option wins

Chapter 1

I felt, back then, as useless as a left handed oyster. The world can be very unkind to a left handed oyster. They say. My father used to tell me, "Rosie, you can't be afraid of something stupid forever." And then he would raise his broad Italian shoulders in a sad shrug, as if he had already lived through forever and knew these sorts of things. You see, its bad enough being scared of the sea, Thalassophobia to be exact, but if your family works on a sailboat. . . its tragic. Maybe I should clarify. I loved the sea. Once we were out on the water, and the snap of the sail above cracked in the wind over salty waves, I was content. It was the shore line that terrified me. The space between the dock and the side of the boat made me so petrified I frequently lost my lunch on the spot. It was the transition, the seam of the sea and solid ground. I know this may sound ridiculous but try to understand. Have you never looked with even mild discomfort at the place where the escalator becomes the airport floor? Does your mind never skid to a horrified halt at the prospect of being SUCKED IN? If not, than you may have every right to think me barking mad.
I was a mess. And a shame to my family, so proud to be offering sightseeing tours to visitors of Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn. As second generation imigrants, my parents were bursting with pride for their little sailboat that sped along the coastline of the New Jersey they loved. They tried to hide their embarrasment over their only child clinging to the planks of the family's slip.
I was 12 when I decided to do something about it. This state of affairs was getting no one anywhere. So I. . .

a.) hopped on the 4:55 train to Philadelphia, and from there to the only place I knew had no bodies of water.

b.) decided to try fear therapy. My therapist, ironically enough was Dr. Phish.

c.) talked my father into joining the mob.