“Oh great, so I will be heading back in that.” And for an instant we acknowledged what little time we had left.
I tossed my dress below, ready on deck in a bathing suit that left little to the imagination. We set sail to explore the other side of the island, though just out of sight of the resort. He scuttled across the deck and squatted beside me. “Want to fly?” the playful boy asked with a shit-eating grin.
“You’re the captain!” I replied, scrambling to my feet.
“Let's trim her up then!”
And I obeyed his every command. The wind blew steadily and Sipadan diminished to a spot on the horizon. We raced the flying fish that skittered across the water’s surface, and danced between crest and swell. We were alone on a canvas of blue.
Toward late afternoon, a gray wall began to form in the distance, so we came around and headed in. Chris reefed the main and hove-to, suspending us on the sea. He unfolded onto the deck in the joy of exhaustion. I laid my head on his chest and we relaxed in our brief interlude, as we watched Sipadan slowly return to us. The sea was eerily calm before the storm as we skated on glass to the edge of the reef and tied off on the far side of the island at one of the permanent moorings. Orange and yellow from the setting sun converged with a light rain and we stood on deck and watched the show as it washed over us. Only a green flash would make the scene more perfect.
Drenched in the rain and the moment, we stood on the bow and Chris turned me around to face him. The back of his hand stroked down my face to my back, and he kissed me, at first tentative, then with intent. My bathing suit top fell away as his other hand trailed down over my breast and grazed the fabric between my legs. My arms went around his neck, his tongue caressed deeper, and he drew my hips firmly against his. He was strong and hard, and I was dripping wet.
He disengaged, taking my hand and guiding me onto the deck; standing over me he removed his shorts, then my bottoms, and I anticipated the weight of his body on mine. Slowly, savoring every detail, we explored each other with our mouths, our tongues, our hands, our skin. His fingers slowly traced circles along edges and in folds, he glided into me and I arched my back at the moment of climax engulfing him in waves of my own. He raised his face to look at me, casting a net of blue entangling my every sense. His breathing quickened, and he closed his eyes, burrowing his face against my neck as he pulsed and released.
We spent the hours laying in each other’s arms, moving about the boat, and making love over and over. I in my early thirties, he in his mid-, we were both experienced and appreciative. Several more curtains of rain washed over us and we went below, exploring each other in the berth. Late in the evening, the sky cleared and a billion stars speckled the night’s sky. The three-quarter moon reflected a path home on the water. We returned to the resort dock, tied up, and retreated below, exhausted in each other’s arms. The boat’s tiny fan blew whispers across our entangled bodies.
The pinging of the rigging and scent of coffee woke me. Two cups sat by the pot, but Chris was not there. I called out his name as I slipped on my dress, and peered out through the forward hatch. No Chris. But the speedboat was there with supplies. The sounds of breakfast, dishes rattling, voices chattering, and the smell of morning cooking awakened me fully. He probably had to go check on his schedule, I thought, so I filled my cup and waited in the cockpit, curled around the warmth of my cup. Schools of swirling jack fish and barracuda tickled the surface of the water, turtles poked their heads out to welcome the morning, and the sun rose lazily.
After a half hour I decided to join the others for breakfast, maybe go pack, so Chris and I could spend the remainder of the day together. I was scheduled to leave around four o’clock.
“Oh, Miss Claire!” one of our hosts exclaimed. “Good you are here! We unfortunately have to alter our departure plans for this afternoon. There is a fairly big storm coming, and we need to get back to the mainland before noon. We will take the speedboat. I hope this won’t inconvenience you.”
“What? Um, no, sure, a storm, I understand.” But I didn’t.
“Good, good. If it is not too much trouble, we would like to have your luggage ready at your hut by 9:30, so we could shove off around 10.”
“Oh! What time is it now?”
“Eight o’clock, plenty of time. Again, so sorry for any inconvenience.”
Two more hours? That’s all I had left and I had no idea where Chris was. I grabbed some fruit and a glass of juice. Other guests beckoned me to join them, and I stood and chatted for an obligatory amount of time.
“I must be off though, as I guess we are leaving early so I need to pack. Anyone else leaving today?”
Only two others, the rest were staying in paradise a few more days. “We’re looking forward to experiencing the storm!” one of them announced.
I practically ran to my hut and packed my things, then realized that my bathing suit, sandals, and underwear were still on the boat. I sat down to take in what was happening. I was heading home and he was staying. The intensity of my feelings for him was something I’d never felt before. But the awkwardness of a morning after a one-night stand slowly crushed any hope. A one-night stand. Was that really what it was? It seemed ridiculous to leave him my number. I didn’t even know at what school he taught. It felt too much like contriving a future to ask for details, though he did talk about his work on the Chesapeake, so that narrowed it to just a few places. I told myself I should simply be thankful for a magical evening, and leave it at that. I sat down. Slowed down. Slowed my breathing and closed my eyes for a few minutes as I tried to smile at what was now becoming a lovely memory.
I bolted up. Twenty minutes. I would take twenty minutes to walk the island one last time, plenty of time for Chris to settle his schedule, and for me to settle down. Plenty of time left for us to say . . . whatever it was we were going to say. I shoved everything into my bag and dropped it outside my hut, and headed out down the beach away from the hub of Sipadan activity. The island was like a merry-go-round, the seascape revolving with each footprint I left in the sand. As the distant muted shape of Borneo’s mountains faded behind me, an outcrop of tropical trees bowed in the wind, beckoning me to a bleached shore that raced to mingle with the vibrant reef which morphed into a cobalt ocean that danced with a gray sky. On the far side of the island, nothing but water and sky. I stood still and let the wind dance around me, communing with the Celebes Sea.
With acceptance, I came around the final curve, and the end of my journey came in view. The dining room, the huts lined up along the beach, mine at the far end, just out of view, and the dock, already a few suitcases waiting. Chris’ boat was gone. I started to run only to realize how stupid I looked when I caught sight of one of the resort workers.
“Good morning Miss Claire! Did you sleep well?!”
I blurted a response and scurried past.
I sat in the dining hut with the others scheduled to leave, they lamenting leaving our fantasy world, I silent and agonizing over leaving what was very real. The crew loaded the speedboat and came to get us, lowering each of us down into the cramped boat that sat too close to the water. Our luggage was piled at the stern and we were seated at the bow. I noticed a plastic bag with my bathing suit and sandals tied to my suitcase, but all I could do was watch it flail in the wind as we bounced across the rough seas.
Our hosts politely transferred our bags to be loaded below on our bus, leaving me tortured for another half hour as we rode back to their mainland office. Finally, my possessions in my care, I stood to the side of the group and tore open the bag in search of something more, a note maybe. But nothing. I walked out into the downpour to catch a taxi, incredulous with myself that I didn’t leave a note either.
Google was an infant back then, so finding Chris took more work than a few key strokes. Knowing that he would not be back in the U.S. for another month, I tried to put it out of my mind, but I soon found myself requesting a MEDLINE search of his publications from the university librarian. His
most recent, and rather impressive, article led straight to his academic affiliation. As the fall semester began, one long distance phone call and I was connected to his department, and was given his schedule from a student overly happy to have a part-time job where she knew the pattern of every professor’s day.
On a Friday in October, I drove mindlessly for two hours and made my way up the formidable staircase leading to the marine science building. I collected myself inside the main entrance and time stood still. Everything around me continued to move, people walked by, the door ker-chunked open, bam closed, voices but no words. My life was either about to be uplifted or I was to be horribly embarrassed.
I peeked around the doorway watching him walk back and forth lecturing to his class; mesmerized that it was the same man who had held me in his arms a world away three months ago. He looked out of place in street clothes in a classroom. Then I realized that I filled the frame of the doorway. I wasn’t discreetly peering in to see when he was going to finish up, I was centered in a frame of view like a stripper dancing in the cage above the crowd. Look at me, look at me! And the entire class was. Following their eyes, he went silent and his expression changed from distraction to recognition. A slight smile rose on his face and he turned back to his students. I dove out of view, mortified.
“So we’ve got only five minutes left. Let’s stop here. Remember to turn in your lab notes and proposals on Monday, and don’t forget the exam next Friday. Study session Wednesday at seven.”
Notebooks snapped shut, papers shuffled, and students started pouring through the door. I heard a sugary-sweet voice say “Um, Professor Thompson? What if we can’t make Wednesday’s session?”
“Then I guess you’ll have to prepare the old-fashioned way—study.”
“But, I have another . . .”
“Study.” He sounded exasperated. “And if you have specific questions you can leave me a note or call my office. If you still don’t understand something, you can make an appointment.”
“Can I just make an appointment now?”
“Do you know what questions you have?”
“Um, no.”
“Then you don’t know if you need an appointment.” I could see other students’ eyes rolling as they pressed out the door. I couldn’t tell if they looked disgusted at her or him. He was ruggedly attractive, and I’m sure that there were rumors, but I wondered if he cared enough to try to make an effort to set the record straight. That didn’t seem like him—but what did I really know about him? She humphed past me.
The room was suddenly silent.
“You still there?” he said, loudly enough that it carried into the hall.
“Yes,” I responded, stuck to the wall.
“Good, I was thinking that I have finally reached my breaking point and become delusional.”
“Maybe it’s time for a sabbatical,” I said as I poked my head around the doorway.
“I tried that,” he said as he moved toward me.
“Oh? Was it helpful?”
“In some ways, but I had my heart broken.”
I started to ask by how many women, but the look on his face was sincere. We were now face to face, inches away. “Hi, Chris.”
“Hi, Claire.” And he opened his arms and I stepped towards him, embracing as water merges with the sand. Eyes closed, our syncopated hearts felt like that moment when you awake from an afternoon nap. Momentarily blissful, I tried to stave off the heady prospect of having to become fully awake. I held tight for one more moment of contentment before facing the truth. He tightened his arms around me.
Still enveloped in each other’s arms, we separated, just a kiss away. And then the moment was gone. Who pulled away first?
“Wow, this is quite a surprise,” he said.
“Oh dear God! I didn’t mean to interrupt your class. I was just looking in to see if I could tell when it would be over and I sort of got carried away watching you.”
“It was rather amusing. But a welcome distraction. As well as a surprising one.”
“You said that. I’m sorry, was this a bad idea?”
He let go, turned and picked up his things off the lectern, walked back toward the door, and looking deep in thought, turned off the lights. I followed him into the hall. He turned and stopped and faced me dead on. He looked too serious. “I’m not sure. It depends on why you’re here.” He held my gaze only for a moment, and we turned and walked side by side down the main hall, past other lecture rooms, and turned towards the labs, silently. “I need to lock up my office and lab. Can you hang on a minute?”
I silently shook my head yes, but all I wanted was to catch the next speedboat to another world.
His lab was impressive. State of the art equipment, well organized, and lots of bubbling tanks and glowing lights. “Want the quick tour?” He had perked up.
“Absolutely!”
“So our main research agendas right now are invasive species and oyster decline. Major issues in the Chesapeake.”
“I know, I read some of your papers.”
He gave his stalker a curious look. “So we have three main tanks to house each of the three stages of oyster growth. We’re working to move these back out to reseed some of the old oyster beds. We also started to look at the zebra mussel, a fairly recent invasive species from the Caspian Sea. We’re also participants in Mussel Watch, which is a nationwide annual collection of bivalves to track changes in response to on environmental stressors. As they are the filters of our waterways, their stories are pretty telling.”
“How many graduate students do you have?”
“Enough. Five right now, but one who might be finding a new career.”
“Science or personal issues?”
“A little of both. Every time he seems to make some progress in his research project it seems the next crisis du jour hits—the girlfriend, the roommate. It almost feels like he knows he won’t make it to the end so he’s subconsciously self-destructing.”
“Have you talked to him about it?” I asked.
“I’m exhausted. Frankly, my sabbatical left me with a new-found intolerance for first-world problems.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, surprised me too. Hopefully it’s a phase, but I find I have little patience for people who have a great life and seem to mess it up. My student is smart and personable. If you want to change your life, change it. If you want to screw it up, don’t involve me.” He shook his head as if to shake off his hard edge. He seemed different. He moved in close and ran the back of his hand down my arm, lighting his fingers on mine and gently entwining my hand. “You free for dinner?”
I had made the right decision to come.
We headed out of town to avoid dining under the watchful eye of any of his students. His car was impressive. A twenty-year-old mustard yellow Volvo that said, while I like good cars, I’m not going to spend a lot of money on one.
“Why didn’t you leave a note?” he finally asked as we sat at an outside table enjoying the last of the season’s warm days.
“Because I thought I was going to see you again. I just left for a few minutes to see if I could find you in the dining hut and they told me that we had to leave earlier. So I went to pack. When I came out your boat was gone.” Turning the question on him, I asked, “Why didn’t you leave a note in my bag of things?”
“Same reason, I thought I was going to see you again. I left just to find out if they needed me that morning, and when I came back you had left the boat. I waited since I thought you would come back for your things, but before I knew it, the woman who cancelled the day before asked if I could take them for a quick sail. There was no time to look for you.”
“So she lost her fear of water and storms?”
“More like she had a big fight with her husband. Before I knew it they were on board and I was scrambling to pick up your clothes strewn about my boat.” He grinned. “And off we went. I didn’t know you were leaving earlier than originally planned. I thought I
would see you around noon, so I just gave the bag, discreetly, to one of the workers so you could pack it.”
“Discretely?” I smirked. “It was tied to my bag the whole ride back, waving in the breeze for the world to see.”
“Ha! The Sipadan team were a pretty fun bunch. Very quiet and respectful, but with a sleepy, sneaky sense of humor. They were famous for pulling pranks on each other and me once they felt comfortable.”
“I should confess that I actually went for a last walk around the island to clear my head, and I was startled to see your boat gone when I came around the last bend. ” I felt the shock all over again. “Everything happened so fast and before I knew it, Sipadan was fading in the distance.” He reached for my hand and I met his touch. “As we skittered over the ocean—in a very scary speedboat I might add—it occurred to me that there were two coffee cups waiting when I woke up, but . . .”
“You wondered if just leaving it as a memory was best,” he completed my sentence.
“Yes.” I smiled at our renewed synergy. “I wasn’t sure this was the right thing, contacting you.”
“I’m glad you’re here—and I’ll confess that I have your phone number, address, the whole—”
“You do? How?”
“Your registration with the resort.” I must have looked mortified. “And it took some sleuthing to get it without the company finding out.” His tone changed to wistful. “But I had to concentrate on my remaining days on the island and the two-week solo sail ahead to return the boat. Once home the semester started, and I accepted that this is my real life. I convinced myself that you would have left a note, sent a message back through Borneo Divers, or done something if you wanted to see me again.”
“Or show up at your classroom months later?”
Taking both my hands and capturing me once again with his eyes, he said, “I hadn’t considered that. But it works.”
We dated for three years, at first long distance as I finished the final semester of my Ph.D. I moved closer when I landed a postdoc at a nearby university, and then moved in. We married and I landed a tenure track position. All the while, Chris remained at his college, and we split the difference in commuting time by finding a home off one of the creeks that feed the Chesapeake watershed. We have been blessed with children, dogs, and successful careers. I loved him from the moment he smiled at me on the dock. I love him still. But the seasons change, some things die away, others bloom again, invaders alter the landscape and make survival challenging, yet new growth emerges. As the train rocked and the urban landscape rolled by, I committed to clearing the debris.
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