Emotionally Bulletproof--Scott's Story (Book 1)

by David Allen

  *****

  At the apartment, Scott pulled clothes from an old dresser. He tossed them onto a pile behind him, a few pairs of pants, worn out T-shirts, shorts and boxers.

  “Jerry, I’m going to give away everything except for maybe one or two sets of clothes. The natives have so little and I want to leave whatever I can.”

  Jerry picked up a T-shirt. “Won’t you need these clothes and things?”

  Scott shook his head. “No, they need them more then I do, besides I can get more easily.”

  Jerry reached down and picked up Scott’s yellow Yamaha racing shirt. “Swap this with my red Attitude shirt to remember each other by.” He walked to his dresser and pulled out his favorite shirt. “It won’t be the same, Scott, We’ve been through a lot together.” He walked to Scott and pushed the shirt into his arm, then gripped him firmly. He reached up quickly and wiped his eye. “Wherever you are, Scott, we’re friends for life.” Then he laughed a short, sad laugh. “The natives must have got the word out that you’re leaving,” Jerry looked toward the door. “Here comes some right now.”

  Scott set the red shirt carefully in his suitcase and walked to the door slowly. He stood watching a group climb the flight of stairs below. They looked up toward him, questioning. As the brown-skinned people gathered around him, they looked at him with eyes full of life. Each one brought something for Scott; pretty shells, woven fans, and other hand-carved items.

  A man named Mo gripped Scott’s arm firmly. “I will always remember how you helped me,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Everyone told me my car was useless, before you came, but now,” he gestured with his hand, “it rolls proudly everywhere on this island.”

  Scott smiled at the memory. He had brought welding rods, and tools with him when he came, things that were very hard to come by in a place like Ebi. One of the first things he had done was help Mo fix his car, and weld its frame back together.

  Now Mo gripped his hand wordlessly, leaving a smooth, pretty shell. “For you.”

  A motherly islander pulled Scott toward her and squeezed him tightly. “I won’t be able to fry you bananas anymore, you’ll get skinny.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “You take care.” She handed Scott a hand-woven fan, and then her daughter handed him some fried bananas, wrapped in large green leaves. “So you don’t get hungry on the airplane.” She smiled.

  A boy touched Scott’s leg and looked up at him shyly with big round eyes. Scott had been teaching him how to read. “You leave Ebi, Teacher?” he asked sadly. “Who will teach me to read next year?”

  Scott looked away and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Jerry and Tony and lots of good teachers will be here to teach you.”

  The boy looked at Scott with soulful eyes. “You.” He handed Scott a small sand dollar and turned to his older sister.

  Scott stood sadly, and then remembered that he was packing. “Hold on, everyone.” He hurried to the back room and returned with an armload of clothes. “You can have whatever you want.” Scott wiped his eyes. “I won’t need them where I’m going.”

  For the next few hours, people dropped by, most brought Scott presents of shells, food and bright bits of coral. Scott’s small supply of clothes, and personal items were quickly distributed between the islanders. Later in the evening, one friend brought Scott a woven mat that was a map of the Marshall Islands. On each of the islands a small colorful shell was glued.

  “So you can find your way back,” he said.

  Scott knew it represented hours of skillful work, He folded it carefully and with a sigh, set it in his suitcase with the other shells and gifts. “I will come back some day, I promise I will.”

  That night, Scott’s heart felt heavy as he closed the lid to his suitcase. “Jerry, I came here to teach these people, but the truth is they’ve taught me.” He zipped the cover slowly. “ I don’t know anyone who can make someone feel as loved as they did for me. I’d give anything to stay here.”

  Jerry listened in the dignified silence that followed. He was cooking some soup in the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  Scott shook his head. “ No, I don’t have an appetite. I think I’ll sit on the porch and watch the sunset. I don’t know when I’ll see it from here again.”

  A little later, Jerry joined Scott out on the porch. The town was mostly silent in the darkening streets below. A breeze blew the coconut fronds with a rattling noise. The ocean was visible over the roofs of tin and brick. It shone dark against the glowing sunset.

  “You know, this is the first time I’ve really ever sat out here and just watched, Jerry. I can’t believe I didn’t before now.”

  “I know.” Jerry leaned against the brick wall, “We’re always so busy, running here, running there, and we don’t realize what’s all around us.” The two stood silently. “Scott, you know you can reapply to come next year.”

  “I don’t know.” Scott shook his head. “I think this is it, Jerry. I don’t see how I’ll ever come back, and now…” His voice trailed off. The breeze blew a wind chime of island shells with a twinkling sound. “Remember finding those shells out on the reef?”

  Jerry turned and lifted the shells with a gentle rattling sound. “That was your first time ever out snorkeling. You were like a kid at Christmas.” He chuckled.

  “There are no coral reefs in Alaska, so yeah.” Scott closed his eyes. “It’s a whole other world in the ocean here.”

  The sun slowly disappeared and stars began to replace it in the darkening sky. The two friends sat, experiencing the silent bond only true friends know.

  Scott finally stood and walked back into the dark apartment. “See you in the morning, Jerry.” He wanted to be alone. Scott lay down. This was his last night on the island.

  *****

  The morning sun peeked through the open door. Scott sat bolt upright and glanced at the clock. 5:10 AM. Today was the day he was leaving. His spirits sagged with his body as he settled back onto the mattress. He lay awake, moving his foot in small circles. It still hurt, but it wasn’t acute like before, just a dim soreness, like a bruise.

  Jerry lay snoring peacefully across the room. Scott didn’t know how late he had come in. He must be going through a lot, too, Scott thought.

  Unable to sleep, Scott lay sideways so that he could see the numbers changing on the clock. As in a trance, he saw them change rhythmically; 5:19, 5:20, 5:21. He wished desperately that he could reach out and stop them, but the clock continued its unstoppable march. 5:25. It was ruthless. Time wouldn’t stop to let Scott stay in this place he loved so much. He wanted to sleep so he wouldn’t have to think about it, but he couldn’t. He lay, eyes open. Only seven hours away from a shrinking departure time.

  Maybe he should go see people this morning. Scott rolled to the side of the bed again. “Jerry”

  “Huh?” Jerry opened his eyes and stopped snoring.

  “I’m going to go for a walk down the island. I’ll be back.”

  Jerry nodded and closed his eyes. Scott pulled on some shorts, and painstakingly pulled his tennis shoe onto his hurt foot. Out on the street, the population was not stirring yet, but a pig that had been sleeping near the bottom of the steps ran away from Scott with a shrill yelp. It made Scott jump. Now he was fully awake. He turned toward the gym where the fight had happened. Down the street he wandered, his mind far away. Just a week earlier… he remembered the details: the hot, sweaty run, trying to make Tony leave, and then smacking Tony with the chair leg. He wondered what had happened to Tai. He hadn’t seen him since then. Scott turned down the road that led between the coconut plantation and mango trees. The same one he had cut through to save Tony. He could see the gym with its brick walls, and thatch-covered roof standing ahead, casting a long shadow in the morning sunlight. He walked by slowly, reliving the experience as he glanced through the dusty window. A half-mile further, brick homes stood along the street. Scott wasn’t sure whether it was a road or a trail. It was full of potholes and occasionally small trucks, vans and
motorcycles rode down the island on it, but mostly people walked or rode bicycles. This early in the morning, there was no traffic.

  In one of the houses, a man sat in a chair staring at the path. He saw Scott walking slowly along. A familiar-looking figure emerged from a doorway and hurried toward Scott, It was Tai.

  “Scott.” He stooped respectfully. “I happened to see you walking by and I wanted to speak with you.” He lowered his eyes for a second. “Thank you for keeping me from doing a horrible thing.” He clasped Scott’s hand and shuddered. “ I cannot think when I drink. After I sobered up, I realized what I had almost done, and it scared me so bad I have not been able to drink since then.” Scott nodded, a little startled. Tai still held onto his hand. “Scott, I want to tell you something you may not know. Janet’s grandmother nursed my mother back to health when I was a small boy.” Tai spoke emotionally. “They have stayed friends and she made a deep impression on me. When Janet came to the islands, her grandmother asked my mother and my family to look after her, and when she died, I wanted to kill the man who let her die.”

  Scott felt himself getting upset. It was hard to hear about Janet. Tai continued as if he didn’t notice.

  “Also he insulted my sister.” Tai scuffed his shoe. “That was the last straw for me, I decided to kill him then. Then you stopped me.” He was silent. “Do you know what happened yesterday?” He leaned forward.

  Scott looked up. “What?”

  “Yesterday Tony sent a letter that apologized to my sister and me.” Tai paused and wiped his eye. “I have to forgive him, because that is also what Janet’s grandmother taught.” Tai pulled out his machete. “Take it. I never want to be reminded of when I almost killed Tony.” He shoved it into Scott’s hands.

  “But this is a valuable tool, how will you open coconuts?” Scott protested.

  “ I do not want it,” Tai said firmly. “I almost killed a man.”

  *****

  Scott walked back down the street in a daze. The island was now waking up around him. Two natives rode by on bikes. Down the road, past the school and through the coconut trees Scott walked. He felt too many emotions to understand. He almost didn’t notice where he was walking. Shortly he stood back in front of the apartment.

  Jerry was up and stood eating a piece of mango. “Hi, how was your morning walk?” he asked. “Why are you carrying a machete?”

  Scott sat down. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it…”

  *****

  The hours of the morning flew by and the hours from noon to two dragged by slowly with their full weight, as if to taunt Scott with their power to make him leave.

  He sat with Jerry on the dusty stairs, waiting for Mr. Henrich, too early to leave, too late to do anything else. Scott felt absolutely miserable. Jerry sat wordless. Neither could talk. There was nothing that could be said.

  The pickup pulled up five minutes after the hour, and Mr. Henrich waited for Jerry to set Scott’s suitcase in the back. The two friends embraced.

  “Call me some time. I’ll be praying for you.” Jerry coughed back his emotions. “I’ll miss you, man.” As Scott climbed into the truck, he didn’t know whether he’d ever see him again. He waved.

  The truck drove down the road toward the dock. Scott sat in the passenger side quietly.

  “Got your passport, and money, Scott? Everything you need?” Mr. Henrich asked.

  Scott nodded. “I’m good.”

  “Okay.” Mr. Henrich pulled up by the dock and popped the truck into neutral. “Your flight doesn’t leave until 6:15, if I remember correctly, so you’re in no rush. Tell the lady at the Continental desk your name, and she’ll give you your ticket.”

  Mr. Henrich opened his door and hopped out, helping Scott to the ferry’s gangplank. He handed him his suitcase. “It’s been good having you here.” He shook Scott’s hand firmly. “I hope you can take the things you learned here and apply them to your life.” He gave him a pat. “You’ve got a lot of life ahead of you, son.”

  The words felt empty to Scott, like a lame epitaph at a funeral. He looked at Mr. Henrich through misty eyes. “Thanks,” he managed.

  Scott turned and walked up the ramp to the old ferry. He looked back at Mr. Henrich, watching him get back in his truck and pull away. He waved at the disappearing truck, then let his hand fall to his side. He shuffled to the front carefully and settled down on a wooden seat in the bow.

  Whether this boat would be called a ferry anywhere else was anybody’s guess. It would depend on what their expectations were. If the fact that it floated, ran, and got from point A to B without capsizing was the definition, then this was a ferry. This particular “ferry” was a war surplus boat that was once a landing craft. Scott watched the natives load fish and coconuts over the side of the boat. He was always amazed at how much these boats could handle.

  Scott looked away from the dock to the island. “Goodbye Ebi,” he whispered.

  The big diesel engine sputtered as it slowly began to churn the water around it. A deckhand untied the big hemp rope and looped it onto the deck. Small waves splashed against the side as the ferry turned toward Quadraline.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Scott sat, oblivious to the noise around him, which consisted of the chatter of some native women who eyed him curiously, and the loud gnawing of a goat inside a wooden crate. He watched the tip of Ebi disappear past the ferry’s right, and then lowered his head.

  Just a little bit later, it seemed the boat was arriving at Quadraline. Quadraline was a much different island than the rustic Ebi. A U.S. Air Force base and the Marshall Islands’ largest airport rested here, making it the hub of the islands’ travel and commerce. Air Force MPs watched as the boat unloaded. Scott stepped onto the dock with the island women and the boat hands, who started unloading the fish crates with an old yellow hand cart. He looked very different from the sharp looking Air Force personnel. His curly red hair puffed above him and his worn clothes didn’t match their sharp uniforms.

  Relieved not to see anyone familiar, Scott began to walk down the dusty street toward the airport and Air Force barracks. He had been to Quadraline, before so he knew where to go. As he walked, he noticed that his foot began to throb. He shifted his suitcase to the other side. Not much better. To his left, a row of houses stretched along the street. An Air Force engineer named Tom worked with the mission and lived in one of the homes next to the road. He had been helping coordinate the search for Janet. Scott glanced toward his house. He had been there for a get together before, on one of his weekends off. Janet had been there, too. Scott’s eyes misted at the memory. They had played Scrabble and eaten popcorn with the other students. A white government truck was now parked in the driveway. He stopped hesitantly. His foot was hurting. He knew they would give him a ride to the airport. Scott stood indecisive. He had worked with Tom’s wife, too. She was a small, quiet Indian woman. Scott remembered how she had come to Ebi several times to help in the school. She had been greatly appreciated. She had a soothing motherly presence that calmed the active native children.

  Scott took one step, then hesitated. The white shaded porch looked so inviting. But he felt so depressed, he didn’t want her to see him cry. He turned back down the road. He didn’t want them to remember him like this.

  Ten minutes later, and halfway to the airport, Scott began to wish he had stopped and asked for a ride. He was hot and thirsty and his foot caused him to limp.

  “I’ll stop at the Air Force café and rest,” he decided. Only 3:20, and his plane didn’t leave until after 6:00. The café/commissary stood next to one of the runways. It was open to anyone who was on the island, many military contractors, and the island’s civilians were allowed to shop and eat there.

  Scott walked toward the large gray building at the T in the road. The airport was behind the commissary and to its right. As soon as Scott stepped through the door, a refreshing wall of cool air hit him. He half-closed his eyes and let the cool air ruffle through his shirt. It h
ad been a long time since he’d been in an air-conditioned building. He walked to an empty round table and sat down wearily. An officer glanced up at him curiously from another table where he was reading a magazine and sipping a Coke. A plate with a half-eaten burger and chips sat next to him.