where he met her. Without fail, Unmatin sat at the bar as if time
stood still until he returned. Her eyes brightened when he entered. She had thought of
him as much as he had yearned for her. He bought her for the whole night using money
he earned, borrowed or collected from a few gambling debts. They coupled, of course,
but spent most of their time talking, laughing, and tracing lines with fingertips across
each others bodies.
Pat and Unmatin fell in love over the course of the next year. They could only
come together for the one night every three months Hesitation arrived in Kingston harbor.
He saw no treasure as wondrous as the coconut shade of her skin, the velvet touch of her
body, the curls in her hair, her angelic voice and the butterfly wings of her giggles, and
her dark eyes wise, curious and fiery as sunset on calm seas.
Unmatin sailed on Pats gray-green eyes and got lost in the mixed scent of sea
spray, lumber, tobacco and adventure. He carried optimism on his shoulders and in his
voice when he spoke of his homeland, an island green as hers of sailing, and of his
hopes for the future. Underneath, tides of perpetual sadness pulled at him. She basked in
his joy while feeling an empathic call to drown in his gloom. Rum could bring his inner
melancholy to the surface. She helped him find balance by tempting him away from the
bottle.
 Noon
All hands! All hands! To your stations, a crewman bellows. Ship sighted to
port! Shes flying a Spanish flag!
The alarm shakes Patrick from his thoughts. He scrambles with the other pirates
to arm himself with a cutlass and muskets. Cannoneers ready their big guns to fire. The
ship in the distance could either be a lost cargo ship ripe with booty, or its a galleon on
patrol. The Hesitation prepares to attack no matter what. The ship turns, and the prow
points at its new target like an arrow head.
Pat survived several attacks and raids over the past 18 months. Some were
narrow scrapes, almost miracles. He wanted to put this chapter of his life behind him and
be off the ship by today. Losing Sunday destroyed his plans.

Marry me, he said to Unmatin three months ago. Say youll marry me, and
well run away from Kingston. Ill retire my commission to the Hesitation, or Ill desert,
and then Ill rescue you from this life. Well go off to our own corner of the world,
maybe start a farm and have children.
How would this even work, Unmatin said with a mournful smile. Im a
whore, the orphaned child of slaves, working for my own master. And you, youre an
outlaw, riding the ocean with a band of criminals. We cant get free of our lives.
I have friends. Me mates will help. Well come in the dead of night and spirit
you away, or steal you by force, if need be he said. Nave hope welled in his voice. I
have a little savings. We could start fresh. Youll see.
And even if we could get away, nobody would dare marry a white man to a black
woman in this civilized Christian society.
I dont care. Well figure something out. If God rejects us, Ill pledge myself to
you under pagan gods. Whatever it takes to have you at my side.
Then yes, she said after a pause. Her soul found its mate, and she would be his.
Even if it kills us, Im yours always, my love.
Tears flushed into her eyes. He wiped them away with a finger. They laughed,
they kissed, they melted into each other. At dawn, before Pat returned to the ship, he
vowed to the idol of an ancient deity in her room he would return in three months and
they would become husband and wife, inseparable, one. He prayed to the Christian God,
and he prayed to any other sea gods that would listen.

Three months later, last Saturday, Patrick returned to Kingston as promised. After
working the cargo, he joined his shipmates in drinking. During those 90 days at sea, he
intended to ask the captain for a discharge, but never found the time or the courage to do
so. By Saturday night, he meant to ask his friends in the crew to aid his plan to marry
Unmatin. The rum and wine flowed, he got drunk, and the opportunity passed. Patrick
decided to return to her the next day and ask his betrothed for a delay. They could pass
this time as they always did and get married in another three months.
He forgot he made multiple vows, but at least one god heard him. When he
decided to break his pledge, the unforgiving spirit cast a curse to punish him. At the
stroke of Midnight, Patrick was transported 24 hours into the future while he slept. The
magic pushed him past his date to meet Unmatin again. He wouldnt get the chance to
break her heart, nor would he have the chance to make amends. The god didnt trust the
turbulence within Pat.

2 p.m.
After a two hour chase, the Hesitation descends on the Spanish vessel, a warship
disguised as a helpless merchant ship. The two crews launch assaults covered in
deafening cannon fire, smoke and the screams of warfare. Pat joins his crewmates in
defending their ship from the galleons boarding party.
Axes chop ropes, and soldiers plunge to uncertain fates. Others reach the deck,
and a wave of musket fire erupts. A pirate next to Pat, Rumtide Melville, dies when a
musket ball pierces his eye socket. Out of the smoke, a soldier howls toward Pat, sword
drawn ready to kill. Pat responds with a shout of his own and impales the soldier on his
cutlass. Before he can pull his weapon out, a second soldier appears and slashes Pat with
a savage cut to his abdomen.
Patrick sinks to the deck, blood pouring from the rip that opened him from his left
breast to his naval. The enemys blade tore apart the tattoo of the Morningstar and the
full moon, which he had inked the day he vowed to marry Unmatin. Pat lays on the deck
staring into the sun, the sounds of battle blur into smoke. As he looks into the light, he
sees Unmatin and her sad smile the night he begged her to marry him. His dying thought
is of regret. He lived up to his moniker, Wasted Tymme.

Unmatin never learns of Patricks demise. Their love was secret. She waited
hours for him the day he was supposed to come for her. When he never arrived, she
weeped, and then went back to work. She cursed herself for becoming a silly girl who
fell for a pirate who stole her heart.