Authors: Warren Dalzell
She nodded tearfully and leaned against him. Jack put his arm around her. “You know, you have a lot of good qualities, Ms. Delaney. You’ve shown that you can be understanding, caring, helpful, and you haven’t complained about anything throughout this whole ordeal with Debbie. I admire how you can be honest in recognition of your faults, but don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Can I ask you something,” Jocelyn said. “What did you think of me before Debbie’s accident? Until then we hadn’t interacted much.”
He thought for a moment. “Well, when you showed up with most of your worldly goods at the airport and caused Debbie all that grief, I was…” He searched for the right word, “…I was perplexed. I thought, ‘She must know she’s got to fit her stuff into two bags. What’s going on?’ But, as long as we’re being up front here, I was concentrating more on your looks than anything else. I fell prey to that fault most guys have of excusing a girl for the way she behaves simply because she’s pretty.
“Then when you used up all that water on the boat to wash your hair…well, I guess that’s when I saw a side of you I really didn’t like.”
“Neither did the captain,” Jocelyn interjected. “She was pissed; I thought she was gonna throw me overboard.”
“Ah, yes, I do believe she wanted to. But look at the bright side; you’ve had your vocabulary greatly enriched by a Danish sailor. Let’s be honest here, old Doc Sørensen didn’t translate
everything
the Captain said. Certainly you can use some of those colorful phrases to great effect at the dinner table back at the archeological site.”
She poked him in the ribs, “Hey, I may have run the ship’s supply of potable water dangerously low, but my hair was silky and smooth. The sharks would have been impressed with my flowing locks if we’d been introduced.”
“Ha, now who’s making jokes?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Now, tell me exactly what you thought of me after I pulled that bone-headed stunt, and don’t hold back, Jack. If I’m going to reform, I have to really understand the errors of my ways.”
Jack was uncomfortable with Jocelyn’s request to be critical of her. He didn’t see the point of this exercise. It was up to her to evaluate her own shortcomings and, if necessary, to alter her behavior. The change had to come from within. But when he saw the pleading look in her eyes, he gave in. After a moment’s thought he said, “Back then I figured you to be a vain and manipulative person who played at two different games. On one hand, you are very smart and get good grades. Those are things that get you in good with your parents, teachers, etc. In fact, that’s what got you accepted for this archeological study. I also thought, however, that you were good at playing the popularity card; you’d learned how to be mean and cliquish, and I would have bet money that you hung out with friends who value social standing more than anything substantive.
“At least that’s what I thought back then,” he added defensively. “In the last few days, I’ve seen a different Jocelyn Delaney.” He hugged her and said, “I’ve, uh…I’ve really fallen for this one.”
Jocelyn sat up and looked quizzically at him. “You figured all that out? It’s like you really knew me. No offense, but I’ve always believed you to be a typical guy when it comes to reading people’s character, you know—oblivious. You’re really very perceptive.”
“What I am is a High School student, like you. The kids at my school fall into the same categories as those in Corpus Christi. People are the same everywhere.” He smiled, “Now it’s your turn, Jossy. What did you think of me when we first met? I came clean to you, so hit me with the cold, hard truth.”
Jocelyn perked up, grinning from ear to ear. “Okay, here goes. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Jack became mildly concerned, but he’d asked for it. “Go ahead, hit me.”
“You’re ‘Mr. Perfect,’ and I found that intimidating. When we first met, I thought, ‘He’s cute, friendly, probably a teacher’s pet, a real goody-two-shoes.’ That didn’t surprise me, though. I expected the other kids on this trip to be over-achievers: you know, class Presidents, honor roll regulars, members of every club known to man. Did you read the essays written by the four of us that Debbie sent out once we were selected as winners? When I read Spencer’s I thought, ‘There is no way a fifteen-year-old wrote this, a Pulitzer Prize winner maybe, but not some High Schooler from Brooklyn.’
“Anyway, I thought, mistakenly of course, that the only guy I could possibly be attracted to, and who would likewise be attracted to me, would be someone with attitude, a ‘bad boy.’ I never considered you to be my type. I was also unprepared, both mentally and emotionally, for this trip. The only reason I accepted the invite was to get far away from a difficult situation at home.”
Jack considered her words. “It’s funny how we tend to pre-judge people, how we form opinions about them before we get to know them. Jocelyn, I just realized something; you and I are a lot alike, you know that?”
“You’ve got to be joking again.”
“No, I’m not.” He shifted around on the platform so that he could see her face. “We both are hung up about pleasing others. You work hard in school to please your folks, and you go along with stuff that bothers you, and that you know is wrong, in order to be popular.”
“You don’t seem to be so insecure, Jack. You’re perfect, remember?”
“Hell, I’m ten times worse than you, Jocelyn. I strive for good grades because I don’t want to let my parents down. I’m an only child and they’re immigrants who’ve worked hard to provide me with the American dream. It sounds corny, but it’s true. They dote on me. I hear my mom telling her friends all about me, about how I’m such a great student. My dad thinks I’m this great mechanic who’ll take over his business and turn it into a big success. The pressure is incredible. I love them and don’t ever want to give them reason to doubt me or be ashamed of me.
“And, do you know why
I’m
on this trip? For the same reason you are: to get away. I simply couldn’t stand to work in my dad’s garage this summer. I don’t want to be a mechanic for the rest of my life, but I just don’t have the guts to tell my dad. It’d break his heart.” He sighed and said despondently, “You’re lucky, Jossy. Your situation is passing. After High School your troubles will be behind you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do what I want without disappointing my folks.”
“So what
do
you want to be other than a mechanic?”
“It may seem silly to you, but I want to be an astronomer. It’s funny, really; I’ve never studied astronomy in school. Spencer and I have that in common. He developed an interest in paleontology outside of his ‘halls of learning,’ and I love reading about the night sky.”
Jocelyn listened attentively as Jack launched into a grand soliloquy about the nature of stars: their sizes, temperatures and chemical compositions. She admired the passion he had for the subject and envied him the joy of having an interest that so captivated him. There certainly was more to this kind, considerate man than she could possibly have imagined. She suddenly felt a closeness to him that came as a pleasant surprise. Admiration for how he balanced his passion for astronomy against his concern for his parents’ feelings, with his folks taking precedence, spoke volumes about his character. He’d become an inspiration to her. Now, more than ever, Jocelyn knew she had to effect a change in her own outlook on life.
While Jack carried on about stellar distances, magnitudes and lifetimes, she found herself fiddling with the matted, tangled ends of her hair. It hadn’t been washed in ten days, and for the past three it had become a snarled mass of knots, dirt and bugs. What had once been a symbol of status, beauty and vanity, had become, of late, a nuisance. Moreover, it represented the lifestyle she wanted to leave behind. “Jack,” she interrupted, “I have a favor to ask.”
He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the pleading look on her face. He knew immediately that whatever it was, she was asking for something she considered very important.
“Cut my hair.”
“What? You serious?”
“Please, Jack, take it off right here.” Her fingers held a lock about an inch above her shoulders.
“All I have is my pocket knife, Jossy.”
“That will do just fine, Jack, just fine.”
* * *
Spencer was making good time. He was trying to stay more or less at the same elevation as Endicott’s camp, contouring around hills and up gorges, every so often moving higher or lower to circumvent obstacles. He knew that sooner or later he’d run into the field of huge boulders that had diverted him and his colleagues to the south two long days ago. Finding his way around that would be tough, but it was something he’d just have to face when the time came. There were miles to go in the meantime.
Ahead of him lay one of the kinds of obstacles he was anticipating. Far upslope an impressive waterfall tumbled from high among the coastal peaks. Over eons, water had carved a deep gorge that meandered through the foothills over which he was hiking. Somewhere downstream this stream would flow into the large river coming from the east, the one he, Jocelyn, and Jack had forded earlier. The gorge was too steep to navigate at his present location; he’d have to find an acceptable place to cross.
Spencer sat for a moment to collect his thoughts and ponder the situation. He looked to the east, to the source of the water, and realized he’d never be able to negotiate the cliffs that rose out of the mist beside the waterfall. That meant he had to move downstream. He didn’t want to descend into the valley itself, with its high heat, humidity and the threat from predators. This stream would also merge with others along the way thereby increasing the size of what was already a formidable hazard. At last he made his decision. He would hike downstream and cross at the first available opportunity.
Spencer couldn’t believe his luck. At a point where the stream cut between two low hills, a tree had fallen across. It was a large conifer whose roots had been exposed during periods of high runoff. Enough soil had washed away that its base couldn’t support it, and it had toppled over. Unfortunately the trunk didn’t span the entire waterway, but it did form a nice bridge over the faster flowing water beside the near bank. He decided this was it. This was the best place to cross.
At the water’s edge, Spencer took a deep breath. Seen close up the water was much deeper and faster moving than it had appeared from a distance. Nonetheless, he tightened the chest strap of his backpack, clenched his teeth and stepped onto the log. He tried to focus on the stationary trunk and the placement of his feet rather than the disorienting sight of the foamy water roiling below. Inch by inch he moved across, carefully picking where to place his hands and feet in order to maintain balance on the wet, slippery moss-covered wood.
Crack! At just over half way his luck ran out. He fell into the creek still holding the branch that had given way. He’d put too much weight on it and the frail limb had pulled right out of the rotted trunk. His left arm slammed into a rock sending a wave of pain through his shoulder, and the shock of ice cold water numbed his senses as he was swept dazedly downstream, unable to stop moving. Desperately grabbing for any sort of hold, he tumbled onward, feeling helpless and out of control.
Struggling just to keep his head above the surface of the churning water, he caught a glimpse of a large, jagged rock about fifty feet in front of him. Located mid-stream, it was right in the way. He was going to hit it, and hit it
hard
. Two choices flew through his mind as he catapulted towards it. He could try to deflect off of it, push away with either his hands or his feet in order to stave off a collision, or he could take an awful risk: he could try to grab it. He might be swept directly into it with devastating consequences, but, if he could move to the side at the last second, maybe, just maybe…
Steeling his arms for impact, he grabbed for the rock as he simultaneously rolled his body to the side. The powerful current yanked at his legs trying to force him onward, but his grip held. It felt as though he were hanging from a chin-up bar with a fifty pound weight strapped to his ankles.
The strain on his shoulders was incredible. He knew he couldn’t hold on for long, so, summoning all the strength he could muster, he pulled with his arms and kicked with his legs, somehow managing to move his body into the eddy at the upstream end of the rock. The far shore was still more than ten feet from him, but at least he’d stopped moving downstream. Exhausted, he rested for a moment and looked around. Water splashed against the side of his head and into his eyes, making it difficult to see clearly. Staring ahead, he gradually focused on something that protruded out over the water. It was a branch. What he couldn’t make out, however, was whether or not it was attached to anything. If he grabbed it, would it prove to be his salvation, or would he continue his trip downstream with a new piece of rotted wood for company? “I don’t really have a choice,” he realized. He had to get out of the water before hypothermia made it impossible to move. He was going to drown if he didn’t act soon. With a mighty shove, he propelled himself towards the river’s edge and grasped for the branch with both hands.