MEMOIR

Trapped On a Boat with a Dangerous Stranger

With no way out

He sat opposite me on the bench seat that ran along either side of his boat. As he studied me, he lounged casually, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His arms rested wide across the back of the seat. He was a big man.

Although his pose was casual, the energy vibrating from him was predatory.

He had suddenly killed the engine as we were heading back to the dock late that night and wordlessly shifted to the bench. A distinct feeling of unease, and then alarm, set in. In the silence, I nervously began to make idle chatter about how pretty the stars were, and what a nice day it had been. Anything to fill the increasingly ominous void.

He didn’t respond.

He simply sat there, in the moonlight, his head slightly angled to the side, and watched me silently. The minutes ticked by, seeming like hours, and as the boat rocked gently, my words slowly died.

I stared back at him and knew I was in trouble.

Around us, it was a glorious night on the lake, the kind that makes you glad to be alive. The stars shone impossibly bright in the clear midnight sky, and the moon cast its shimmery glow across the bay. The air was soft, and the water was like glass; smooth, calm, deceptively benign. Black.

This was Grand Traverse Bay, a body of water exceptionally beautiful, playground of the rich. And now, for me, so very dangerous.

In the midst of my growing fear, I idly wondered how things could go so very wrong in such a beautiful place.

That luscious water could swallow me whole, I thought, and no one would ever know. Nobody else knew where I was.

There was no escape, no one to hear me, let alone help. And what would I tell them, anyway? That he was looking at me funny?

They would see a grown woman, out on a date, and what did I expect, after all?

I should have known better. Remorse for even leaving my house that morning pounded through me with every frantic beat of my heart. I wanted to be home right then so badly, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

I was excruciatingly aware that the cabin was only two feet away, that this lake was very cold, very deep, and that I was a very poor swimmer.

What in the world had I done?

It had started well. I drove north to meet him on a warm, sunny Michigan day. We loaded our gear into his 29 ft. Formula bowrider, and idled away from the slip he rented.

It was an impressive luxury boat, with a v-berth cabin; sleek and low-slung, aerodynamically made for speed. He let me drive for a while, and what a joy it was. The twin I/O Volvo motors were beyond powerful and smooth. It handled like a dream.

He then headed toward a public beach, where we could anchor, wade into shore, and enjoy the town. We wandered along the pretty streets, alive with flowers, and lined with resort shops, and ate at one of the many local restaurants. It was absolutely charming. Then we returned to the boat to soak up some sun before heading back.

It had been a lovely day, even though I found him much less interesting in person than I had online. The conversation was awkward. He dressed well and had a very nice home and expensive boat, but he was a trifle odd. I thought perhaps he was just nervous or shy.

Yes, I met him on a dating app. He had invited me to go boating, and this was the first time I’d met him. I love the water, love boating, and it seemed like something that we had in common.

I was lonely after my divorce and decided to try online dating. I was so incredibly naive! I had been married for my entire adult life, had been deeply involved in a non-mainstream church for years, and this was the early days in the online dating scene. There weren’t horror stories about the dangers, and, as impossible as it may sound now, it simply never occurred to me that someone would not be what they appeared.

That someone who contacted me would have less than good intentions.

And so there I was, trapped in a boat in the middle of a very large, dark lake, with a man I did not know.

We stared at each other, and I waited. We both knew I was out of options.

To this day, I don’t know what caused him to change his mind, but I saw the decision pass across his face. Perhaps he didn’t want to go to jail.

Still silent, he rose quietly, moved to the captain’s chair, hit the ignition, and throttled the boat into gear. To my enormous relief, we slid softly through that silky water, back to the dock, back to safety.

On shore, he tried to put his arms around me, but I sidestepped away. I hastily thanked him for the day, then jumped into my car as fast as decently possible, afraid to set him off. I locked my doors and fled.

Later, I lay shaking in my own bed, with the covers pulled up, safe. So glad to be there. Chastising myself, but glad.

So very glad. God knows it could have been much different.