by L. B. Dunbar
On this island, I’d discovered what was truly my greatest fear—I didn’t like to be alone. While I thought the banishment would be an excellent respite from the pressure of my father and the weight of my past, being alone was a trigger for me. I couldn’t handle myself. Guilt haunted me when I thought of what we’d done to this beautiful girl sharing herself with me in solidarity of our circumstances. But it was deeper than that. Being alone made me face the fact I was alone. My father wanted what he wanted of me. My friends were the same. It was a game to conform to others’ wishes, and I was losing when I had to face myself. I did the things I did so as not to be lonely. I wanted the attention—negative and wrong—so I didn’t have to face my greatest fear—being alone because someone wouldn’t want me for me.
She smiled slowly, though the light didn’t reach her eyes. The smile she was growing confident to give me had been diminished with my late-night sleep-rutting. It was trying my patience to win it back, but my patience had surprisingly grown. If we spent enough time together, I felt confident I would see it again. Some day. Hopefully soon.
“Fine, I’ll come find you near evening.”
“No, let me come to you,” I said. “I don’t want you wandering in the dark.”
She tugged her hand from mine and crossed her arms. Her hip hitched and she scowled. She actually looked beautiful while her lip pouted.
“I’ve wandered a few times through the darkness,” she said, staking her claim in knowing the path to and from my door.
“Yes, you have, and it wasn’t really safe,” I replied, curling a piece of loose hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch at my touch, and I took this as a good sign. I didn’t wish to test her any further, though, so I dropped my hand.
“Fine,” she muttered.
“Fine,” I teased.
+ +
“Have you danced?” Garvey asked. He sat on the same stump with a knife in his hand, whittling at a strip of wood. Colton sat in the sand next to his father. My leg jiggled as I sat across from them.
“No, I haven’t danced,” I scoffed. I wasn’t fucking dancing.
“Have you not learned anything?” Garvey asked, still concentrating on the stick in his hand.
“I’ve learned plenty of things,” I snapped.
“I see your anger is still intact,” Colton offered sarcastically. My eyes shifted over his head, ignoring him, and gazing at the trees that lead to Juliet.
“It is,” Garvey said, and I noticed his eyes followed mine. Turning back to me, he added, “But you do seem calmer. A little.”
“I am,” I said, but my leg continued to bounce up and down. I visibly clamped a hand at my thigh to stop the motion.
“You need to dance. Let out the energy.”
I sighed. “Let me ask again, what is the point in dancing?”
“Dance is an expression of emotion. You must pick an animal, one you’ve encountered on the island. Think about it. What can you learn from it? Dance the motions of the animal. Reflect.”
I shook my head. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it,” Garvey commanded, but his voice remained monotone. My eyes drifted back in the direction of Juliet’s tree house.
“You seem distracted,” Garvey said, interrupting my gaze and I noticed again his eyes were focused in the same area as mine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
“Maybe we should stay the night with you?”
“No!” The harshness of my tone startled even me and I swiped a hand through my hair. “I mean, no, I’m doing okay. You don’t need to stay.” I didn’t want them hanging out and ruining a chance to see Juliet.
“I see,” Garvey said, looking over his shoulder one last time before turning back to me. His face remained stoic, but the dark orbs of his eyes danced. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was laughing at me.
“Your hair looks different,” Colton observed, narrowing his eyes on my hand that continued to work through the smooth locks.
“Yeah, I figured out a few things so I could cut it better.”
Colton’s eyes remained pinched, staring at me like he could read my secrets. They didn’t ask about the girl this time, and I no longer wished to share her presence. The thought seemed to trigger Colton to speak.
“Still seeing that girl?” The wording caught me off guard. He asked so casually it was as if he wondered if I was dating Juliet. Reminding myself he didn’t believe she was on the island, I chose my answer carefully.
“I don’t care if you believe she’s here. I don’t need to prove anything to you. I only need to prove things to myself.”
The silence was sharp as Garvey stopped whittling. Looking up at him, his eyes were focused on mine, brows raised in surprise. He pursed his lips and slowly nodded.
“Well, you are actually learning something.”
I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face because I didn’t know what he meant, but I let it slide. I didn’t have time for a confrontation with them. I wanted them off my island.
“We brought more books,” Garvey said, pointing with the stick toward a sack. I’d taken to long hours of reading with no television, no stock reports, no merger stats to review. I’d re-read a handful of classics, intermingled with some informational texts. I stood to search the pile.
“Robinson Crusoe?” I questioned as I held the book in the air. “The Lord of the Flies? Really?”
“It was my turn to pick,” Colton offered, pleased with his selection. One book was about a man shipwrecked on an island, and the second was about a group of boys’ whose plane wrecked and they worked survival of the fittest to the extreme by killing one of their own.
“The Little Prince?” I stared at the thin book in my hand. A child’s story, I instantly thought. “Interesting choice.”
“You might learn something from it as well,” Garvey suggested. I thumbed through the pages and slipped it into my back pocket. “Do the dance,” he added, patting my shoulder before leaving me again.
+ +
After dinner, she sat at her table working on her papers, and I lay on her bed to read. I brought The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry with me, sensing a kinship with this young man who wandered the universe, asking questions and discovering things.
“I don’t think you are my rose,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence we had developed around one another. She looked up from her notes and shifted to face me. “I haven’t nurtured you enough. You aren’t under a glass with me. I think you are the fox.”
“Instead of a mouse?” she giggled. I’d developed a soft spot for that sound over the last few days. It was a rare gift, and I cherished each time she directed it at me.
“You are still a mouse, but maybe more of a vixen,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows over the edge of the book.
“How so?” she chuckled again, standing and approaching the bed. I scooted over, hoping she would take the hint and lay down next to me.
“You tempt me.” She stopped at the side of the small mattress.
“But I am not sly or sneaky like a vixen,” she replied, her voice rising in a playful octave.
“True.” I paused to tap the book on my chin. “But I am smitten by you.”
The comment stopped us both, and our eyes met. She didn’t blink. The air in the room held its breath.
“I mean, I am taken by you.” My voice lowered, and I shifted my eyes to the words on the page but was unable to focus on any of them.
“Read the passage to me,” she said, sitting on the bed, and I tapped the book on the pillow, signaling she should join me by lying down.
“Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to look at.” I looked over at her after I read, and stared at her a moment. She was beautiful lying next to me, and my heart skipped a beat.
“I am a fox,” the fox said, she read, breaking my gaze. She nudged my arm, encouraging me to read my part.
“Come and play with me
,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.” I stopped at the words. How true it was, or had been, before coming to this island. I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t have time to dwell as Juliet spoke her part.
“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed.” Juliet shifted her voice while she read, so I lowered mine as I continued.
“Ah! Please excuse me,” said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added:
“What does that mean--'tame'?” I read.
“You do not live here,” said the fox. “What is it that you are looking for?” How true the words seemed, and I considered the question spoken in Juliet’s voice.
“I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?” I read again.
“Men,” said the fox. “They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?”
“Chickens?” I interjected.
“Keep reading.” She nudged my arm again with her shoulder which pressed against my skin. She’d shifted to her side and was focused on the book in my hands.
“No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?” I stared at the words. I once considered Rick a friend, but he hadn’t really been.
“It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. “It means to establish ties.”
“’To establish ties’?” I swallowed hard after I read this line. I had no ties to anyone. I drifted.
“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox, like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…”
“I think I’d like to be the fox, actually,” she said.
“You want to be tamed?” The idea of dominating her returned and tension filled the air, yet somehow taming meant more than domination. It seemed to mean responsibility, caring for something. I’d already promised she could dominate me, instead, but I was changing my mind.
“I want to be friends,” she whispered, her breath brushed my skin, and the heat between us rose again.
“Am I one to you? I’m certainly no prince,” I said, my voice lowering. I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to be so much more.
“You are a thousand little boys until you learn to tame me, to be invested in me, as I am invested in you. Then you will be my friend like the fox says,” she added. Her violet eyes were playful, sparkling in a way I’d never seen before. Gone was the hatred. Gone was the desire. Gone was fear. In its place was something more, and it pleased me.
I groaned. “I still say you are a vixen.”
24
Day 47 - Juliet
The heat of the day was oppressing, but the nights refreshing with the ocean breeze. We sat on the edge of the water in the dimming daylight, staring silently out at the calm water. Midnight blue was catching the waves as blackness chased it. There was no sunset tonight, only clouds on the horizon.
“I made this for you.” Presenting him with the braided bracelet I’d made with leaves rolled into string, I held my breath. I’d never given a man a gift, let alone something I’d made.
“Aw, did you make me a friendship bracelet?” he teased, and I pushed at his shoulder. I bit my lip, suddenly self-conscious. It seemed foolish after all.
He took it from me, spinning it over and over with his fingers. His tips traveled the thick circle, and he appeared to be admiring my handiwork, but I braced myself for another tease. He extended his wrist, one I imagined typically held an expensive watch, and he slipped the band over his hand. He twisted his wrist back and forth.
“Why did you make this for me?” he asked, his voice lacking the teasing tone I expected. I shrugged.
“I wanted to thank you for saving my life, twice.” His eyes were intense, and I looked away, cursing myself for the offering. It was a silly idea, I decided.
“Mouse,” he whispered, tracing a finger down my cheek to my jaw, and gently forcing me to look at him. “It was my pleasure to save you. And thank you. This is really special. No one’s ever given me something like this before.”
“A leaf bracelet,” I joked, trying to lessen the sudden seriousness around him.
“A handmade gift. It means you really thought about this and then took the time to make it specifically for me. It fits perfectly. I’ll always wear it. Thank you.” I prepared to make another joke about his wearing it forever, but the earnestness in his voice stopped me. His appreciation was heartfelt, and a soft kiss on my cheek surprised me.
Suddenly, the sky crackled and lightning raced upward. I flinched in surprise.
Tack’s arm came around my shoulders. He rubbed up and down and then released me. Strangely, I longed for him to continue holding me, but the touches had been few and far between since our friendship started. A brush here. A hair tuck there. A finger sliding down my jaw, but nothing deeper. I’d fallen asleep next to him the night he read The Little Prince. After our interchange of reading about the fox, I let him continue, drifting off with the inflection of his rugged, but gentle voice. To both our surprise, he slept as well, and we woke with my hands wrapped around his arm like I was holding onto him for dear life. I hadn’t been dreaming, or at least I couldn’t remember if I had, but I’d somehow latched onto him during the night. He didn’t say anything about it. His smile brightened, and he whispered “Good Morning” before brushing my forehead with his lips and rolling off the bed.
The lightning flashed again and thunder echoed in the distance. I flinched a second time.
“Don’t like lightning?” he asked, and I squinted out at the dark sea.
“I was home alone. There was a bad storm, and I remember waking at a certain point in the night, hearing the sharp crack of thunder. It was 2:43 a.m. I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, and I lay there breathing heavily, willing the lightning to go away. I hadn’t known they died yet, at that exact time, but ever since that night, I just can’t shake the fear that lightning means bad things.” I scooped my hands through the cool, white sand, as my voice drifted.
“I won’t let it hurt you,” he said, and I smiled weakly at the comment. “I’d save you again and again if needed.” He owed me. It hesitated in the space after what he said. He felt responsible for what happened—he owed me, to save me if anything ever happened again. I sighed in frustration. He’d been saying things more often like this. Little compliments or startling words said casually, and on the surface, they seemed sweet, but underneath seemed imbued with a deeper meaning. My heart foolishly skipped a beat with each one shared, hopeful that it might mean more to him, knowing it only meant something to me.
The sea wasn’t curling and cursing near us, but it looked like a storm was definitely over the ocean.
“I wish we had a boat,” he said, and I twisted to look at him.
“Why?”
“I’d like to go sailing out there.”
“On a night like this?” I choked.
“No, Mouse, during the day. It would be cool to skip across the water, especially when it’s so calm.” He held up his hands, palms down, and spread them apart as if imitating the ocean. “I’d like to take you sailing.”
“Why don’t you ask Garvey for one?” I snorted softly. “You have the whole country club thing going here anyway.” She twisted to glance over her shoulder, admiring my extravagant beachside tent with camp furniture and the hammock in the trees.
“You’re the one with a real bed,” Tack teased. “But honestly, I don’t think they’d give me a boat. They’d be afraid I’d try to escape.” He leaned back on his hands and let his toes slide in the sand.
“Would you?” I asked. He let his chin fall to his shoulder as he looked a
t me.
“Not anymore.”
My lips curled slowly in response. My mouth moistened with need. I wanted to taste him again, when we were like this, when he was sweet.
“Why don’t you build one?”
He laughed with a puff of air. “How?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “You’re the ship builder’s son. Don’t you know how to build one?”
He stared at me a long moment before turning his eyes back to the ocean.
“Huh,” he huffed.
“What?”
“You’re right.” For some reason, we let those words linger between us before he walked me back to my tree house.
+ +
“I found it,” he shouted the next day when I came to his camp. His voice trilled with excitement.
“Found what?” I laughed, joining in his enthusiasm before I even knew what brought it on. I liked when he laughed. His face brightened and he looked less edgy, younger even.
“The perfect tree. I bet we could scoop it out somehow and attach some smaller limbs to work as double outriggers.”
“Like a canoe?” I laughed again.
“Sort of, but with outriggers for balance, like they use in the Philippines.”
“Have you been to the Philippines?” I intended to laugh, but then I remembered his background. He’d probably been to every corner of the world when I was just happy to escape a trailer park in Alabama.
“I have.” I shook my head in response.
“Come on, Mouse,” he said, holding out his hand, and I couldn’t deny him with the eagerness of his voice.
For a week, we worked on gutting the large log he found from a downed tree. He was patient as he explained what he needed me to do to help build the long, strap-like arches that stretched over the canoe-shaped boat for balance.
“I don’t know if this will hold both of us,” I said skeptically, as we grew closer to our finished product.
“Well, it just has to, because I’m not testing it without you, first mate,” he teased. He was playful, like a child, like a thousand little princes, I thought, and I warmed to him more at his enjoyment in building something from scratch. For a man who said he thrived on tearing things apart, his hands were equally diligent at putting something together.
