Good evening listeners, you’re tuned to KBBY AM 980 in Homer, Alaska, where the sound meets the surf. In local news, a small and uncomfortable winter romance was found dead yesterday, lying in the snow between two cabins east of town.
The deceased relationship allegedly belonged to a gruff Carpenter who finds kissing tedious, and an awkward Fisherwoman who always has a pen in her hair — and is constantly inking up the sheets.
The death is one in a recent string that has residents stunned. Around the time the river ice started to give up, local lovers began finding the corpses of their winter affairs, breathless and dull under spring’s returning light. At this time, both the Carpenter and the Fisher are taking credit for this latest kill, calling it an inevitable fatality.
“You know how it is in October,” the Fisher said. “The sockeye season is long gone and it starts to get cold. I was running out of time to winter up, and, I mean come on, his place is just right through the woods.”
But apparently even winter mountain sex could not forever mask the fact that the tall, firm-bodied Carpenter was also a racist, a homophobe, and even worse, a sport fisherman. Deal breakers, if not in January, then certainly by the time the porch steps start reappearing from the snow pack.
And likewise, the Carpenter said, he could certainly do without her nervous chatter, her trembling, and that smart mouth. When the affair finally kicked it, he mourned briefly, but only because he’d already promised her a spot on the boat the following day. With the relationship dead in the water, he had little choice but to leave port with a hasty replacement.
“I thought she was an all right gal at first,” he said, “but what a slap in the face. The king salmon derby only comes once a year, I don’t have time to play games, you know?”
The last time the relationship was seen alive was reportedly around midnight on March 21st, and just before she slammed the door she looked at him not looking at her, at the fire licking light up his cheeks, and thought for a minute — this might be a little sad. Thought they both might be, a little sad.
As she followed her flashlight home, she did not hear the soft swoosh of the relationship falling limp into the snow from her coat pocket. She trudged on, remembering the time they were twisted under rough blankets, when she had stretched her arms out and her hand fell on the cold barrel of a shotgun tucked in between the sheets by the wall. And how she thought she might write that down sometime, a detail she liked, and could live with.
Both parties are accused of being shallow and lonely, which some say cancel each other out, especially in January.
In Homer, Alaska, I’m Hannah Heimbuch.
This has been an installment of Hermit Crab Media — true stories in strange packaging.
Hannah Heimbuch is a freelance journalist and commercial fisherman from Homer, Alaska. She is currently working toward her MFA in creative nonfiction through Pacific Lutheran University’s Rainier Writing Workshop. From Arctic icepack to the southern coast, Hannah has traveled the northernmost state, building a life based on the simple staples of words and fish.
