On the Island

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “Do you play?” she asked.

  “No. Well, one of my friends taught me part of a song.” I plucked at the strings and then played the opening notes of “Wish You Were Here.”

  Anna smiled. “Pink Floyd.”

  “You like Pink Floyd?”

  She nodded. “I love that song.”

  “Really? That’s awesome. I wouldn’t have thought that.”

  “Why, what kind of music do you think I listen to?”

  “I don’t know, like, Mariah Carey?”

  “No, I like the older stuff.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I was born in ’71.”

  I calculated her age. “You’re thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were twenty-four or twenty-five.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t act thirty.”

  She shook her head and laughed softly. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

  “I just meant that you’re easy to talk to.”

  She smiled at me. I strummed some more, playing the same Pink Floyd riff, but I had to stop because my hands ached from making the fire.

  “If we had something to use for a hook, I could turn this into a fishing pole,” I said. “The guitar string would probably make a decent line.” I thought about using a nail from the tool box, but the fish weren’t very big, and I needed something smaller and lighter.

  Later, when we went to bed, she said, “I hope that party you stayed behind for was worth it.”

  “It wasn’t a party. I just told my parents that.”

  “What was it?”

  “Ben’s parents were out of town. His cousin just got back from college for the summer, and he was supposed to come over with his girlfriend. She was going to bring two of her friends. Ben convinced himself he could score with one of them. I bet him twenty bucks that he couldn’t.” I didn’t tell Anna I had planned to try, too.

  “Did he?”

  “They never showed. We sat around all night, drinking beer and playing video games instead. Two days later I got on the plane with you.”

  “Wow, T.J. I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Yeah.” I waited a minute and then I asked, “Who was that guy at the airport?”

  “My boyfriend, John.”

  I remembered the kiss he’d given her. It looked like he was trying to jam his tongue down her throat. “You must miss him.”

  She didn’t answer right away, but then she finally said, “Not as much as I probably should.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Nothing. It’s complicated.”

  I turned on my side and shoved my seat cushion under my head. “Why do you think that plane didn’t come back, Anna?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. But I thought she did.

  “They think we’re dead, don’t they?”

  “I hope not,” she said. “Because then they’ll stop looking.”

  Chapter 9 – Anna

  The next morning, T.J. used the knife to whittle the ends of two long sticks into sharp points.

  “Ready to spear some fish?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  When we reached the shore, T.J. knelt down and picked something up.

  “This must be yours,” he said, handing me a dark blue ballet flat.

  “It is.” I looked out at the water. “Maybe the other one will wash up.”

  We waded into the lagoon, hip deep. The heat wasn’t as intolerable in the morning, so I wore T.J.’s T-shirt, instead of just my bra and underwear. The hem soaked up water like a sponge and clung to my thighs. We tried unsuccessfully for over an hour to spear a fish. Small and quick, they scattered as soon as we made any kind of movement.

  “Do you think we’d have better luck a little farther out?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. The fish are probably bigger, but it might be harder to use the spear.”

  I noticed something then, bobbing in the water. “What is that, T.J.?” I shielded my eyes with my hand.

  “Where?”

  “Straight ahead. Do you see it bobbing up and down?” I pointed at it.

  T.J. squinted into the distance. “Oh, fuck. Anna, don’t look.”

  Too late.

  Right before he told me not to look, I figured it out. I dropped my spear and threw up in the water.

  “He’s going to wash up, so let’s go back to the shore,” T.J. said.

  I followed him out of the water. When we reached the sand I threw up again.

  “Is he here yet?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Almost.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  T.J.’s voice sounded shaky and unsure. “We’re going to have to bury him somewhere. We could use one of our blankets, unless you don’t want to.”

  As much as I hated giving up one of our few possessions, wrapping him in a blanket seemed like the respectful thing to do. And if I was being honest with myself, I knew there was no way I could touch his body with my bare hands.

  “I’ll go get it,” I said, grateful for an excuse not to be there when he washed up.

  When I returned with the blanket, I handed it to T.J., and we rolled the body up in it by pushing it with our feet. The smell of decomposing, waterlogged flesh filled my nose, and I gagged and buried my face in the crook of my elbow.

  “We can’t bury him on the beach,” I said.

  T.J. shook his head. “No.”

  We picked a spot under a tree, far away from the lean-to, and started digging in the soft dirt with our hands.

  “Is that big enough?” T.J. asked, looking down into the hole.

  “I think so.”

  We didn’t need a large grave because the sharks had eaten Mick’s legs and part of his torso. And an arm. Something else had been working on his bloated, white face. Scraps of the tie-die T-shirt he’d been wearing hung from his neck.

  T.J. waited while I dry-heaved, and then I grabbed one edge of the blanket and helped him drag Mick to the grave and lower him into the hole. We covered him with dirt and stood up.

  Silent tears rolled down my face. “He was already dead when we hit the water.” I said it firmly, like a statement.

  “Yes,” T.J. agreed.

  It started to rain so we went back to the life raft and crawled inside. The canopy kept us dry, but I shivered. I pulled the blanket over us – the one we’d now be sharing – and we slept.

  When we woke up, T.J. and I gathered breadfruit and coconut. Neither of us said much.

  “Here.” T.J. handed me a piece of coconut.

  I pushed his hand away. “No, I can’t. You eat it.” My stomach churned. I’d never get the image of Mick out of my head.

  “Is your stomach still upset?”

  “Yes.”

  “Try some of the coconut water,” he said, passing it to me.

  I lifted the plastic container to my lips and took a drink.

  “Did that go down okay?”

  I nodded. “Maybe I’ll just stick to this for a while.”

  “I’m going to get some firewood.”

  “Okay.”

  He had only been gone a few minutes when I felt the trickle.

  Oh God, no.

  Hoping for a false alarm, I walked in the opposite direction from where T.J. had gone and yanked my jeans down. There, on the white cotton crotch of my underwear was the proof that I’d just gotten my period.

  I hurried to the lean-to and grabbed my long-sleeved T-shirt. Back in the woods, I tore off a strip, balled it up, and shoved it in my underwear.

  I need this miserable day to be over.

  When the sun went down, the mosquitoes feasted on my arms.

  “You must have decided being cooler was worth a few bites,” T.J. said, when he noticed me slapping at them. He had put on his sweatshirt and jeans as soon as the bugs came out.

  I thought of my long-sleeved shirt, hidden under a bush I only hoped I’d be able to find again.

  “Yea
h, something like that.”

  Chapter 10 – T.J.

  We ate nothing but coconut and breadfruit for the next eighteen days and our clothes hung on us. Anna’s stomach growled in her sleep, and I had a constant ache in mine. I doubted the rescuers were still looking for us, and a hollow, empty feeling that had nothing to do with hunger joined the pain in my gut whenever I thought of my family and friends.

  I thought it would impress Anna if I could spear a fish. I managed to stab myself in the foot instead, which hurt like hell, not that I let her know.

  “I want to put antibiotic ointment on it,” Anna said. She dabbed it on the gash and covered it with a band-aid. She said the island humidity was perfect for germs and the thought of one of us getting an infection scared the crap out of her. “You’ll have to stay out of the water until that heals, T.J. I want to keep it dry.”

  Great. No fishing and no swimming.

  The days passed slowly. Anna got quiet. She slept more, and I caught her wiping her eyes when I came back from collecting firewood or exploring the island. I found her sitting on the beach one day, staring up at the sky.

  “It’s easier if you quit thinking they’re coming back,” I told her.

  She looked up at me. “So I should just wait for a plane to randomly fly overhead someday?”

  “I don’t know, Anna.”

  I sat down beside her. “We could leave on the life raft,” I said. “Load it with food and use the plastic containers to collect rainwater. Just start paddling.”

  “What if we ran out of food or something happened to the raft? It’d be suicide, T.J. We’re obviously not in the flight path for any of the inhabited islands, and there’s no guarantee a plane would fly over. These islands are spread over thousands of miles of water. I can’t be out there. Not after seeing Mick. I feel safer here, on land. And I know they’re not coming back, but saying it out loud seems like giving up.”

  “I used to feel that way, but I don’t anymore.”

  Anna studied me. “You’re very adaptable.”

  I nodded. “We live here now.”

  Chapter 11 – Anna

  T.J. yelled my name. I was sitting next to the lean-to, staring off into space. He ran toward me, dragging a suitcase behind him.

  “Anna, is it yours?”

  I stood up and raced to meet him halfway. “Yes!”

  Please let it be the right one.

  I threw myself down on the sand in front of the suitcase and yanked on the zipper, then flipped open the lid and smiled.

  I pushed my wet clothes aside and searched for my jewelry. I found the Ziploc bag, opened it, and poured everything out. Sifting through it, my fingers closed around a chandelier earring, and I held it up triumphantly for T.J. to see.

  He smiled, studying the curved wire the earring hung on. “That will make an excellent fish hook, Anna.”

  I took everything out of the suitcase: Toothbrush and two tubes of regular toothpaste, plus a tube of tooth-whitening Crest, four bars of soap, two bottles of body wash, shampoo and conditioner, lotion, shaving cream, and my razor and two packages of replacement blade cartridges. Three deodorants - two solids and one gel - baby oil and cotton balls for taking off my makeup, cherry Chap Stick, and – thank you Jesus – two boxes of tampons. Nail polish and polish remover, tweezers, Q-tips, Kleenex, a bottle of Woolite for hand washing my swimsuits, and two tubes of Coppertone with an SPF of 30. T.J. and I were already so dark I didn’t think the sunscreen would make a difference.

  “Wow,” T.J. said when I finished sorting all the toiletries.

  “The island we’re supposed to be on didn’t have a drugstore,” I explained. “I checked.”

  I’d also packed a comb and brush, hair clips and ponytail holders, a deck of cards, my datebook and a pen, two pairs of sunglasses – Ray Ban aviators and a pair with big black frames – and a straw cowboy hat I always wore to the pool.

  I picked up each item of clothing, wringing the water out and spreading it on the sand to dry. Four swimsuits, cotton lounge pants, shorts, tank tops, T-shirts, and a sundress. My tennis shoes and several pairs of socks. A blue REO Speedwagon concert T-shirt, and a gray Nike one with a red swoosh that said Just Do It on the front. They were size large, and I wore them to sleep in.

  I threw my underwear and bras back in the suitcase and closed the lid. I’d deal with those later.

  “We’re lucky this is the suitcase that washed up,” I said.

  “What was in the other one?”

  “Your text books and assignments.” I’d made careful lesson plans, organizing all the work T.J. would need to complete. The novels I’d planned to read over the summer were in that suitcase, too, and I thought longingly of how much they would have helped pass the time. I looked at T.J., my expression hopeful. “Maybe we’ll find your suitcase too.”

  “Not a chance. My parents took it with them. That’s why I had some clothes and my toothbrush in my backpack. My mom wanted me to have something with me in case we got delayed and had to spend the night somewhere.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh. Imagine that.”

  ***

  I gathered up everything I needed. “I’m going to take a bath,” I said. “You can never go down to the water when I’m down there. Are we clear on that?”

  T.J. nodded his head. “I won’t. I promise. I’m gonna see if I can make a fishing pole while you’re gone. I’ll go when you get back.”

  “Okay.”

  When I reached the shore, I stripped off my clothes, walked into the water, and ducked my head under. I washed my filthy hair, rinsed, and washed it again. The shampoo smelled incredible, but maybe that was because I smelled so bad. After I put the conditioner on, I soaped myself from head to toe and sat on the shore, shaving my legs and underarms. I walked into the water to rinse and floated on my back for a while, content and clean.

  I put on my yellow bikini, slicked on deodorant, and untangled my hair, putting it up in a twist and securing it with a hair clip. I chose the black sunglasses, deciding that T.J. should have the Ray Bans.

  He did a double-take when I walked up. When I sat down beside him, he leaned over, sniffed me, and said, “The mosquitoes are going to eat you alive.”

  “I feel so good I don’t even care.”

  “What do you think?” he asked, holding up the fishing pole. He had made a hole at the end of a long stick and tied the guitar string to it. He threaded the other end through an open loop in the wire from my earring.

  “Looks great. When you get back from cleaning up, let’s try it out. I left everything down by the water. Help yourself.”

  When T.J. came back, he looked clean and smelled as good as I did. I gave him the Ray Bans.

  “Hey thanks,” he said, putting them on. “These are cool.” He grabbed the fishing pole.

  “What are we going to use for bait?” I asked.

  “Worms, I guess.”

  We dug in the ground under the trees until we found some. They looked more like large maggots than worms, white and wiggly, and I shuddered. T.J. scooped up a handful, and we went down to the water.

  “The line isn’t very long,” T.J. said. “I didn’t want to use up all the guitar string in case it snapped or something happened to the pole.”

  After wading in waist deep, he threw out his hook. We stayed still.

  “Something’s nibbling,” T.J. said.

  He jerked the pole back and pulled in the line. I cheered at the fish hanging off the end.

  “Hey, it worked!” he said.

  T.J. caught seven more fish in less than half an hour. When we got back to the lean-to, he left to collect firewood, and I cleaned the fish with the knife.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked when he came back. He emptied the backpack full of sticks onto the woodpile in the lean-to.

  “My dad. He used to take Sarah and me fishing with him all the time, at the lake house we had when we were growing up. He always w
ore this crazy bucket hat with fishing lures all over it. I helped him clean whatever we caught.”

  T.J. watched as I scraped the scales with the knife and then cut the head off. I ran the blade horizontally down the length of the fish, separating the filet from the skin. I poured rainwater on my hands to wash off the blood and guts, and then cooked the fish on the flat rock we used for roasting breadfruit. We ate all seven, one after the other. They tasted better than any fish I’d ever eaten.

  “What kind of fish do you think this is?” I asked T.J.

  “I don’t know. It’s pretty good though.”

  We sat on the blanket after dinner, our stomachs full for the first time in weeks. I reached into my suitcase and pulled out my datebook, smoothing the warped pages.

  “How many days have we been here?” I asked T.J.

  He walked over to the tree and counted the tally marks he’d made with the knife. “Twenty-three.”

  I circled the date on the calendar. It was almost July. “I’ll keep track from now on.” I thought of something then. “When are you supposed to go back to the doctor?”

  “The end of August. I’m supposed to have a scan.”

  “They’ll find us by then.”

  I didn’t really think so. From the look on T.J.’s face, he didn’t either.

  ***

  I was going to the bathroom behind a tree when I heard it. The fluttering, flapping sound startled me, and I almost fell into my puddle of pee. I stood and yanked my underwear and shorts up, then listened, but I didn’t hear the noise again.

  “I think I heard an animal,” I said to T.J. when I got back.

  “What kind of animal?”

  “I don’t know. It made a flapping, fluttering noise. Have you heard anything?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that, too.

  We walked back to where I heard the noise, but didn’t find anything. We gathered all the firewood we could hold on the way back, and deposited it on our woodpile.

  “Do you want to go swimming?” T.J. asked.

  “Sure.”

  Now that I had a swimsuit, swimming sounded like a great idea.

  The clear water in the lagoon would have been perfect for snorkeling. We swam for about a half hour, and right before we got out of the water, T.J. stepped on something. He dove under the surface. When he came up, he held a tennis shoe in his hand.