Math Test By Jamie Kirkpatrick

This is a true story.

A couple of weeks ago, my wife and I went to visit dear friends who spend their summers on Cape Cod. On our first evening, the four of us went out to dinner at a lively little bistro in Hyannis. For our appetizer, we demolished three dozen oysters. They were delicious: fresh and briny, the very essence of New England and a perfect prelude to a delicious dinner.

The next day, we wandered around the mid-Cape. It was, as Winnie the Pooh might have said, a blustery day. We watched dozens of kite surfers flying across the waves at Dennis Beach, making the most of their wild environment as only New Englanders are wont to do. By lunch time, we found ourselves in Chatham, specifically at a table in Squire, a well-known local watering hole as famous for its clam chowder as for its conviviality. Clam strips pair well with chowda—I mean chowder—so I did my best to support another local industry. No wonder I needed a nap when we got back home!

That evening, the four of us went out to dinner again, this time to a cozy little restaurant that specialized in delicious wood-fired pizzas. Of course, we needed something to whet our collective appetite, so we decided to order some more oysters. For some inexplicable reason, we scaled back our previous evening’s saturnalia and only ordered two dozen of the savory little mollusks. These oysters might have been plucked from a different bed than the ones we consumed the the previous night, but they were every bit as delicious. They were gone before my wife could say, “Pepperoni.”

On our last full day on the Cape, we decided we needed to visit Nantucket. I hadn’t been on the island for more than fifty years and I wondered if much had changed. I needn’t have worried. It was pricier, of course, but still as charming as ever. Once the whaling capital of the world, tiny little Nantucket now harpoons tourists by the boatload. We watched a fascinating film at the local whaling museum, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how fearless those New England sailors were as they went for Nantucket sleigh rides in flimsy whaling boats while in pursuit of the behemoths of the deep. I made a silent vow to reread Moby Dick.

But, of course, by then we were getting hungry. So, we found a posh harbor-side restaurant and ordered—you guessed it: two dozen more oysters. When the bill came, we gulped. OK; so, maybe there were a couple of Salades Nicoises, a fish sandwich, a bowl of clams linguine, and a beverage or two in addition to the oysters. On the ferry ride home, I fell asleep and dreamt I was a whaler on the Pequod.

But remember: this isn’t just a story; it’s also a math test. So, here’s my question:

let’s assume there were no extra oysters on any platter—no “baker’s dozen”—and that each one of the four friends consumed an equal number of oysters over the course of those three days. Got it? Now tell me: how many oysters did each one of us consume?

Write your answer here: __________

 Why the math test? Well, IYKYK.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine.

His new novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon.