“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then take off your clothes, and let’s go swimming.”
“Howard! Now that is rude. You brought me down here to skinny dip? Well, goodness, I’d love to see what sort of painting you’d be doing tonight.”
“Relax, relax. I’m fooling around,” he said, standing up. “You can swim in your jeans if you want. It’s your choice. Well, hope ya don’t mind if I take something off.”
“Maybe I do. Keep your shorts on, please!”
He laughed as he took his straw hat off, tossing it to the side, and proceeded to pull his hair off. Vicki couldn’t believe what she was seeing. His beard and sideburns came off too. “Your hair! It’s a wig? You’re bald?”
“I lost it at an early age. This here wig is great, sideburns, beard and all. I wear the hat to anchor it down.”
“Okay. I guess this is what living is all about – swimming at night in your clothes and becoming world smart, not just book smart.” She stood up and walked over to the edge of the dock.
Just then, someone, something stalked its way out from behind the bushes, shouting, “It’s about time we talk, Howard!”
Howard reached for his wig and, in one quick flop, the long hair, sideburns and beard were nearly back in place, though a bit lopsided.
Vicki stopped herself from jumping into the black, mysterious water.
“Denver, don’t do this,” called Howard. “I don’t have enough fuel in me for this. You know that. Besides, you’re a raft now. Don’t regress back to being a destroyer again.”
“Well, I’m a destroyer tonight.”
Denver, a destroyer, and fueled by alcohol, made his way out to the end of the dock and shoved Howard. Howard, by the saving power of adrenaline, picked Denver up and threw him over the dock into the shallow, marshy water below. He struggled in the tangled masses of arching roots and broke free. It was a collision between a destroyer and a caravel.
“Vicki, get back to the staff house, now!” Denver’s voice rang out like a horn. “Hurry.”
“I’ll do as I like,” she said as she walked away from the men. “I have no interest in listening to grown men fight.”
She glanced back once, before turning onto a path that would take her in a different direction from the action, and it was then that she witnessed Denver climb out of the water and up and over the side of the dock. Sensing that it might become dangerous, she started to run but could hardly see the path without the lantern she had left back on the dock. She raced through spider webs and branches, twigs in the underbrush scraping her face. Somewhere near the bonfire area, she hit a small hole and twisted her ankle, falling to the ground. There, she kneeled behind the trunk of a palm tree and listened to the fight in the distance. So much for her beautiful canvas.
“You’re nothing but a selfish, spoiled gay luxury liner,” shouted Denver.
“Is that what this is about? You mean to tell me that after all these years you’re stuck on the fact that I’m gay?” asked Howard.
There was a moment of silence. “No. I’ve moved past that.”
“Then what? What now?”
“How dare you take off for the oceans of the world while I was stuck in the mud!” said Denver.
“You could have gone as far.”
“No, I had forces working against me. You know that,” yelled Denver.
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “You chose to drink just as you chose to gamble.”
Denver shoved Howard in the shoulder. “You rich bastard.”
“Yes, I’m richer now than I’ve ever been, and you know what? It’s got nothing to do with green stuff,” said Howard, quieting his voice.
“What are you doing peeling potatoes for Christ’s sake? Why did you come out here? I was here first. Go find your own island.”
“I’m here because, because I, uh, wanna help you.”
“I don’t get it,” said Denver.
Howard cleared his voice and continued. “Listen. Listen carefully. A dying man is allowed one wish, is he not?”
“Yeah, okay,” said Denver. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Okay, then take me seriously. You’re the only family that’s left,” said Howard. “I’ve brought you money. You might call it a fortune. I’ve buried it just to the east of the trunk of that crooked palm tree, on the hill with the lighthouse. You know the tree.”
“Yeah, yeah, I do,” said Denver.
“Now when I’m gone,” stated Howard, “I want you to take it and use it. Use it wisely. It’s up to you.”
“Gone? Oh come on, don’t talk like that.”
“Man, I’m going to be gone, and you’ve got to deal with it–in your own way.”
“What do you want me to do with your money?”
“That’s not for me to decide. You’ve got free will, and I won’t interfere with that. It’s the only way I know to help you, to give you a chance. Please don’t screw up. It’s my one wish.”
“Wait. Listen. Did you hear that?” asked Denver.
Vicki stealthily backed up and walked carefully past the picnic table, then toward the staff house, her ankle hurting and her face smarting. More tree branches hit her in the face, rudely indicating wrong turns off the path. She kept stumbling, but made her way forward, telling herself she didn’t need light or vision to guide her way. She was a submarine, cruising deep in the dark depths of night. But then she heard something loud moving ahead of her. She knew by its sound that it wasn’t a lizard. Its magnitude resembled a lurching human more. Denver! He jumped in front of her. Shining his flashlight into her face, he grabbed hold of her arms with his free hand.
“Denver, you scared me to death! What are you doing? Where’s Howard?” She maneuvered herself back, releasing his grip.
“Vicki, we told you to get back to the staff house,” said Denver. “What have you been doing?” His hand felt greasy, like machinery.
“Everyone said this path was simple, that it would take me where I need to go. Yeah, right,” she complained. “I’d do better walking blind-folded down Michigan Avenue in Chicago.”
“The path will take ya there, but no one said it would be easy along the way,” claimed Denver. “No one said ya might not get hurt or lost along the way.” He lit his cigarette and used the lighter to help them see.
He no longer moved like a destroyer but now limped onward, smelling of salt and sweat. He walked like a starving, grungy mutt living in the streets of Mexico.
“Hey, did you hear the argument between Howard and me?” he asked.
“No. Couldn’t hear a thing. Why? What happened?” She couldn’t breathe.
“Tell me what you heard,” he said.
“I told you, I didn’t hear a thing,” she lied. “I’ve been trying to find my way back, and all I hear is my body making its way through branches. What happened after he pushed you in the water? Are you okay? You poor thing!” They walked under the stilted staff house that resembled a nest at night, something that a dozen different breeds of birds might build in a failed attempt at teamwork. Just then, they heard someone coming along the path toward the staff house.
“It must be Howard,” slurred the slightly muddy, bloody, rabid-looking man. “I’ve had enough. I’m in pain, and I don’t feel like dealing with him any more tonight.” He pulled himself up the stairs and into the staff house. Vicki followed, aware that most of Denver’s injuries were self- inflicted.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Your room. I told you I don’t want to deal with him right now,” he said.
They walked into her room and, within minutes, Howard burst in.
“Oh come on, guys, my bedroom is not the Colosseum. I’m not going to allow gladiatorial contests to occur in here. Find another place for your wild-animal show,” said Vicki.
Howard shook his head. “I admit. We got out of hand on that dock. No more fighting.” He laughed. “You don’t need us fighting to make your room any uglier than it alrea
dy is. Besides, I’m a lover not a fighter.”
“And that disgusts me,” declared Denver.
“Denver, get over it. I’m your friend. I’m not your enemy.”
“Howard, I want badly to hate you, man.”
“You’re doing a good job of it,” said Howard.
“I’m not. I don’t hate you.”
“Then where’s your hate coming from?”
“My own life. I’ve been stuck in the mangroves too long. I hate what I’ve made of my life. But I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you,” said Denver.
“You could have fooled me.” The sarcasm in Howard’s voice softened. “Look, I know you don’t hate me. I came here to help you. I came here so you could have a second chance. You can do it this time. You’ve spent enough time living within your mistake. You’re the one who once told me we have to move through the mistakes we make, not live within them. Work your way out of the mangrove. Think. Think real hard about what you want to do with the money this time. Change your life and change your soul. You can do it.”
Howard turned and walked out of the room.
“I’ve gotta clean myself up. Sorry for putting ya through this, Vicki,” said Denver as he headed for the door.
“Wait, Denver. I need to ask you something.”
“I’m not gonna say anything else about the fight, so don’t ask,” he said. “No, I want to know about your song.”
The man with the torn clothing and the muddy, bloody face walked over, plopping himself down on her mattress. He resembled a Halloween costume. “What do you wanna know? When my album is being released, so you can say ya knew me back when?”
She laughed. “No. I mean, yes, you probably will have an album someday, and maybe you can mix the island sounds into it.”
“You mean the clanging pots and pans of the kitchen and the eggs frying on the pan in the morning, things like that?”
“No, of course not. The birds, the rippling water under the dock, the voices at the bar. But hey, tell me about your song and why the words are so sad. What did you lose in life?”
He stood up a moment to pull his cigarettes from his back pocket, and squinted his eyes as if looking for water down a long, empty well. “I smoked the last darn one. Life is tough, and I’m going to tell you something I learned the hard way. I had me a business, cleaning boats. I worked real hard at it. Saved every penny I ever made and carried that money with me for years—nothing to spend it on. I lived simple but had an overabundance saved. Saved for what? I don’t know. It just kept growing and growing, sitting around. Took me a trip to visit a friend in Northern California. From there we went to Reno. Did some gambling. Started on the three-dollar blackjack table, nothing major. Each time I lost, I thought I’d win it back on the next round. Those casinos are pretty clever. They don’t put windows or clocks in the rooms so you never know when day turns to night and then back to day again. Before long, I moved on to a twenty-five-dollar table. Started throwing down a hundred here and there. The dealer didn’t like me. Hell, I got real angry when I lost five hundred dollars because he got twenty-one and I got thirty. I’m not the best counter. I made frequent trips to the debit machine, my fuel supply to continue, and kept moving on to new tables, all the while telling myself, ‘I’m a loser, I’m a loser.’ I couldn’t stop and didn’t realize until later how serious my addiction had become. I dumped my entire load in a matter of days. Yep, that’s right. I left Reno with no money.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t know anyone and couldn’t find anyone I knew so I walked out of the last casino, a destroyer who wanted nothing more than to sink to the bottom of the ocean. It took quite some time for me to want to help myself. Now I’m a raft made of twigs, trying to survive the rough elements.”
“How do you and Howard know each other?”
“It’s amazing how a lady gives birth to two babies. One grows up to be a destroyer, advancing to a makeshift raft, and the other is a caravel, who travels the world accumulating gold and silver. I don’t know why we take such different routes. I only know our mother gave us the basic materials and sent us off into the waters of this world. It was up to us to create the sort of vessels we wanted to be.”
“You’re brothers?”
“Yep. For years I haunted him, calling him my sister. Just couldn’t come to terms with his lifestyle. I was in denial when he told me, so I disowned him and went my own way. He went his own way and made it big – a career in interior design, a good salary, meaningful relationships. The family was proud of him, and I just couldn’t accept that. Hey, did I tell ya he’s the one who decorated my room? Yeah, he surprised me when I came back from my days off.”
“Maybe he’ll do mine next. So, what are you going to do now?” She didn’t breathe a word about the money she knew Howard had hidden. She knew it would be best to stay out of that.
“It took me a long time, but I made a choice. I could continue to destroy, or I could start to repair. That is why I came here, and, just in time, my brother shows up to lend some tools, some very expensive tools. I don’t deserve help, and it doesn’t take much money to repair a raft. I guess I just need to figure out what to do with those tools and, in doing so, repair myself. That’s all I’m gonna say about that. Now let’s get some sleep, and when we go to breakfast in the morning we won’t remember a thing about none of this. Ya hear this? Now good night.”
After he walked out, she glanced at the clock. Three o’clock. Vicki wasn’t ready to sleep yet. She went over to her window and peeked out. She could do whatever she wanted with that small piece of water. Maybe she would take a cruise ship out there and anchor for some time. She could throw a huge party. Or she’d just take a raft out there alone and a volley ball or something for company. It was hers to do with as she liked. The sea no longer looked enormous and overwhelming. Sure, it was big, real big, but she only needed to embrace a piece of it.
She climbed onto her mattress with her clothes still on. Then she slipped out of bed again to brush her teeth. Squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube, she stared in disbelief at the tiny red speck- les oozing out. Ants, millions of active miniature red ants, made their way through the sticky white paste. She dropped her toothbrush and strangled a scream. She didn’t want to wake the rest of the staff house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EACH DAY BROUGHT A NEW tub of potatoes. As Howard sat peeling them on a bucket turned upside down in the kitchen, Denver washed dish after dish with the sprayer, and Vicki ran in and out of the kitchen carrying trays with clean dishes, and trays with dirty dishes. They chatted here and there, quickly, as time allowed. Howard would ask about her canvas. Denver would share a vessel statistic, or tell her about a gorgeous submarine located somewhere out in Asia. Vicki would mutter Spanish and ask them how her accent sounded. No one mentioned the night on the dock, or the hidden money. They pretended it had never happened. She knew better than to ask any questions. She knew this story didn’t belong to her.
Each night brought a new adventure or revelation about life, death, and things worth doing. She found herself meeting Ruth on the old houseboat several midnights in a row, and, slowly, practicing yoga became more natural. Others were coming for yoga, too. Some nights Ruth had an entire class. Other nights one or two people showed up.
“The stresses of daily life wreak havoc on the way in which we breathe. Through yoga, we are repairing our natural breath as well as the walls in which we live. Each time you practice, Vicki and Howard, find the slowest breathing pace you can comfortably sustain,” said Ruth, while in what she called the “Bridge Pose.” “Inhale to expand and exhale to contract.”
“Ruth, I still find myself thinking about a million things while doing some of the poses,” said Vicki. “How do I get rid of all my thoughts?”
“Don’t scold your wandering mind. Accept it, then focus on your breath and the pose and the type of palace you’d like to live in. Eventually, you’ll be able to eliminate the cha
tter from your mind.”
“I’ll try.”
“I’m living proof that you can,” said Ruth, once an off-shore racing boat, thundering across water at over one hundred and seventy miles per hour on its way from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico, competing against other boats, wind, waves and weather, only to discover that life’s real competition is against yourself. Vicki wanted to enjoy breathing. She wanted to learn how to calm her breath, and in doing so, relax her body at any given moment. Each pose was both a mental discipline and a physical posture, a working together of the mind and body. It was up to her to learn how to take care of herself, but she also accepted that this might take time.
Midnight stood as the border between two worlds, night and day. Night no longer meant time to fall asleep, thus no more futile attempts to drift off or struggles not to drift off. She celebrated that she no longer just had until midnight.
When she left the island for her two days off, she felt confident her anxiety was a phase now cured by the night therapy found on the island where she could stop and think. Wrong. Her mind stubbornly controlled her body and wouldn’t let go. On the way home from the marina, she felt dizzy and nervous driving over the Causeway Bridge.
Her car collided with a butterfly, killing it, and it bothered her that death came suddenly, even to a bug. She noticed construction vehicles working on the other side of the median, and they looked like monstrous creatures with long black antennae and silver claws, mechanically moving like predators in a horror flick. Engrossed in fearful thoughts, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and near fainting, she held both hands on the wheel, not trusting herself.
The end of the bridge was in sight, and she slowed her car down, but honking horns behind her pressured her to accelerate. She put her emergency lights on and could see the end of the bridge, but feared she would never make it. She would ram her car into the side and go over.
No, that won’t happen. None of it will happen. I do have a fear—a fear of dying in my sleep. I am not about to let it become a phobia, an intense and persistent fear of a situation, specific object or activity. I am fully aware that my fear is irrational and way out of proportion, yet I also recognize my free-spirited imagination, which becomes dangerous when out of control.
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