Choppy Waters

     When I walk out of the shack, I can fully see Lenny`s stock of boats.  I walk up and down the dock, scanning every boat for the perfect one.  There sitting in the water, just a few feet away from me, is a blue motor boat.  It`s small, and has a Captain`s Corner that is sealed from the outside with durable glass.

     “I think I found the perfect fit,” I tell Lenny.

     “This is an older one, but she works beautifully.  If you want her, I`ll give her to you for one thousand dollars.”

     “Are you serious?  It sounds like a great deal!”  Then I drop my voice to below a whisper, “Would you mind teaching me how to drive?”

     “Sure, hop in and you can take me for a joy ride.”  He says cheerfully.

     I`m out on the water for ten minutes while he gives me a quick, hands on lesson.  Then he turns off the motor, and has me start it.  Then I shred some small waves.  The poor man is clutching onto a small table right under the map of the world.  He seems to have been struggling to stay on his feet the whole time that I was cruising, so I do the only thing that I know, to “help” him.  I pull my foot off the pedal, and slam on the brake.  Mr. Lenny jerks forward, but since the table is planted to the deck, it keeps him rooted to the floor.

     “I am so sorry, Lenny.”  I feel my cheeks tingling, and know that I must be turning ten shades of red.

     “That`s fine, dear,” he says in his rich, kind, and now shaky voice.  “If you could stand that, then you can stand the roughest storms,” he finishes with a tint of laughter returning to his voice.  “Compared to you, this sailor isn`t much of a seaman anymore.”

     He takes control of the helm, and parks the boat in the dock.  I think he might be terrified of my driving.

     “She does work beautifully,”  I admit. “Here`s the one thousand dollars, as we had agreed.  How much do I owe you for the lesson?”  I am so tempted to say, the “heart racing lesson,” but I decide to shorten it to just plain “lesson.”

     “You don`t owe me anything at all, dear.”

     I pay him the money, and the keys are officially mine, with the boat of course.  The generous man even fills the tank to the brim with gas.  I am sure to thank him for all that he has done.

A pineapple tree is near the dock, so I walk to it, and shimmy up its trunk.  When I pick a pineapple, I drop it to the sand below.  After I have picked all the large, ripe pineapples, I slide down the tree, trying 21

not to slip too fast.  It would be so easy to slide so fast, that I give my hands brush-burns, and other undesirable wounds.  Then I collect my treasure and carry it back to the boat, leaving the dents behind me. 

     As I`m walking, I pass a tree that is considerably smaller, and rougher than the rest.  I hurry back to the boat, and place the pineapples in a small wooden chest that is filled with life preservers, with just a little room at the top to house my fruit.

     Ten pineapples won`t be enough to tie me over until the island.  I wonder what was in that smaller tree. 

     Anyone who knows me, knows that I can`t stay away from that tree.  It`s an adventure…a mystery you could say, and I just can`t leave it unsolved.

     I skip back in the direction of the trees.  This time, I pay close attention to the trunks until I come upon my suspect.  I shimmy up this tree, and grab a coconut.  No wonder it looked different.  It was a completely different tree.  A sunflower in a rose bed.  I pick a few of the coconuts, and drop them down.  As the coconuts drop, I lose my footing and fall ten feet straight onto my back.

Thud!

     Pain surges through my back.  I am so glad that I landed on those coconuts, because they spared me a soft landing in the sand.  I push myself up on the arm that I didn`t land on, and try to stand up.  My legs don`t want to move and the only thing that I think is paralyses!  I force myself to use the tree to help me stand up.  My legs are gaining back their strength, and I pick up the coconuts that have caused me so much pain.  “Not leaving without these,”  I say out-loud.  I hobble back to the boat, passing a man riding an elephant!  The elephant has crates attached to his back, and bananas hanging from its sides.

     “Would you like to buy some bananas?”  The man looks down at me.  “They are ten dollars a crate.”

     “No thanks,” I smile.  I would actually love some, if I had money to spare.

     The sun is already kissing the ocean, so I lie down on the wooden floor, and close my tired eyelids. Forgetting all about the discomfort and the blanket that could pad the floor, I drift off to sleep.

     My dream transports me to the island that will be my home for as little as two weeks to permanently.  I finally arrive at this small island.  The tall grass sways with the sea breeze, and it`s almost threatening.  Who knows how many animals lurk in the reeds.  Beyond the reeds, bushes and palm trees form a forest, and even further, a huge mountain looms over me.  I run up the mountain.  The wind carries me and I reach the top in no time.  Standing triumphantly on top, a warm breeze blows my hair.  Then the wind grows so intense that the mountain shakes like leaves on a tree.  The ground beneath me falls through, and then the whole thing crumbles on top of me.  The last thing I see is this blob, blocking

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out the sunlight, and crashing onto me, squeezing the life from my paralyzed body.  It`s getting harder and harder for me to breathe.  I keep gasping for air, but to no avail.  The rocks must have crushed my lungs, and now are draining every ounce of life from my body.  Oh why can`t they just kill me quickly?

     Then I think of the little boy at home, the one who loves me and needs me.  What would Tie say if I never came back?  The thought of him crying when he`s alone or when he misses me surges energy through my body, and I jolt up escaping the nightmare.

     This is why I could hardly breathe; the room is stifling hot.  It wasn`t because twenty ton rocks were crushing me.  I walk over to the door and fling it open, letting the warm, fresh air fill the room.

     Birds are chirping their morning song, but one call is more distinct than the others.  His call is four short trills and then one long trill.  It`s hard to explain.  It sound like something between a cat`s purring, and the faint revving of a race car.  I can see five birds flying around the dock, but none of them own the captivating song.  I buy a crate of 24 bottles of water at Subzi Mandi, a grocery store, and store them in the wooden chest in the boat.

     I skip my breakfast, and quickly change into my boot-cut jeans.  The jeans seem to constrict the air from flowing up them, and the only relief is the small hole in my left pant leg.  Now I thank the Lord that I was late for the plane leaving Paris. 

     “Time to start this ‘wild chicken chase’ of yours, Blade,”  I tell myself, laughing inwardly at Tieson`s wrong wording. 

     I walk back to the helm, start the engine, and shift the gear to drive.  Then I grab the helm and begin my journey across the ocean.  I smile as I notice the two gas cans that Lenny had added yesterday, without my knowledge of it.  That man is too sweet.  I think. 

     I am blessed with smooth weather  for the next two days.  The waves barely rise an inch out of the water, and the wind blows gently, as if trying not to rock the boat at all.  The only problem is that my gas gauge is three-fourths of the way empty, and there is nowhere in sight to stop and fill it up.

     On the third day, the gas is pretty much gone.

     “One more hour,” I tell myself, “That`s all I`m getting out of this baby.”

     The wind is now playing a game of toss with my little boat.  One gust blows it to the left, while a wave pushes it to the right.  The waves don`t help either.  They have grown over night to about ten feet high, and the wind helps them grow larger each minute.  I was correct on guessing that I had one hour left of gas, but I could have never expected that this storm could get any worse.  Now rain pelts down, and it sounds like golf ball sized hailstones are hitting the boat.  The clouds cover the sky with their gloominess, and the only torch for miles around is the lightening that keeps striking uncomfortably close to my boat.  It is so close, in fact, that I can feel  

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the heat from the high voltage hitting the water.  I jump every time that a bolt flashes through the air.  I feel like it`s coming to get me, so I crouch in a small corner of the boat.  I feel helpless.  I am unable to do anything but sit here being tossed around by the storm.  My stomach churns with each roll of the boat, and my heart leaps out of my chest each time that I see the torches or hear the deafening thunder.

     This is the worst time to find out that I have a weak stomach.   I force myself to stand up and open the bolted door.  Then I stagger across the deck.  The wind pushes me back, trying to keep me from reaching the railing, so I turn the other way, only to have another gale hit me.  Now I am the ball that the wind is playing with.  I reach the railing in just enough time and I clutch the bar with all of my might.  As I lean over and let my past three meals escape, the rain stings my back.  If I didn`t know any better, I would say that a thousand angry hornets were repeatedly stinging me.  My shirt clings to my back as the wind tries to whip it off.

     When I feel like every bit of food has been washed away by the ocean, I wearily stand straight up.  All my energy has vanished, and I feel like this storm could break every bone in my body.  When the wind hears my thoughts, it offers me its mightiest blow, slamming me against the other railing and supplying a wave with the height that it needs to rise ten feet above the boat, and to barrel down on top of me.  The impact of the wave slams my head into the railing, almost knocking me out.

       I`m a goner!

     I have no strength at all, so I can`t even raise my arm to hold onto the bar above me.  Instead, to keep from washing away, I press my body against the side of the boat, and pray that God will give me enough strength and breath to withstand the wave.

     When most of the water drains out of the boat, I muster up some energy, and race into the Captain`s Corner, slamming the door shut behind me.  

     If I had been any slower, the second barrel would have overtaken me.  It topples onto the deck and water seeps into my little cabin, but with the boat bobbing back and forth, the water soon drains out.

     Once the water is gone, I slump to the floor, and rest my head against the door.

     “Uh,” I groan, “I should have drunk some of the rain water to wash down the vomit.  Why didn`t I think of that?”  I ask miserably, not wanting to walk all the way over to the chest.  I try to sleep off the after taste, but the procrastination just makes my throat feel like it`s on fire.  I crawl over to my backpack, since I am so worn out that I can`t bear to walk.  Even crawling is a real chore.  It takes the special effort that I just don`t have.  It is so tiring that I crawl a few inches toward the backpack, and then my arms can`t hold me any longer.  So I just lie on the floor and sleep a little, until the next barrel comes and washes some water into the chamber waking me up.  It takes ten minutes to  reach the wooden chest.  I open it and grab a water chugging down the whole bottle.  Then I flop onto the floor.  I just lie there, trying to muster up the strength to move.                                

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     After I close my eyes, I remember that food is good, and that I want some.  All the food from the past days has been regurgitated, and so I feel like an empty blob.  I grope around for the coconut, crack it on the wooden floor, and eat the small fruit.  I eat it in-between the times that I am sleeping, so only when I think about it do I wake myself up to eat a few strands.  It takes about half an hour to eat just one fourth of it, so I pick it up, and drag myself over to the wooden bench.  I place the fruit on the floor, and lay on the floor, now too lazy to pick myself up to sleep on the bench.  I quickly fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep.