My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

11

I wondered what was delaying Lee. He’d stopped off by his cabin with Joe on our way to the Wardroom. Chip grabbed a mini box of Lucky Charms, letting Mallie lap up a little plate of milk he’d put on the deck, then read my mind.

“You know those two. When they get started talking ‘shop’ all bets are off about remembering the important things in life, like eating.”

“Cookie?” I called out, hoping he would hear me through the ‘tween through’ to the galley. “Cookie?”

“Sir?” he emerged, wiping his hands on a towel.

“I’m not sure if the captain will come down. I don’t suppose there’s anything special you might have that might entice him to have breakfast?”

“Well, there’s some of those mini cans of spaghetti and meatballs. I know he has them in his office ashore sometimes. But we just had spaghetti.”

“What about crackers with peanut butter and jelly?” Chip asked.

“That’s hardly a meal, sir. And I was saving the crackers for a creamed corn casserole.”

“Set one of the cans aside for him,” I said. “I think I might like to try one for breakfast myself,” I added.

“Aye sir,” Cookie said, picking up my plate. “By the way, the skipper likes his spaghetti and meatballs straight from the can. Not heated. How do you like it?”

“This will be the first time I’ve had it. What do you think, Chip?”

“Frankly, sir, I think it’s best not eaten at all.”

“I’ll have it straight, Cookie. And don’t worry, if I don’t like it, I won’t bust the captain’s standing orders about double dipping or substitutions.”

“But you’ll starve!” Chip said.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Your mini can of spaghetti and meatballs coming up,” Cookie said, hesitant.

 “I’ll have one too,” Chip said and handed him his as of yet unopened box of cereal. “Straight. Just like the skipper’s.” “Well, sir,” Cookie said, “misery loves company or so they say.”

 
A mess specialist soon appeared with a mini can for each of us, the pull tab’s on the lids untampered with.

Chip easily pulled his tab, took a hesitant breath and dug his fork into the contents, as our mess mates watched, silent.

“Quiet in here,” Lee said, entering, “what’s going on?”

“Just a show of loyalty, skipper,” Chip said as he took a bite of the cold stuff.

“I always eat it like that,” Lee said and looked on the sideboard, devoid of any cans. “Am I out of luck?”

“I asked for it,” I said.

“Ah, Skipper, there you are,” Cookie said, “I got your can waiting for you. Coming right up.”

“Thanks. I don’t suppose you have a few crackers to go with it? Maybe some peanut butter and Jelly, too?”

Cookie grinned and before we knew it, had brought over both Lee’s can and a plate full of crackers, which had mounds of of peanut butter and grape jelly on the side.

Lee was soon happily dunking his peanut butter and jelly crackers into his spaghetti and meatballs and scooping the filling up.

I could tell that Chip was considering telling him that he was eating part of the corn casserole Cookie had planned for whenever. But in the end Chip couldn’t bring himself to do it. I knew I couldn’t. And after all, Cookie had a soft spot for his skipper and would do about anything to get him to eat a decent meal.

Chief Sharkey poked his head around the door, and hesitated.

“Well?” I asked.

“CNN’s got more about…er…what happened.”

“Very well,” Lee sighed. “Have Sparks pipe it through.”

“….Bethesda Naval Hospital,” the reporter began as the montage of Mallie and her toy aired, “has no comment regarding the captain’s prosthesis. Our sources indicate that it may have been damaged beyond repair. It certainly suffered at the paws of the ship’s cat and Seaview’s ladders and corridors. Not to mention a dunk in a stockpot of tomato sauce. NCIMR has no comment, but indicated that as far as they know, the captain’s damaged ‘eye’ should not hinder the Seaview’s mission to assist the downed Australian sub.

“We also learned from Mrs. Nelson, that the Seaview crew was already tired from the limited rations, that the captain took out a team of divers out to go fishing. Unfortunately there are no pictures or video for that. Suffice it to say, the crew was treated to a meal of fried squid. Mrs. Nelson went on to say that the submarine at no time stopped its progress toward the Aussie sub. Perhaps the sub should just drag a net behind her to avoid complaints from the crew’s tummies in future.”

“One also has to wonder,” the anchor laughed, “if the frisky feline will be placed on tuna and water, even if the captain has to go out fishing for some. And now, in other news….”

Lee got up and turned the monitor off. He was about to click the mike and berate whoever had copied the monitor cams and shared them with social media, but changed his mind and headed out. Probably to brood, I thought.

Chip and I had already  finished my spaghetti and meatballs, (yes, I actually ate all the can’s contents, the amount of which wasn’t actually enough to satisfy a child let alone an adult) I was as tempted as Chip to snatch a few of the remaining crackers off of Lee’s plate, but kept my hands off of them as Chip called for one of the mess specialists to save the skipper’s breakfast for him.

Not sated by any means, Chip and I departed the Wardroom. He for the Control Room, me for the Observation Nose. Joe was still busily consuming his Spam.

As I enjoyed the view of the sea from the viewports, and the sounds from the Control Room washed over me, Mallie startled me by jumping up onto my lap and started to paw my shirt pocket, hoping I might have some of those cat treats waiting for her.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “Better check with your dad. He might have finished them off,” I joked.

But after those cans of spaghetti and meatballs, I really had to wonder.