Paradise Island

Prompt for the "Idol Contest"

Write a story about a group of friends vacationing on a deserted island. They are dropped off and have no way of leaving until the weekend. There are no phones and something happens.

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Paradise Island

“This was your idea,” I said, “and now look where it’s put us.”

“Quit coming down on Ted,” Sammy, who used to be my best friend, jumped in. “Look, it’s not like your complaining is going to change anything. Besides, things aren’t that bad, not really. Ted did set Tony’s broken arm, and it looks okay to me. At least the arm’s not crooked anymore.”

“Yeah, like you’re a doctor suddenly?” I added, rolling my eyes and looking over at Tony, who was still sleeping off the booze Ted had given him.

The whole thing had seemed like such a good idea when Ted suggested it. The four of us were to be dropped off on a deserted island for a week. Palm trees. Warm ocean. Cool breezes. Plenty of food and water. Good sex.

Ted had told everyone it was the ultimate test of a relationship. If we didn’t do it, we’d never know if we were ready for marriage. So, like a bunch of idiots, we jumped onto his idea and slid into his kooky vision.

You want to know how it went?

Day one was great. We arrived late in the morning. The island was paradise. That’s what they called it, in fact. Paradise Island. No, I’m not kidding. And Paradise Beach spread out like creamy almond butter. No footprints. No beer cans. No noise.

There were palm trees all around. Coconut palms. You could pick up real coconuts, lying around on the ground. One of the ship’s stewards showed us how to crack them open and drink the milky juice. We even scraped out the snow-white meat. Talk about delicious.

Tony used the top of one of the coconuts for a hat and did a quick hula for us. Kind of dumb, but we were all just goofing off that first day. We laughed and went swimming while the ship’s crew carried all our luggage into the island’s two cabins – one for each couple.

Afterward, a small boat took us back onto the ship for our final feast. We stuffed ourselves so full we could hardly wave when they dropped us back onto the island and pushed off, blasting us with the deep, farewell salute of the ship’s loud horn.

But it was strange that day, watching civilization sail away. I felt one of those chills -- like you do, sometimes, when a black cat supposedly walks over a person’s grave. Maybe that was my premonition. I should have seen that the island's baby-blue skies were turning gray. A little voice inside me almost yelled for the ship to come back, but Tony had his arm around me and was kissing my neck in places that made me think of other things. So I forgot about the ship leaving us, stranding us all alone on an island – just the four of us.

“What’s to worry?” Ted asked. I should have creamed him the first time he said that. I almost did when he kept repeating it throughout the rest of the week. There’s plenty to worry about when things start going sour, and, believe me, on that island the bad just kept getting worse.

About an hour after the ship was out of sight, the blue skies darkened, and the rain cascaded like bathtub overflow. But I guess I’m ahead of myself, because the sun was still shining when the ship sailed off, and Tony was smiling, and I was spinning in the heavenly feel of desire.

“Hey, we’re finally on our own,” Ted cooed, treating Sammy to the kind of kisses she’d been hoping for. That was the real reason I was on the island. It wasn’t for Tony and me. We were chugging along, happy with the way our relationship was going. Both of us were content with slow adaptations.

But Ted was an accountant, and Sammy kept complaining to me about their non-passionate, non-marriage-moving relationship, and at that moment, when the ship set sail, it looked like Paradise Island was just what Sammy and Ted needed.

Meanwhile, Tony, who was obviously aware of what Ted and Sammy were doing, kept getting more and more amorous. For the first time, I discovered that the guy I’d known for two years and eleven months had fantasies I’d never dreamed of.

“Me, Tarzan. You, Jane,” Tony said as he banged his hairy chest with both fists, swung me up, and carted me into our little cabin. His behavior was a little too ape-man for me, but I went along with it. I wasn’t against sexual inspiration; I just didn’t share that particular version. But, Tarzan made it well worth my while. He turned into the most amazingly virile ape-man.

The next morning, we were both full of smiles, and so were Ted and Sammy. The sun was shining down on Paradise Island again, the rain having finished with its tantrum of the night. The four of us leisurely nibbled on fresh coconuts, pineapples from the ship’s bounty, and boiled eggs the cook had placed in a cooler for us. That’s when the guys opened up the first of many beers and started drinking.

Sammy and I shrugged and went down to the sandy beach to add a layer of tan to our bodies. We swam in the warm, tingly ocean. We ate leftover fried chicken, ruffled barbecue potato chips, and apple pie -- the last of the prepared foods. But as the afternoon sun began to heat up, we started wondering what our males were doing, so we climbed back up to the cabins to check on them.

Empty beer cans littered the sand all around the outdoor bamboo chairs and table. The striped umbrella had a string of pop-tops dangling from one side. Sammy started picking up, but I flagged her. “Let’s go see if they’re sleeping it off,” I suggested.

Sure enough, we found the two guys snoring away inside, totally unaware of the midday heat. Ted was on the couch, his legs flaccidly hanging over the side. Tony’d taken over the one decent chair. His mouth was drooling spittle from the side. A beer can had tipped over on his pants and was dripping beer down on the floor mat. He was not a pretty sight.

“Whew,” Sammy whistled in disgust. “Let’s just leave ‘em be. How about we head to the other cabin and get a snack?”

She and I almost beat the rain. It drizzled humidity all over us, but only really let loose once we were safely inside. We opened all the windows, hoping the moisture would cool us down. We used the last of the ice when that didn’t do it.

My best friend and I ended up playing cards the rest of the day. The men never stirred, as far as we knew. They certainly never came tramping dwon through the storm, anyway. We were alone even during the evening. That night I slept on the couch, and Sammy took the bed. It was definitely not one of those romantic nights we’d both originally envisioned.

In the morning, the guys were grumpy as featherless roosters. I put Tony to bed. He had a stiff neck, and his back was hurting him. I think Sammy did the same thing to Tony. That day there was absolutely no sunshine. Around ten, the sky clouded and turned misty. By the time the lightning started, there was a steady stream of wet.

The day seemed long. I wished I could watch TV. I missed the computer and my piano. My fingers itched to play Chopin. Restlessly, I paced, stopping every so often to read a chapter in a mystery I’d brought. When at last the storm ended and the sky stopped rumbling, it was night. I crawled into bed and closed my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep. The frogs had come out. They croaked energetically all night long.

In the morning, Tony was better. His neck still hurt, so there were no more Tarzan episodes, but at least his eyes were no longer red, and his smile looked human again.

The sky was looking sulky in grays and ominous mixtures of black, but I ran down to the other cabin to see how Sammy and Ted were doing. I only stayed for a moment, my fist raised to knock at their door. When I heard them yelling and screaming at each other, I turned around and ran back to our cabin.

I went to tell Tony about it, but he was too busy complaining about his sour throat to listen. I put my hand on his forehead like a sweet, motherly person, something I was definitely not cut out to be. Tony was burning up. I wet him down and brought him coconut juice. Instead of thanking me, he threw it up several times in the next half hour. Outside I heard thunder, which rattled the bamboo cabin like a monkey trying to get out of its cage. Another storm had roared into Paradise Island.

My clothes were plastered to my skin. I decided to take a long, relaxing bath. That’s when I discovered that our shower wasn’t working. We’d been told there’d be enough water in the thing to last us a week. I went outside and stood in the rain, letting it cool me down. The kerosene wick lamps in the other cabin were off. I wondered if that meant that Sammy and Ted had made up. I sighed with jealously and went back inside.

I was just in time to catch a frantic plea from Tony. He needed to use the bathroom and was too weak to get up. I helped him, practically carrying him there. He didn’t make it in time. His bowels leaked down the sides of his legs. Then he collapsed, too ill to support any of his own weight.

I felt poor Tony’s forehead. He was even hotter than before. I tried to wet a towel in the faucet. The water was completely out. I unbolted the door and saturated the towel with rainwater. It cooled Tony slightly.

Remembering that sick people needed lots of liquids, I lifted up his head and tried to get him to drink from a bottle of water. The water slid down his chin. I was no nurse. I knew that.

I left Tony there and ran down the path for help, slamming my fist over and over on the cabin door. Neither Sammy nor Ted answered. I called out for them, but the wind and the rain were louder than I was. My clothes were blowing all about me. My hair was flying. The wind against my legs made walking difficult. I struggled against it, trying to return to the cabin. Then something came rushing at me. I screamed and wheeled around to look. The umbrella, the one with beer pop-tops hanging from it, was barreling down at me. I turned aside just in time. It crashed into the cabin.

I pried the door open with shaking legs and hands and then shut it from the inside, but it flung itself out of my grasp and away from me, flinging bamboo fragments into my eyes. I wiped them, crying a bit because it had stung and because I was feeling scared. The door was still flapping back and forth. I leaned against it, pressing with my full body weight until I finally got it secured and bolted.

Then I heard Tony calling again. I ran into the bathroom. He was still lying there, a crumpled heap on the floor. I used the rain-wet towel to clean him off. He had recovered a bit, and, although he was deliriously babbling about playing soccer, he was able to stand and walk back into the bedroom. I tucked a clean sheet around him and tried to get him to drink some water. I think some of it went down his throat.

I spent all that day running back and forth, trying to get liquids down Tony’s throat, throwing his vomit into the chemical toilet. When he finally fell asleep around two, just about the time the wind was blowing its fiercest, I slumped into the chair beside his bed. Tony was still as pale as coconut milk, and, with the wind vibrating the cabin frame as if it were going to lift it up and carry it out to sea, I was more frightened than I remembered ever being. But I was also too exhausted to care. Just about the time that darkness was closing in on me, someone started pounding on my door. It startled me. I bolted up, thinking that Tony had fallen, but he was still sleeping, breathing hoarsely.

It was Ted and Sammy at the door, of course, all giggly and happy. Obviously, they’d made up with each other and were as happy as only two extremely well satisfied lovers could be.

I opened the door fully and motioned them in.

“Phew! It stinks in here,” Ted exclaimed.

“I know. Welcome to the sickroom,” I said.

Ted turned smoothly, heading back out, but I grabbed his shirt and yanked. “Hold it right there. I haven’t had a break all day. I tried to get help from you two earlier, and you were apparently ‘out’, even though it was pouring down rain. I want you to know that we don’t have any water in this cabin. That means I couldn’t take a bath. Furthermore, I absolutely hate Paradise Island. And YOU’RE not going anywhere.”

I suppose my temper tantrum would have been pretty ineffective, except that I burst into tears. That saddled Ted with a heavy dose of guilt.

“You poor thing,” Sammy said, pulling me against her and locking me into a smothering motherliness. If I hadn’t been so miserable, I would have told her how much I hated both that expression and being suffocated by her overly large chest, but instead, I got my second wind and cried even harder.

“Okay, okay. We’ll help out. Tony in bed?” Ted asked.

Sammy released me when I pinched her arm. I nodded in response to Ted's question.

“I’m going over to your cabin and take a bath,” I said. “Do you have any chicken soup over there?”

“No way,” Ted said, making it look like that was something only an idiot would have.

“Then I’ll have to make tuna soup, I guess.” I said, sighing. They both made horrible faces and pretended to wretch -- rather disgusting when one has spent the day with the real thing.

Well, I won’t go into details about days five, six, and seven. Teddy came down with the flu on Wednesday, Sammy followed on Thursday, and it rained on every one of those days, flooding out the bottom cabin Thursday morning. That left the higher, waterless cabin as the sole sick room, and, with all three of my companions full of flu, I was ready to throw in the towel. Even worse, I’d been making tuna soup for days, and the sight and smell of it was nauseating me something awful.

Of course, I was thinking, along about then, that nothing could get worse. Ha! Paradise Island gave us one last gray sky and a final day of cloudbursts. Then on Friday morning, Tony headed down to see if he could see the ship yet, and, with all the mud and slush, he slipped and fell. The bone in his arm took the same wrong turn.

That’s when Ted got out of bed and pretended to be a doctor. Maybe Sammy’s right that Ted jerked the bone back into place correctly, and I suppose that the cardboard cereal box secured to Tony’s arm to hold it into position was a good idea, but Ted dumped a half bottle of whiskey down Tony’s throat in order to doctor him.

Then dear Ted turned, looked me in the eye, and said, “See nothing to it. What’s to worry?”

It had been a very long week. I hadn’t slept for most of it. I know I shouldn’t have, but my fist found itself connected with Ted’s nose - hard. That’s why Sammy’s not speaking to me, and Ted’s still glaring daggers.

If only we’d had phones, I want to say. If only there’d been some way to get help, but they’d already heard me say that half a dozen times. They weren’t listening anymore.

Tomorrow the ship will be returning. I suppose the crew will crowd around us and ask about our romantic week all alone on the island. I hope they don’t because I’m not answering. I’m making a beeline for my sweet, little cabin number C113, down below deck, and I’m not coming out until Paradise Island is far, far away.

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