I felt more like the severed arm or leg longing for its missing body. I was anxious for something to cling to. For years, I’d been happy to simply experience my life as an extension of Cal’s. Another limb that picked up the slack. While knowing him, I’d always searched for similarities. For anything that might make us interchangeable.

Cal had once asked me if I thought I could do it, sail alone around the world. “Sure,” I said. “But why would I want to do it alone when I could sail around the world with you?” Cal’s eyes lit up. “That’s the right answer.”

Cal thought about it for a while and then said, “How about, the starboard sea?” “What?” I asked. “Like the sea on the right side of the boat? That doesn’t mean anything.” “No,” Cal insisted, “it means the right sea, the true sea, or like finding the best path in life. It’s deep. I’m telling you, it’s going to catch on. By this time next year, everyone will be using it.”