The Raft

by S.A. Bodeen

  Then I would let him go.

  forty-nine

  I didn’t expect Max to be there when I opened my eye.

  He wasn’t real. I was more than aware I’d made him up. I’d made him up to help myself.

  I wasn’t insane though. At least I didn’t think so.

  I would save him for when I really needed someone. I would ration him.

  The shadow in the water was gone. The monster had vanished.

  I breathed out.

  Vowing to never step foot in the lagoon again, I stood and went to check if my containers had anything left. One of them had enough so I could have a long drink of the tepid, stale water. I choked it down and tapped the bottom to get every last drop.

  The water was gone.

  I needed to move and trudged toward the other side of the island. Starbuck was sleeping in the sun when I rounded the corner. I dropped to the sand about ten feet away from her and just lay there, still breathing hard.

  I whispered, “I almost died. I almost got eaten by a shark.”

  Her eyes stayed closed.

  I spoke normally, “Starbuck, did you hear what just happened?”

  I shook my head. “I’m talking to a seal.” Worse than that, I was waiting for her to answer.

  And then I felt something bubble up inside. Not more of the sobs that had fueled the tears that had recently dried salty on my cheeks. I couldn’t hold back as the laughter exploded, so long and hard I found myself holding my stomach because it hurt. “Oh, my God…” I tried to catch my breath. “I almost got eaten by a shark…” And I laughed some more, until my lips stung and the tears flowed freely and I couldn’t even breathe.

  I rolled on my back and just looked up at the blue sky, shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand as I let the laughter disperse at last.

  Had I lost it? Maybe I had gone insane.

  Or maybe I was so on edge that my emotions were all boiling up, getting mixed and gnarled, leaving me with no control over which one would show up next. Or maybe I’d just run out of fear and grief.

  Laughter was all that was left.

  So, taking a deep breath, I let it out.

  When the last guffaw finally faded, I found myself spent, but relaxed, calm even.

  Crazy.

  A giggle popped out before I could stop it.

  Yeah. I was definitely losing it.

  I lay there for a while, napping in the sun along with Starbuck. She was definitely skinnier than the first time I saw her. I imagined going cold turkey on her rich diet of mother’s milk had been a shock to the system. Sea cucumbers and algae were a weak substitute.

  I wished I could help, but I couldn’t even feed myself.

  The sun was too hot on my skin and I headed slowly back to the raft.

  I thought of all the food I’d eaten in my life. All the food I’d wasted in my life. That Happy Meal in Honolulu that ended up on the ground. I didn’t even care then, not really. There was always more food. Always.

  Not anymore.

  There was a lump in my throat. I swallowed to get rid of it, but it stayed.

  All the meals my mom made me. My favorites. Her French toast. She dunked day-old bread in a mixture of beaten eggs and vanilla, fried the slices in butter, then sifted powdered sugar on top before drizzling hot maple syrup over the stack.

  My chin quivered involuntarily.

  Mom’s weird pizza. She made whole wheat dough in the bread maker, let it rise, then rolled it out and slathered it with barbecue sauce, chunks of bacon, grilled chicken, cheese, and some drips of ranch dressing.

  Tears welled up in my right eye and spilled down my cheek.

  I wiped them away with the back of my hand and sighed. I reached the raft and pulled it over me, anything to get out of the brutal sun.

  Clack! Clack! Clack!

  One of the few remaining albatross chicks stood a few feet away, warning me not to get too close. I couldn’t really tell, but he seemed like a male to me. “Hey, you walked over to me, buddy.”

  Clack! Clack!

  “You should fly away. There’s nothing left here for you.”

  If he didn’t leave soon, he would die here. Like all the other carcasses scattered around the island. I tried to imagine his dilemma. Do you wait for your parents to show up one last time with food? And if you do wait, how long? Hunger is a powerful feeling that has been sending albatross chicks on their first journey since forever. But wait one day too many and you’ll be too weak to fly.

  I could empathize with that.

  “How long since you ate?”

  His dark eyes sparkled, and the brilliant black under them made him look wise. His new adult feathers ruffled in the wind, the last bit of silvery baby fluff barely clinging to the top of his snow-white head. He spread his wings, catching the breeze and floating a few feet off the ground before landing again with another clack!

  “See? You know how to fly. You have to go.” I nodded. “You have to go.”

  And maybe he heard me, maybe he understood, because with one shrill call to the sky, he spread his wings, caught the wind, and deftly flapped his way out above the lagoon.

  I applauded. “Go, dude. Go.”

  About fifty yards out, he slowed and began to drop.

  “No! Keep going!”

  He plopped into the water.

  “Fold your wings! Fold your wings!”

  He floated there, wings held out straight.

  I groaned. “Fold your wings. You have to fold your wings.”

  But instead, he held them out to the sides until they began to droop. Once the tips touched the water, he struggled to get them to flap. But they wouldn’t, because they were too soaked and heavy.

  I covered my face with my hands.

  He couldn’t fly. So he would float there, until either a shark found him or he just succumbed.

  Doomed. He was doomed.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one.

  * * *

  The sun was about to set on another day without food. I’d gone back to the spot where I saw the sooty tern egg, but found that it had hatched into a tiny fuzz ball. I’d searched for more, but realized it was too late in the season, and that chick might not even have much of a chance.

  There were a handful of albatross chicks left on the island, along with some other birds, but that was pretty much it. Well, not to mention me and Starbuck, if you wanted to count all living things.

  I sighed.

  Barely living.

  I knew I could go a long time without food. But not water. I pinched the skin on the back of my hand and it was slow to return.

  “It better rain soon.”

  I watched the sun turn almost tangerine as it neared the horizon. Just as it slipped below, for a split second, a shimmering ray of green appeared on the water.

  I squealed. “A green flash!”

  How many sunsets on Midway had I sat on the beach in front of the Clipper House, hoping to see a green flash? So many people off boats had told me about seeing one, and I never had.

  “About time!”

  Sailors long held that a green flash meant good weather, and I’d memorized an English saying. I smiled and said the words aloud:

  “Glimpse you ere the green ray, count the morrow a fine day.”

  As I listened to myself, I stopped smiling. Because the last thing I needed was for the morrow, for any of my morrows, to be fine.

  Because what I really needed was rain.

  fifty

  After another night, I walked slowly along the beach as the sun rose on another cloudless day. I needed to get off the island, and if someone else wasn’t going to do it for me, I would. I walked over to the highest dune; the pile of wood still lay where it had rolled down. I started piling it up, constructing a signal fire.

  When I had a good pile, I tucked in some dried grasses from gooney nests as tinder. One spark, and if all went well, the pile would burst into flame. I spent quite a while testing each cigarette lighter I’d
gathered. When I didn’t get a spark, I broke the top off with a rock, and poured any lighter fluid into an empty plastic Pepsi bottle that was too moldy and gross for me to use for drinking water. For now, at least.

  By afternoon, I had about a half inch of lighter fluid in the bottom.

  I sighed.

  For so much work, the return seemed so little. Still, I climbed back up the dune and set the bottle in a secure spot. Ready. I was ready. If I ever found a lighter that worked. Or lightning struck my pile.

  It was all a long shot, I knew that. But at least I was doing something.

  After a nap under the raft, to get out of the sun, I resumed my beachcombing.

  Something red caught my eye and I walked toward it, then began jogging. Immediately, my vision began to swim and I stopped, dropped my head down, and rested my hands on my knees. I rested there a moment until I caught my breath, then walked slowly over to the object.

  I poked it with my toe and grinned.

  Santa Claus. My Santa Claus.

  I picked him up.

  When I went over the reef in the raft, he’d been in it. He made it ashore. But did anything else?

  What would be the most useful thing from the raft?

  If I could only pick one, I’d pick the Coastal Commander with the flares. And the mirror. I could start a fire with one, couldn’t I?

  Yeah, the mirror would be great.

  As I kept beachcombing, I wondered how long Santa had been there. Had I missed things among all the marine debris?

  The only thing to do was keep looking, and I focused on the area where I found Santa. New garbage seemed to pile up every few hours. A glint of something caught my eye.

  “Whoa.” Forest-green glass, about the size of a basketball, the fishing float was encased in light green fishing net and barnacles. I picked it up, straining because it was heavy. Well, heavy for me, since I was so weak. The glass ball stunk of rotten fish and mildew.

  As I shifted to get a better grip, a stream of water rolled around the inside.

  Bending at the waist, I set the ball down and rolled it slowly, looking for leaks. There were none. The water was on the inside. The ball had gone to depths so deep that the water pressure forced water through the glass. I smiled. I’d seen only one intact glass ball like that before, and it was a lot smaller than this one.

  As I picked it up again, heading back to the raft, my foot brushed against something yielding and soft. Something that didn’t feel like the usual marine debris.

  I closed my eye for a second. “Please let it be the Coastal Commander.”

  The Coastal Commander wasn’t there. But something else was.

  I dropped the ball gently into the sand and knelt beside Max’s ditty bag.

  I pulled it into my lap, unbuckled it, then unzipped it. Everything was as I’d left it. The manifest. The Survival at Sea card. And Max’s journal.

  Maybe he wasn’t done talking to me yet.

  Max

  That summer, after graduation, I bought Taylor Swift tickets. Brandy was so excited. The only hitch was getting her mom to let her go with me. Almost to Boise, over a two-hour drive. A hotel was not even an option.

  It took a lot of convincing, but Brandy talked her mom into it. She couldn’t stop grinning as she climbed into my blue pickup. Her dark hair was loose and long. She’d curled it on the ends. Her dress was flowery, cowboy boots on her feet. She teased me about my outfit, which was my standard: jeans, wrestling tournament T-shirt, and Nikes. I said, “No one will look at me when I’m standing next to you anyway.”

  She kissed me on the cheek.

  On the drive over, Brandy made me listen to every Taylor Swift song on her iPod. Not my favorite, but I sang along with Brandy, even though I couldn’t sing. She made me so happy. I would do about anything to make her happy.

  The drive took forever. Construction. Lane closed. I was worried we’d be late. But we were plenty early to the concert, which was crazy with people. The concert was a blur. A loud blur. My ears rang when we stepped outside in the dark. I remember Brandy laughing. The moment was almost in slow motion. One of those moments that seems to last forever. Like when I lost in state finals that year.

  Things just slowed down. And I don’t know why, but I shivered.

  fifty-one

  I swallowed and set the notebook down. My one eye was shot. I’d have to save the rest for later.

  I pulled the other things out of the bag and set them on the sand. Fantasizing about the chance of a wayward Skittle, I ran my hand inside. There was a lump.

  Peering inside, it was clear the bag was empty. I stuck my hand back in and felt around. I turned the bag inside out and noticed a small rip in the lining. I ran my fingers along it and followed the lump, then stuck a finger in and, with the tip of it, felt something solid.

  I held my breath for a moment.

  And then I let it out, told myself not to get my hopes up. The chance of there being anything in there of any consequence, of any help to me at all, was ridiculously small.

  Even while I was telling myself this, I knew I would rip the lining to get at whatever it was. Because I still had hope. Dwindling, but still there.

  I gently tore the lining until I could reach in. I felt something hard, about three inches long, and then, as I pulled it out, I saw the red top and yellow tube. My face crumpled as I couldn’t hold back the tears.

  At last. At last.

  My silver parachute.

  Carmex. A roll-up tube of Carmex.

  I kissed it and cradled it to my chest for a moment, thanking Max, thanking God, thanking whoever put that ditty bag on the beach. And then, with a snap, I popped off the cap and inhaled the camphor and menthol, then smeared the warm salve on my lips.

  My smile stretched out my lips so far I had to apply Carmex again, just to cover them. The relief was soothing and immediate and I couldn’t stop smiling.

  With a finger, I took some and dotted it onto my nose. I couldn’t believe it was possible that I’d ever missed the Carmex in the first place. But it had to have been there all along. Right?

  Making sure I hadn’t gotten any sand in the tube, I closed the Carmex and shoved it deep in my pocket, then returned everything else to the bag and set it on the raft.

  My excitement over the find gave me a little burst of energy. I walked a little ways down the beach before the burst waned and I plopped down in the sand to rest. Some lighters were within my reach, and I used a washed-up stick to drag some others close enough for me to grab them. I had found several when one caught my eye. At first, I didn’t even know it was a lighter, because it wasn’t like the others, it was decorated with a portrait of Marilyn Monroe. I stuck it in my pocket with the Carmex. When I felt rested, I stood up and kept walking.

  As I rounded the beach where I’d washed up, I saw one albatross standing on the bank. She flapped her wings, caught a little air, and then landed again.

  “You’d better go or you won’t make it.”

  Not wanting to watch another one die, I kept walking. My stomach rumbled. And I turned back. She clacked her bill, but made no move to fly.

  She was going to die, plain and simple. And if I didn’t eat soon, I would probably die too.

  The Survival at Sea adage flashed in my head: Eat any bird you can catch.

  She was going to die anyway.

  I took a slow step back toward her.

  Could I catch her?

  I took another slow step and she just looked at me.

  I could try.

  With a burst of energy I didn’t know I had, I leaped up the bank toward her, but with a rush of flapping wings, she flew over my head, out to sea.

  I whipped around, disappointed at first, but then I watched her go. She flew about fifty yards, landing exactly where the other one had landed.

  “Fold your wings!” I yelled. “Fold your—”

  Very neatly, she tucked in her wings and sat there, floating.

  “Wings…”

&n
bsp; So she’d passed the first test.

  She sat there for a while.

  And then I saw a fin and groaned. The albatross was toast.

  “Go!” I screamed.

  She began to run on the water and flap her wings.

  “Faster! Flap faster!”

  The fin was nearly to the albatross, and the monster’s head burst out of the water and snapped, just as the gooney lifted off, flying again.

  Lifting both arms in the air, I shouted, “Yes!”

  And she flapped until she was gone from view.

  Dropping to my butt in the sand, I sighed.

  Maybe not everything on this island was doomed.

  Maybe just I was.

  fifty-two

  I found a bunch more lighters and took them up to my signal fire. I tried each one before breaking them and sprinkling their fluid on the tinder.

  I heard Starbuck growling. As I topped the dune, I saw her in the water, just at the edge of the beach. I ran toward her, stopping just far enough way so I wouldn’t startle her.

  “Oh, no…”

  She was wrapped up in light blue plastic fishing net. I hated to get any nearer and scare her, but on closer inspection, she was wrapped up in a whole network of the net, like she’d swam right into a pile of marine debris and become ensnared.

  One flipper was free and she pushed with it, trying to get up on the sand, but it wasn’t enough to move her.

  I wanted to help so badly, but didn’t know how.

  Not again.

  I sat down and watched her struggle. She was a little bit farther out in the water, but not making any progress toward getting untangled.

  Maybe I could go behind her, where she couldn’t see me, and try to get some of the net loose.

  You’ll have to go in the water.

  I waited until she was looking away from me and then ran down into the water, just up to my knees, trying not to splash. I kept looking behind me for shadows under the surface.

  The net was so tight that I could barely slip my hand between it and her back flipper. As soon as I touched her, she flinched and tried to turn her head to see me, but she was so entangled, she couldn’t. She must have started struggling immediately when she got caught, which just made the net wrap tighter around her.