james robinson

james robinson is twenty four years old and from boston, massachusetts. he is a couple inches shorter than me, but i think his arms are larger than my thighs. i met james in the king salmon airport on june twenty fourth. wearing black cargo pants and a black, sleeveless t-shirt, he lifted his army bag over his shoulders upon hearing his name called in the small airport. i'm not sure what i expected, but i was somewhat not surprised.

"alaska. i can't believe i'm here. twenty hours of flying. i'm doing this so i can get on one of those crab boats from the deadliest catch. have you met any of those guys?" james asked me with a thick boston accent as he lit a cigarette.

i hadn't met anyone from the show, but i would soon enough and i didn't really want to dash his dreams by telling him that salmon fishing and crab fishing are quite different. so i asked james where he was living back in the lower fourty eight.

"yeah i live in florida. kinda a hic town. i really knew i was a redneck when my wife and girlfriend were pregnant at the same time. my wife lives in boston and my girl is down in florida," james seemingly boasted to me.

i realized that i might be hard pressed at times for conversation with james. i kept my eyes on the road as we headed back to the boat. i drove the old ford along the two lane road that connected king salmon and naknek. in between the the two towns, there are open fields of green tundra and bush that run alongside the naknek river. the forget me nots dotted the white lines of the highway. the fish would be arriving in bistol bay soon.

i pieced together the story of james' life throughout our time on the water. it was tragic in many ways, but i found some of his story fascinating. i soon learned that conversation was more exciting than i could ever imagine. i think authors search their lifetimes to find these characters. for example, james is a nun chuck instructor in florida and is training to be a ufc fighter like chuck liddell.

"how are you with a bow staff?" i asked with a chuckle.

"i'm ok. my brother is pretty deadly with a bow staff." james lit another cigarette as we drifted another net in the naknek river.

unfortunately, the napoleon dynamite joke was completely lost on james. i was disappointed to say the least. i thought i was pretty witty with that question. sadly, i do not think that james understood any of my attempts at humor. to him, i was anomaly. he is probably telling his friends stories about the strange kid from california right now. a california hippy. someone who did not believe in violence? played beach volleyball? enjoyed reading books over bar fights? james called me a hippy all summer, mainly because i do not derive my fun and entertainment from gang fighting, watching fighting or craving ultra violence.

james sells swords and knives at flea markets in boston. i was delighed to hear that all his weapon paraphernalia had been left in boston. to my surprise (actually i do not think i was that surprised), i found out james had spent a substantial amount of time in jail. over the next few weeks, i would get advice on how to survive prison. james never seemed to understand that i had no intention of spending any time in prison. regardless, i was interested in any story that james willingly shared.

the stories that were shared on the back dack of this fishing boat brightened any darkness that hovered on fishing days in alaska. we talked about who would win in a fight. a hippo versus a polar? luke skywalker versus bruce lee? superman versus batman? we often debated movies. james loves any movie with gratuitous sex, violence and jean claude van damme. we never agreed on movies. good will hunting was probably the only movie that i remember james agreeing was a good movie. in some ways, i think james sees himself as a will hunting. a smart kid in a poor environment. unfortunately, he does not hope for a good will hunting ending. rather, he would truly love to live as tony montana and experience the real life scarface. james does not believe in any sort of justice except the kind that he can inflict.

our time in alaska was nearing an end, when james began to go silent. i was slightly worried when james went silent, mostly because the wheels that turned in his head worked somewhat differently than mine. silence for me meant that i was thinking about california sunsets or argentina adventures. my thoughts wandered to my family and friends. maybe what would happen on the next season of lost. sometimes i would daydream about watching a baseball game or if i would buy the second harry potter book when i arrived home. nothing too substantial, but daydreaming would often assist me in making it through the day. but james was slightly scarier when he stopped talking. james told me that he often thought of ways he could "take care of" our captain dean (this is not in any sort maternal "taking care of"). these scenarios involved such things as tying dean's hoodie to the anchor and tossing him overboard. i was never too sure how serious james was about these ideas.

one afternoon james approached me on the back deck. i had less than a week before i would be returning to california. there was not too much that could bother me at the moment. james had agreed to stay on the boat into august with dean, but now the idea of being alone with dean did not seem to appealing to james. james told me that he was quitting when we arrived at the tender. he, then, proceeded to tell me that he would be going into the cabin to discuss money with dean and if he felt dean was cheating him, then i should probably stay on the back deck.

on the back deck? is he insane? so, my journey in alaska has taken a seemingly drastic turn. i may be the sole witness to a murder in a matter of minutes. all i could think of were stories james told me throughout the season about how no one who rats or snitches (translation: testifies against a criminal) can live for very long. i could see it all very clearly. i would be the key witness in james' murder trial. as i would sit on the stand and recount the details of what happened, james would darkly watch me from the defendent's chair. his gang would be in the audience writing down my name, address, etc. james would turn to them and give them some sort of signal like the ones you see in movies. i would then proceed to be put in the witness protection program and shipped to a shack in north dakota where i could live until james' gang found me and then it would be off to the desert of new mexico. i would be hunted the rest of my life just like a bad dream. all for an adventure in alaska one summer.

thankfully, james resisted any drastic measures and we arrived at the tender before any of this could happen. When he quit, the tender refused to give him a ride back to naknek and we were forced to take him back. james decided to finish the season and i was glad to no longer be the key witness for a murder trial.