Outside In Read Free

famous message to American headquarters: ‘We have met the enemy and they are ours—twoships, two brigs, one schooner, one sloop.’ The victory secured the north shore for the American forces, and peace between Canada, Great Britain, and the US has ensued ever since.”
    “I wasn’t aware of the history,” I say.
    “There’s more to the island than a hangover, but most never get past the drinks.” The ferry horn sounds. “Well, I’d better get ready to dock. Nice to meet you, Brad. I’m sure I’ll see you around. South Bass is a small place. Couldn’t hide if you wanted to.”
    “Call me Shep.”
    The crew moves just as they had on the mainland, but now the positions are reversed. The front of the boat becomes the back, and in order for cars to drive straight off, the captain backs the ferry into the dock. As the boat approaches, Robin launches the rope into the air. Unfortunately he is not as lucky as the crewman on the mainland, and the rope misses the mark.
    Five cars go ahead of me. I release the brake and move forward.
Ja-jink
.
    Yellow arrows painted on the road direct me: jog right, then up a hill to the main road. Several taxis and a tour train await new arrivals.
    Poplar and cottonwood trees line the side of the road and reattach above, forming a canopy that erases the sky for seconds at a time. Tucked between the trees and the occasional cottages are several businesses, including a bicycle and golf cart rental, the island quarry, the airport, and the Skyway Restaurant, which reminds me that I need to eat. The caffeine from my trip is knotting my stomach.
    Like flipping the page of a pop-up book, a left turn onto Delaware Avenue transforms the pastoral surroundings into the quaint village of Put-in-Bay.
    The Crescent Tavern stands on my left, another golf cart and bicycle rental on my right. The water and docks, sparselypopulated with boats, beckon on the other side of the park, which serves as the center of the town square.
    A flash of red—fire engine red—snaps my attention back to the left. No mistaking this structure. A round, red building with a white porch and a dome roof: the Round House. Next door is the Park Hotel, a large Victorian-Italian villa with a wraparound porch, similar to many of the buildings I’ve seen on the street. My new home, at least until I find something more permanent.
    The screen door of the hotel rattles as I open it, waking the man sleeping on his hand at the front desk. “Can I check in early?” I say. “I drove all night from St. Louis and could really use a bed about now. My last name is Shepherd.”
    His yawn transforms to a nod as he checks his register.
    I slide my credit card across the desk. “Where can I get something to eat?”
    “Snack House next door,” he mumbles, minimizing words in his sleepy state, the lines from snoozing on the back of his hand still visible across his cheek.
    “People don’t spend much time thinking of names for things here: the Depot, the Round House, the Snack House.”
    “What you see is what you get. The island is imaginative enough. Creativity don’t need to be wasted on naming things.”
    “Sounds perfect. Exactly what I need.”
    “Well, I can help you find anything else. Just holler.” He rubs his eyes and releases another yawn. “Bathroom is down the hall, European style.”
    All I can do is shake my head and smile at my new life. I’m unemployed and homeless, living in a European-style hotel on an island in Ohio. On the outside it seems so logical while remaining carefree with a hint of crazy. But beneath my outwardly adventuresome spirit, I know that I am lost and that I have been for some time. Worse yet, I don’t have a clue as to how to find myway back. Hell, I don’t know whether I want to go back, forward, right, or left. So instead, I choose a fixed point in the middle of Lake Erie to sort things out.

    The blaring of an electric guitar rips me out of sleep. Where am I? Did I sleep through the day? I