Sharks & Boys (13 page)

“That’s true,” Landon says. “I bet she does drive down.”

“Wait,” I say.

“What?” Landon asks.

“She might check out youth hostels or go to Canada first,” I say.

I know I’m going to have to elaborate, so I do.

“At the wedding, I told her that I might drive off to Canada. It was a joke, but after I go missing she might think I was serious.”

“Why would she look into youth hostels?” Landon asks.

“I was talking to this guy and I told him that I wanted to go check into one for a week and unplug,” I say.

“Okay,” Landon says.

“What guy?” Wick asks.

“A wedding guest,” I say.

“Even if she did drive down, she wouldn’t know we took a boat out,” Munny says.

He’s right. Any hope I had that my mother would rescue me evaporates.

“Dude,” Dale says. “I feel depressed. What should we talk about now?”

Landon jumps in. “I know. We should focus on why we want to live. It will keep us positive. With a focus on the future.”

That makes sense.

“Cool idea,” Burr says.

“Yeah,” Skate adds.

“Like giving voice to our life-sustaining wishes,” Wick says.

“Okay, let’s go around and talk about all the things we still want to do. Enid, you start,” Landon says.

I look at the cut on my thumb. What do I want more than anything?

“I want to go to Alaska and see glaciers,” I say.

“Really?” Wick asks.

I glance at Landon’s face, and he looks surprised. “The idea just came to me,” I say. “Why? Do we have to justify why we want it, too?”

Landon shakes his head. “No. No explanations needed.”

“Okay. You go,” I say.

“I want to write a best-selling mystery. Something gritty,” he says.

“You don’t even read that much,” I say.

“Enid, let’s not challenge each other’s life-sustaining wishes,” Wick says.

“Fine,” I say. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.” I think the heat is adversely affecting my ability to filter what I say during conversations.

Burr goes next, and he really comes to life. He sits up straight and speaks with an energetic enthusiasm that I haven’t heard come out of him in a very long time. “I want to go on a mission to someplace cool. I hope I get sent to Russia.”

Neither Skate nor Burr have talked that much about going on missions, but Burr sure seems jazzed about it right now. “The suits. The Missionary Training Center. The companions. The bicycle. The name tags. I’m ready for it.”

Skate looks up and smiles. “Me too. Russia. France. Brazil. A faraway place. I want to learn a language.”

I should ask him how his head is feeling. I think Burr wrapped the bandages too tight. The green cloth is cutting into Skate’s skin around his temples.

“That sounds great,” I say. I don’t bring up the bandages. If they felt too tight, Skate would say something.

I shift so I can see Dale. He sits in the raft wearing his Windbreaker, his chest bare and growing pink from sun exposure. He looks like a hillbilly.

“I want to try cocaine,” he says.

“What?” I say. “That’s nuts.”

“Enid, don’t shoot down his wish,” Wick says.

I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud. My filter is definitely gone.

“What’s your problem with my life-sustaining wish? Lots of people try cocaine. You go to a party. People have extra blow. You toot a little. That’s all it takes, and you’ve tried cocaine.”

“Thanks for the tutorial,” I say.

“You’re so high and mighty,” Dale says. “I can’t believe my brother enjoys dating you.”

“Hey,” Wick says. “Don’t judge Enid.”

I glare at Dale. I want to flip him off. I want to punch him in his hillbilly gut. But I don’t have the energy. “I cannot believe that I’m stuck on a life raft with you.” I turn away from him.

“It
is
pretty surprising considering you weren’t even invited to the party,” Dale says.

“Stop,” Wick says. “Enid is off-limits.”

The way Wick says that makes me feel that they’ve had conversations about me being off-limits before.

“Okay,” Landon interrupts. “Let’s hear from Sov and Munny.”

I look at them. Their thin shirts have become so dry that they look transparent now. Not even a full day at sea, and already our clothes are wrecked.

“Munny?” Wick says.

Munny looks at Wick, then me, then Sov. Then he just sort of stares off heavenward into nothing.

His voice is soft. “I want to learn how to play the guitar. I want to be on television. I want to kiss Dina Sneed. I want to visit San Francisco. I want to have sex. I want to eat at A Single Pebble again. I want to order the mock eel. I want to go to college. I want to look inside a volcano. I want to make a soufflé. I want to get married. I want to build my own house. I want to have kids.”

“Shit, that’s a whole life,” Dale says.

Munny nods. “Yeah. That’s what I want. A whole life.”

We’re quiet. We are taking it in. Thinking about the size of those words. A whole life. That’s so much more than a single life-sustaining wish. Wow. He really is the smartest twin.

“Sov? What about you?” Landon encourages.

Sov smiles. “That’s tough to follow.”

“You’ve got to have something,” Landon says.

“I do.” Sov closes his eyes and releases a breath. “I want to learn how to play the guitar. I want to be on television. I want to kiss Dina Sneed. I want to go to San Francisco.” Sov starts laughing. And he doesn’t stop. He doubles over.

“You guys really have identical life plans?” Dale asks.

“He’s joking,” Munny says. “Okay. Get serious. What do you want?”

Sov laughs a little more and stops. He pans around the raft. “I want to start a blog. Not a blog about me. But something for the Culture Club. We’ve come really close to getting big names. I think if we didn’t ask them to travel to Vermont that we could get them to appear on our blog. And do interviews, and that would be cool.”

“Cool,” Landon says. “Who would you want to have on the blog?”

“Really famous literary people, like Al Young and Tobias Wolff and Amy Tan and Michael Chabon.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Wick says.

“I’ve only heard of Amy Tan,” Burr says.

“They’re all famous. Trust me,” Sov says.

When we’re all finished saying our life-sustaining wish, we don’t have another topic ready to mull over. Nobody puts anything forward. I think we’re too tired. The sun is overhead beating down on us. I look back into the water. I try to swallow. But my mouth is so dry. I’ve never been this thirsty before in my whole life. It’s a frightening feeling. I remember my first question and ask it again.

“How long can the average person go without water?” I ask.

“You really want the answer?” Munny asks. “In these conditions, not more than three days.”

“Shit!” Burr says. “I thought a person could go a week.”

“Not in these conditions,” Munny adds.

“Why are you so upset?” Wick asks. “The Coast Guard is coming. You called them. We won’t have to go three days, right?”

Burr nods. “Yeah. I’m just surprised to hear that.”

“I’d rather drink the sea than my own piss,” Dale says.

“That’s the worst thing you can do,” Sov says. “All that salt. You’ll speed up the dehydration. Your kidneys will shut down.”

“I don’t want to know this,” Dale says.

Another large wave comes, and we’re all tense, trying to position our weight in a way that will keep the raft steady. The fins are still there. The sharks are back. They circle relentlessly, bumping and nudging the raft.

“Can I lie down?” Skate asks. “I feel dizzy.”

“Sure,” Burr says. “Stretch out.”

Skate lies down in the bottom of the raft. Even bandaged, his head looks like it has begun bleeding again. He rests it on the floor of the raft and blood stains the water that collected there.

“Do you think that’s why the sharks are here? Because of his head?” Dale asks.

“No. Shut up,” Burr says.

“And look at her hand,” Dale says, pointing to me.

I’d forgotten all about my cut. It isn’t that big. It’s a small gash underneath my thumb.

“You guys are bleeding in the water,” Dale says. “You’re leaving a blood trail.”

“We are not,” I say.

“Oh my God,” Dale says. “It’s like you’re on the same team as the sharks. You’re luring them to us.”

“Shut up,” Landon says. “The sharks are here because they’re sharks.”

“And because we’ve got two people with open wounds,” Dale says.

“I doubt that’s the spirit with which Noah steered the ark,” I say.

Burr lifts his arm up and interrupts us. “Man, is that the Coast Guard?”

We all excitedly turn our heads. Relief washes over me. I can feel my heart beating in my ears.

“Where?” Wick asks.

“Right there,” Burr says.

He’s pointing to a shadow on the water made by a rogue cloud.

“Dude, that’s not anything,” Dale says.

“It’s a shadow,” Munny says.

Our excitement is replaced by tangible disappointment. My heartbeat continues to drum. The beats turn into a pulse and the pulse begins to ache.

“Do not say you see the Coast Guard unless you’re totally sure,” Dale says.

“It could have been something,” Landon offers.

I nod. I watch the shadow, secretly hoping that it will somehow turn into a ship. But once the sun emerges again, that spot becomes nothing but a patch of regular seawater.

“It could have been something,” Landon repeats.

We’re all watching that spot as we drift farther out to sea. The sharks continue their patrol. We’re getting a bit more used to them. I’ve gone so far as to name three of them: Notch, Chip, and Belly. Notch has a chunk of flesh missing from his dorsal fin. Chip’s nose is pocked by several deep scars. And Belly likes to approach our raft and turn on his side, revealing his white underside. I guess I think that if I name them, I can somehow tame them. I wonder if this is how people who work with lions feel. You’ve got to feel like you know an animal before you can stick your head in its mouth. I want these sharks to become familiar to me. Maybe the others will hurt me, but not Notch, Chip, or Belly. Not that I plan on sticking my head in their mouths.

I close my eyes and try to think about something other than sharks. My mind drifts to my father and all the mistakes he’s made. Even if my mother can, I’m never going to be able to forgive him. He didn’t just have one affair; he had three. How can a man do that? Three times? Three different women?

Then I think of my own mistake, that heartless thing I did before I left Vermont. I didn’t mean to hurt that girl. When I called her, I didn’t mean to say what I said to her. I look into the empty sky. It would feel so good to see a dove, or any bird at all. My own pulse continues to beat painfully in my head. I put it down and start to cry. But, like Burr, I’m so dehydrated that there’s just a sound, and no actual tears come.

I’m
surprised that I’m able to sleep for such long stretches on the raft. But when a body gets exhausted, I guess anywhere will do. I wake up and I’m sitting on the floor, my head cradled in Wick’s lap. Wick softly strokes the nape of my neck. I look up into his face. His chin and cheeks are dark with stubble. Seeing him this way makes him look unfamiliar, a different kind of sexy. I reach up and touch his face. It feels unshaved and rough.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say.

“Do you need anything?”

“A snow cone,” I say. “And ten dollars.”

He laughs. He loves my sense of humor, and it makes me happy to have this sort of ability. Even in a moment like this, I have the power to draw laughter out of him.

“I’ll get right on that,” he says.

He strokes my neck again and leans down and kisses my ear. His lips feel like cardboard.

“If you want to switch places and rest in my lap we can do that,” I say.

“Maybe in a little bit,” he says.

My head feels weightless in his lap. This is how we watch movies together. We take turns holding each other.

I want things to be like they were with Wick. I know he called me his girlfriend. But what if that means that he only feels that way right now? What happens once we get off the raft?

Anxiety starts to spin through me. I can’t even enjoy the closeness right now. No longer throbbing, my head is buzzing. I feel like Wick and I need to have a conversation. The thought of our reconciliation being temporary consumes me. I want to know how he feels. I want him to extinguish all the chaos that I’m feeling. But I don’t want to push him away.

“I’ve never been in water this deep,” I say.

“Yeah,” Wick says. “I have no idea how far down it is to the bottom. Maybe miles.”

I release the grip on his hand and lightly stroke his arm. “I’m glad we’re here together.” I lift my head off of him and sit up. I lean against him, nuzzle his chest. When I do this I glance across the raft and notice Landon. He’s mouthing a word to me. What is he saying? I focus on his lips:
Space
. I turn my face into Wick’s chest. I don’t want to give Wick space. Those are the old rules. They don’t apply on the raft. Wick doesn’t even appear to want space. I think he wants me.

I am about to say something else to Wick when Dale interrupts everything.

“I need to take a piss,” he says.

“What are you going to do?” Wick asks.

I do not want to witness Dale drink his own pee.

Dale holds his head in his hands. “Shit. If I do this, nobody can ever tell anybody.”

We are all awake and looking at Dale. He sits on the side of the raft chewing on his bottom lip, staring at his crotch. “Won’t it make me sick?”

Munny shakes his head.

“Enid, close your eyes,” Dale says.

“No problem,” I say.

I hear the sound of him unzipping his pants.

“You could pee into your jacket,” Sov says. “Make a little bowl and then drink from that.”

I hear the sound of Wick peeling himself out of his Windbreaker.

“Put it in your hand like this,” Sov says.

“Don’t worry about any of us telling anybody,” Wick says. “This is a life and death situation.”

Dale releases an anguished scream. The next thing I hear is the sound of a small trickle of liquid hitting the ocean. It doesn’t last long.

“You can open your eyes now,” Wick says.

I open them and I see Dale’s back to me. He peed into the ocean. I’m not surprised. I’m not sure I could drink my urine either.

“This is a sick situation,” Dale says.

I don’t disagree. I resettle my head on Wick’s lap and drop the conversation. I want reassurance about the future, but this is fine for now. Things feel good. What I have is enough. Isn’t it? “Tell me when you want it to be your turn,” I say.

Wick lovingly pets my head. “Sure thing.”

“Don’t sleep too much,” Landon says.

“Yeah,” I say. But what does he mean by that? In our current conditions, how is it possible to sleep too much? It’s the most pleasant way to pass the time.

Every time I open my eyes, I blink and blink. My eyesight has a hard time adjusting to the day. The light feels so strong. I worry that after this experience, after we’re rescued, I might have to get glasses. Maybe sea glare damages your pupils or corneas. This thought makes me so sad. I don’t want to be permanently injured by all this. I want to stay who I am and return to my life exactly as I was. I consider slipping back to sleep.

I thought we’d be rescued by now. We’re all basically good people on this raft. There’s no need for us to be out here, still drifting. I feel like any lesson we were supposed to have learned, we’ve gotten. Personally, I’ve been cured of that whole I-wish-my-life-were-more-interesting attitude I had earlier. My life is fine. I want it back. What’s happening is worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had. It’s worse than any nightmare I can imagine. Beyond the sharks. Beyond the thirst. And in addition to the softening raft, there’s this awful smell. In addition to everything else that’s gone disastrously wrong, I’m sitting in a puddle of disgusting water. It’s a combination of seawater, blood, pus, and—I’m embarrassed to admit—urine. I had to pee in the boat. There was no way I could drink mine either. I didn’t even mention it to anybody.

And after discovering the sharks, there was no way I was willing to risk clamoring near the raft’s edge, like Dale, even for that. Besides, if I tried to pee off the side . . . I’m a girl; I lack the necessary equipment to do that sort of thing from a reasonably safe distance. But I’m not the only one. Skate has gotten weaker. He’s relieved himself in the raft too.

Every time I look into the sky I expect to see a bird; not necessarily a dove, but maybe a gull. It’s like they don’t exist anymore. Up there, it’s an endless blue; the clouds are gone and there is nothing. Except that hot, glaring sun. I always knew that the sun was a burning ball of flames, but it never truly felt like that until now. It turns the sea a painful golden color. Sometimes, because of the way the light strikes it, the water looks solid, and I have to remind myself that yes, it’s really liquid out there. Yes, Enid, you and the guys, for the time being, are completely screwed.

“Are you okay?” Wick asks me.

“I guess,” I say.

Even though there are six other people on the raft, they seem to have zoned out. It’s as if Wick and I are all alone right now, having a private conversation.

“It’s surreal that you’re here,” he says.

“You’re glad, right?” I ask.

“I am and I’m not. I wish you were safe,” he says.

“I wish we were both safe. I wish we were all safe,” I say.

“Can I ask you a question?” Wick says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“So why are you here?”

I don’t feel like being honest right now. I don’t want to start talking about how I doubted Wick’s truthfulness. About how I suspected Simone was going to be here. I think all that stuff makes me look bad. And desperate. Also, it doesn’t feel important anymore. The truth about why I’m here feels so lame and insignificant. I try a different tack. One designed to test his feelings for me.

“I wasn’t sure if you were serious about dating other people,” I say.

There is a long pause. He outlines my ear with his finger. With my head in his lap, I can’t see his face and he can’t see mine.

“I never said we should date other people. I don’t want you dating somebody else.”

This makes me feel better. But I still press him. I want total clarity. I want to reinstate our relationship and know that it will remain reinstated after we return to our real lives.

“I thought you said we were on a break,” I say.

“That doesn’t mean date other people,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Enid, I really like you. Things were really great for a long time,” he says.

I realize he’s using the past tense in referring to our relationship, and I don’t know if that’s intentional or he’s become dehydrated to the point of losing his ability to articulate his feelings. I root for the latter.

“Things can still be good. Once we get back,” I say.

Wick stops tracing my ear. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” he says. “But there were some serious things wrong with our relationship.”

My whole body whirs with disappointment. I sit up and look at him. We look into each other’s eyes. Our cheeks are sunburned. Our noses are completely red and peeling. “No relationship is perfect.” I think that’s something my mom actually repeats to herself when gearing up to face my father.

“When you found out about your dad’s last affair, after you learned about everything, you became really anxious about our relationship,” Wick says.

I want to deny this. But I know I should listen to what he’s saying.

“All men aren’t like your father. I’m not like him. But you were so aggressively insecure. I felt really judged. Like everything I did and said was under constant scrutiny. And it made it hard for me to want to be around you.”

I feel awful. I did get more needy after my dad’s recent revelations. But what am I supposed to do? It’s hard to trust people after you’ve been hurt. Over and over.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“I’m not looking for an apology,” he says. “I’m trying to explain things.”

“Right,” I say.

“You were constantly checking my phone and e-mails. You wanted to read all my papers, which at first was cool because I thought you were looking for typos, but then it felt like you were dissecting them. Like you distrusted me so much you were hunting for signs of infidelity in my response papers to George Eliot.”

I feel so humiliated. He really could have stopped expounding on his reasons for dumping me after the “aggressively insecure” comment.

“I get it,” I say. “Okay.”

“You don’t get it,” he says.

I push away from him and sit in a position where no part of my body is touching any part of his body, even our shoulders. I give him space.

“I love you, Enid. But you became impossible,” Wick says.

I stop breathing. Is there a way for me to become un-impossible?

“I love you too,” I say.

The silence drags. I look out into the water, and it goes on and on. The length of the horizon feels like the length of my sadness. Wick reaches down and touches my leg. “I think we can work on stuff.”

This is exactly what I want to hear. With everything else going on in my life right now, I want to have things with Wick go right. We’re going to be a couple again. In fact, we’re a couple right now. Don’t I deserve this?

“That’s what I want too,” I say.

He keeps holding my leg. I look at his hand and then I look at him. He’s staring at Skate sleeping on the floor of the raft.

Wick nudges Skate’s shoulder with his sneaker. “Hey, big guy,” Wick says. “Do you want to sit up for a little bit?”

Skate opens his eyes. He shivers in the fetid water pooling around him.

“Sit up here,” I say. I slide over and make room.

Wick pulls Skate up. Landon and Dale help. They ease him onto the raft’s sidewall next to me.

“It’s easy to just conk out,” Skate says.

“Yeah,” I say.

I take my arm and put it around Skate’s waist to help keep him steady. I feel Wick’s arm reach around and touch mine.

Wick leans forward and says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

I lean forward and say, “That’s very selfish of you.”

“Sometimes, I’m a totally selfish guy,” he says.

Before Wick and I can intensify our flirtation, Dale interrupts us.

“Guys, I just endured hearing you two rehash all your relationship issues. I can only take so much. Can you please not turn the experience into a romance novel?”

“That was a private conversation,” I say.

“You’re in a raft with me. Where do you want me to go? The waiting room?”

“Stop, Dale,” Wick says.

“Dude, I’m totally allowed to contribute my feelings. You can’t silence me.”

Things were going so well. But not anymore. That’s the kind of energy Dale possesses. Wrecking-ball energy. I am so tired. So sick of Dale. I want to insult him, but my mind struggles to remember nouns.

“You’re acting like a real Sandinista,” I say.

“A sandy what? Did you just call me an asshole in a foreign language?”

“No,” Munny says. “She said Sandinista, a member of a Nicaraguan left-wing political party. Also, it’s an album by The Clash.”

“I know,” Dale says.

“No you didn’t,” I say. “You’re the eighth smartest person on this raft. That makes you the most dumb.” I have no idea why I called him a Sandinista, but I don’t back away from it.

“Enid, don’t,” Wick says.

“Well, you’re the most crazy,” Dale says.

“I’m not crazy,” I say.

“Nobody said you were,” Landon says.

“Landon, he said I was the most—”

“I know. He didn’t mean it,” Landon says.

“Yeah, dude, I didn’t mean it.”

I shouldn’t pick on Dale’s intelligence. I know it really wounds him. Why can’t I be a bigger person? Why do I have to react so much to people?

“I think I want to rest again,” Skate says.

He lowers himself back to the raft’s floor.