Listening To Music Deaf

I know a guy who told me he fell in love with a girl after three weeks on an island.

He said on the first day, he never thought he could. She was brash, cocky, and plain rude to him, and he had no doubt in his mind she had the capability to insult him all day long. They could not have been more total opposites. She had straight, long brown hair and gorgeous hazel eyes (my friend told me to say annoyingly gorgeous hazel eyes instead). He said she reminded him of all those popular girls at school that picked on the sheepish kids. The girls that deliberately chose to make their lives miserable, like it was their 9-5 job.

The two had met on a cruise. During a family vacation, he had gone to the youth and teen centre to play some pool and ping pong. She was there, too, talking with some friends. They had no intention of talking to each other. It was when the cruise began to sink that things between them started. Right now they’re still trying to find out what made it sink. However, what’s important is that amid the chaos, as the ship was sinking, somehow by chance the two of them ended up on the same lifeboat together. There was a storm outside, people were panicking, and pandemonium ran amok like a virus spreading through a country. The two of them were given life jackets and thrown onto a lifeboat. Before any more people could be thrown in with them, the lines holding the lifeboat snapped and the lifeboat hit the water. 

They landed shortly after on the beach of a small island. As far as they knew, they were the only two survivors in that area. No other people were on the island, no other lifeboats were seen in the ocean. All they had to do was wait for rescue. Or so it seemed. 

From the beginning, they already knew they didn’t like each other. The boy, my friend, thought she was bratty and abrasive; the girl thought he was a stupid loser. The boy was logical and said they should find food, water, and shelter in the meantime. The girl was trusting in the fact they would be rescued within the next twenty-four hours. They argued about what they should do all afternoon.

“Fine!” said the boy. “I’m going to set out on my own. But don’t come begging to me for scraps of food once I find some!”

“Look here, a survival specialist!” she said sarcastically. “We should just wait for help. Stop acting like you know anything about living on an island. You’re not Bear Grylls.”

“Bear Grylls is a fake, he’s just an actor.”

“I’m not a nerd like you, of course you’d know that.”

“And we really should stick together and help each other.”

“I’m not sticking with someone like you. Go find a snake to die to in the forest by yourself or something.”

“Suit yourself.”

For the next few days, the boy and girl would do their own activities individually. On the first two days, the girl waited on the beach, hoping to spot a boat or plane or anything to provide hope. When she realized the boy might be right, she began finding her own food and water. She hunted for some crabs, found a stream to drink from, and began building a hammock with the tarpaulin of the lifeboat. The boy, on the other hand, began building things on day one. He fashioned himself a spear by sharpening a stick with a knife from the lifeboat and went out into the water to try to catch some fish. He gathered wood for a fire and used some matches from the lifeboat to start it. He climbed a palm tree to gather some of its leaves to build a roof over some upright logs so he could build a mini tent. 

For a while, the two coexisted separately at two ends of the beach. They regularly made trips to get food and supplies from the lifeboat, which rested on the shore in the middle. Rarely, they’d go at the same time, and these were the only times they saw each other. They didn’t speak a single word, and one never stepped in the lifeboat while the other was already in it. They patiently waited for their turn.

The first time they spoke again was after about a week. The boy went to the lifeboat for some more food when he noticed it was all gone. The night before, the stock of cans was only halfway finished. He had to confront the girl about it. 

“Why did you take the rest of the food? What about me?”

“You took the knife! And the matches! And the medicine, the blankets, the flares, the rope, the rain catchers, the survival manual and… probably more! Plus, you have that spear to get fish and stuff.”

“Maybe because I didn’t think you’d be smart enough to use most of it, idiot! But taking the food? Unbelievable! I’ve only caught a single fish, and it wasn’t even that big. I’m going to starve if you don’t give me some of those cans!”

They’d repeat this for the next few days. An argument. Sometimes it’d be about the supplies, sometimes about what the future held for them, sometimes about the smoke of one’s fire bothering the other’s site, sometimes about not sharing food, they would find anything to argue about. 

After about two weeks in, it dawned on the two that they truly were the only two on the island. The other one of them would be their only source of human interaction. This was wordlessly said in various ways on multiple occasions. Sometimes it’d be the girl going to the boy’s campsite to borrow some wood from his woodpile for her fire. Sometimes it’d be the boy asking the girl to come over and help him tie his own hammock. But after each time, they’d go back to their segregated lives, acknowledging that they still hated each other before they’d leave.

One day, they were both very hungry and decided to fish together. The lifeboat had two fishing rods and after gathering some bugs in the forest for bait, they paddled the lifeboat a ways off the shore and tried their luck at catching some fish. They were highly successful, only because they worked as a team. When one of their lines would catch, the other would help them reel it in. They did this the whole day. The entire time, they finally had one conversation without any arguments. The boy talked of his life before the cruise, where he came from, what his school was like. The girl talked about her worries about her family and friends and wishes to finally be rescued. I must say (and my friend is denying what I’m about to say right now), for two people that hated each other, they sure had a long, heartfelt conversation on the boat that lasted the whole day. (My friend is smacking me right now, telling me to say this next). Ahem. Apparently, when they were done fishing, they both still didn’t think highly of each other. Sure, it was a good conversation, but they didn’t think much of it. The boy said he still hated the thought of her and that her silky hair got everywhere in the boat because she refused to tie it up. (Psst, he specifically said “silky.” Don’t mean to intrude, but doesn’t that word sort of have a positive connotation to it? Ow. Okay, my friend just slapped me. He did not like her, he says.) The girl thought he was still lame and their conversation made him seem even lamer and she still didn’t like him at all, either. But she had thanked him for the fish. The boy had never heard anything that polite come out of her mouth until now.

The following nights would have them live separately again. However, increasingly so, they began to spend more time with each other during the day. Slowly, but gradually, they did more things together until almost everything they did was together. Collecting food, maintaining their shelters, tending to the fires. The boy thought extra hands were useful, and that there wasn’t much else to it. Them being together was purely practical. Obviously. (Ow. He hit me again for saying that last word because it sounded sarcastic.) The girl thought, well, if they were the only two survivors on the island, they had better learn to work together, she supposed. 

In about the third week, there was a night that changed it all. It was a particularly stormy night. It was extraordinarily dark, and the sky had an almost dreamlike or supernatural tone to it. There was a torrent of rain that pounded the island perpetually, putting out any chance of a fire for the two. Because of that, they had to suffer in near-total darkness. Lightning struck the sea around the island, creating a few moments of blinding light when just for a second the boy could see the whole world. The wind was heavy and the air was frigid cold. The girl wrapped herself in blankets. The boy yelled for her, searching the beach for her.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Are you there? Where are you?”

“I’m here!” she said. “Please come find me!”

On top of everything else, the wind was powerful enough that it had broken both their shelters. When the boy finally found the girl, in the dark, he embraced her. She embraced him back. He led her inside the forest, where the trees would at least provide some minimal shelter from the elements. They found a crevasse on the side of a hill. The boy dug it out a bit more, sat in it back-first, and the girl sat in it next. They were practically on top of each other, the boy cradling the girl in his arms. The dirt of the hill closed in on them a tiny bit so that their exposure to rain was minimal. The girl was so close the boy couldn’t stand it. His face was in her hair. (This is something he told me not to mention in the story: he told me at that moment he had wondered what he smelled like. And that he hoped he hadn’t smelled bad. Ow! Stop hitting me! Okay, he caught me. He’s telling me to say this next.) But he didn’t care. He still hated her guts. This was purely an ethical instinct; he could not leave her alone out there no matter how much he hated her.

The girl was shivering uncontrollably. Other than that, she was extremely frightened. The boy not only felt her shaking but also her fear down to his core. Her teeth were chattering, her skin was ice, and she radiated an energy that made them both think they were going to die. They were weak, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and had heart rates as if they had just watched a horror movie.

The girl began talking. Just to ease herself. The boy listened. Just to ease himself, too. She talked about her own life this time, and how she really wished for a cheeseburger right now. She talked about how it had been weeks since their cruise had sunk and she missed home so much. She talked about how they were on the island for too long already, she was beginning to lose hope. She talked about how she thought they’d never be rescued, and that the two of them would be all that they’d have forever. Then a flash of lightning lit the sky and a thunderous boom echoed throughout the area. She impulsively clutched the boy tighter, and the boy impulsively embraced her tighter as well. She was in tears. Then, as if in a trance, she turned her head upwards to look at him. He looked back at her as well. For a long while, they just stared into each other’s eyes. Then she kissed him; he kissed her back. She told him she loved him; he said it back. He really meant it. They stayed in their huddled position in their little hill burrow all night long.

The next morning, the rain had cleared and the sun rose on the horizon. The light of day revealed a ship in the distance. A rescue ship. They were on the beach and the boy was firing off signal flares at it, although it already knew their position. A satellite scan of the island had confirmed their presence to their rescuers prior, made easier by their campfires. The girl jumped up and down, waving her arms. “We’re saved!” 

That’s the end of the story, according to my friend.

After a while, I asked him a lot of questions. Did you really love her? He said maybe he did. At that moment. But his general opinion of her stayed the same: one of dislike and repulse. Then I asked him her name. You might be wondering why I didn’t give the girl a name. It’s not my fault, my friend said he doesn’t know. I asked him if he ever did get her name. He said perhaps he did at the time, but it was so long ago that he forgot it. As for his name, that’ll stay confidential.

His story puzzled me in a lot of ways. It didn’t really make sense, especially the ending when they fell in love, but in a sort of ironic way perhaps that was the part of the story that made the most sense. In such a time of tragedy, at the pinnacle of hopelessness, had come a profound empathetic feeling that spurred their actions. I can’t even call it a fake love, because my friend keeps claiming that it wasn’t. It was real and honest. He said it’s like they were listening to music deaf, but somehow still understanding the lyrics.

Quite funny, I’d say so myself, that it had happened just a day away from being saved. They were never meant for each other. My friend keeps telling me that himself. They hated each other’s guts. But at that moment, that one, single moment, they didn’t. And they were honest about it. My friend said he honestly did love her at that moment, and I asked if he ever questioned what he believed at that moment to be truly good and right and true. He said no.

The last question I asked him was if he ever planned on seeing her again. Since he’s here with me right now, I’ll let him answer this. Here’s his answer:

“No. Even while the boat rescued us, we went our separate ways. I stayed on the deck, she went into a cabin below. After that, we might’ve seen each other at the cafeteria, but we never talked. Then the boat delivered us to our families. I never texted her, or called, or even tried to. I couldn’t find her if I tried. Do I ask myself about what I’ve done? Do I have any regrets? No, I don’t. I don’t even think I’ll remember her next week.”

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