Page 126 of Bless This Hot Mess

People stopped on the sidewalks and stared. Someone yelled, “Is that a house?” Someone else shouted, “Is she seaworthy?” Someone else wondered aloud, “Are we being invaded?”

Children pointed. A teenager at a corner store held up a slushie in salute. An elderly woman pushing her shopping cart down the street who was stopped and waiting at a red light shouted, “What in God’s name is that contraption?”

“It’s 96.5 The ARK. We’re the future of Christian radio!” Rebekkah shouted.

The light turned green and she wheeled away without a reply.

They reached Rino’s boat launch that sloped down intothe Napanee River. The water glimmered under the afternoon light, calm and clear. Ducks bobbed away impatiently as if offended by all the hubbub and hoped someone had been thoughtful enough to at least stop at the bakery on their way down to toss them some bread. Dragonflies darted in zigzags among the reeds. A handful of fishermen sat nearby, their faces unmoved by the spectacle; they had seen worse on this river.

Rino and Ronald had swapped out of the pickup truck driver’s seat and Rino backed the trailer carefully down the boat launch, his hand steady on the wheel. With the other, he made the sign of the cross and wiped his brow, hoping he wouldn’t fig this up royally for Japheth and his crew.

“Little more,” Ronald called, “little more… Okay, stop! STOP!”

“Are we sure it’s going to float?” asked Suwarna.

Carrington shook their head, “Nope. But isn’t that what faith is for?”

The Ark tipped. For a heart-stilling second, it looked as though the whole thing would jackknife and slide gracelessly off the trailer and onto the adjacent dock like an elephant belly-flopping onto dry land. Then, with a groan of wood and a splash that soaked everyone within twenty feet, it rocked back, steadied, and settled, upright in the water. She floated.

A cheer erupted. Even the fishermen afforded little nods of approval, which was their equivalent of applause.

“We did it!” Ronald said, voice thick with emotion. “She’s… she’s afloat!”

Carrington produced a bottle of champagne from their bag and Ronald nodded to them to do the honours. “We hereby Christen thee… 96.5 The ARK!” They broke the sparkling wine against the stern and then dutifully produced asecond which they popped and passed around for their shipmates to take a swig right from the bottle.

Japheth whooped and mounted the foot rail of the truck to plant Rino with a thank-you kiss. Rebekkah clapped, and she spun in her fabric-tentacle dress, proving she really did look like a joyful squid when the spirit moved her. Carrington dabbed their eyes with the sleeve of their wind suit, then cursed when they realized it truly was water repellant and fished a tissue out of their pocket instead.

They ferried equipment and bodies aboard in a cautious dance of enthusiasm and confirmation everything remained tight and right from stem to stern. Rino steadied the Ark against the dock with a rope, his muscles flexing under his turtleneck in a way that Japheth tried to ignore, for now.

“Watch your step,Polpetto,” Rino called as Japheth hopped on.

“Aye, ayemi Capitano,” Japheth winked. “I have sea legs! Well, river legs.”

“You look three sheets to the wind,” Rino joked.

“Just from looking at you,” Japheth blew him a kiss.

“Will you two give it a rest? Or sell tickets to the next show,” Ronald ribbed them as he took the prow. He had installed, at great personal satisfaction, a large collapsible antenna rising from the roof, like a metallic sapling reaching for the heavens. Once he’d extended it and joined the others wedged into the small but surprisingly comfortable studio he grinned and his dimple dazzled, “Let’s power up. Our new home is where the anchor drops.”

The electric generator hummed discreetly as it was awakened. The mixing board lights flickered to life with little bird-like beeps and chirps. The ON AIR light waited patiently to bathe them all in a red glow that would let them know it was go time. Rebekkah whispered, “This is it; this is really it.”

“Call letters?” Carrington asked Suwarna. “Do we have call letters? Or are we just “that illegal and surprisingly buoyant ice fishing shack?”

“We’ll file for something official,” Suwarna said, producing a thick manila folder from her tote. “The paperwork is in progress. But for now, we can refer to ourselves unofficially as 96.5 FM The ARK.”

“Okay,” Ronald said, headset on, hands hovering over the faders. “Are we ready?”

“No,” Rebekkah shifted on her feet, the tentacle dress swaying from side to side, making Japheth unsure if it was the swirling skirt, his nervous excitement or if he was a little seasick, though they hadn’t unmoored from the dock. “Yes! Maybe. Absolutely not.” She took a deep breath and slid into the chair closest to the centre mic. “May fair winds and following seas harmonize with us. Let’s do it.”

Japheth put on his own headphones, fingers resting on the jingle button they had programmed together earlier that morning. His stomach fluttered the way it did when he thought of the man holding his heart and the anchoring rope outside.

Ronald counted them in with his fingers. Three. Two. One.

He punched the master fader up and pointed to Rebekkah.

“Good afternoon, Greater Napanee and the Land O’ Lakes region,” Rebekkah said, voice steady and bright, rising to fill the little Ark and then, as if by a miracle, spilling out over the airwaves. “And to anyone picking this up by accident in your fishing boat, at your kitchen table, in your tractor, or in your bedroom when you’re supposed to be doing your homework–hello, hello, hello! You are listening to the inaugural broadcast of ninety-six point five… the ARK.”

Japheth hit the jingle button and an enthusiastic theme song burst forth, featuring Ronald on guitar, Japheth on tambourine, Rebekkah on spoons, and all of them singing,