I was demoted for a miscalculation. A line snagged and I cost the company an hour. They bumped me from first mate back to deckhand.
The next week I was off the schedule when the boat went out. The boat didn't come back. My twin brother was on it.
For forty years I figured the demotion was my punishment. I carried it like a chain, telling myself I deserved to lose my rank because my brother lost his life.
Yesterday I packed the last box in my apartment. I found a disposable camera I never developed, three shots left.
I walked down to the river and took one photo of the current. Then the memorial bench with his name. Then the sky.
I handed the camera to a boy on the dock. He asked what he should do with it. I told him to see what comes out.
The demotion didn't punish me. It pulled me off the boat. I was never meant to be first mate. I was meant to be the one who got to live.