Writer's Cramp Entry 9/10--stranded on a deserted isle with only party supplies.
|I return to awareness and open my eyes. Everything is blurry without my glasses. Immediately in front of my face is a large hermit crab. Sebastion? I shake my head. I realize I am lying half in and half out of gently waving waters.
Oh. Right. I vaguely remember a viral web picture of a whale crashing into a boat and how we thought it was a photo-shopped picture. No longer.
My glasses are still gripped in raisin-wrinkled fingers.
Rolling over, I realize I am entangled in one of my back packs. Right. I grabbed it thinking, . . that I'd need it. Sitting up, I get it off my back and unzip it remembering that my husband had thought me silly to buy a waterproof backpack.
Oh shit! I grabbed the wrong one! Instead of grabbing the one packed with our supplies for the mountain climb we had planned for tomorrow, I'd grabbed the one for my hubby's birthday party! Swell.
Sighing, I begin to unpack it. Take inventory. Plastic table cloth. Okay. Camouflage napkins. Candles! That’s right…and they are the relighting kind that drives him crazy…but they might be very useful here. And my spare lighter. Cups, paper plates. His present. HIS PRESENT! I had gotten him a buck tool. Similar to a Swiss Army knife, but different. But it had a knife and some sort of pokey thing. He is going to love--
Where is he? "Honey?" Shit. Okay. Think.
I can't do this.
I MUST. Focus.
What else is in here?
Balloons, Birthday banner. Ohh. The cord to tie it up with! A package of his favorite peanut-butter cups. (I do not like them. He does. Where is he?)
Brrr. I need a fire. And it will be dark soon.
Survivor time. I can do this.
Looking around, I see a fallen palm that will serve as a beginning of a shelter. I spread the cloth out over the fallen tree. I open his present, and use the buck tool to cut palm fronds off the one end of the tree and lay them over the cloth. I put more inside.
Firewood. I collect branches. Twigs. I use the discarded wrapping paper and the lighter and start a fire. I'll need a bigger one. Later. Putting my lighter in my pocket, I feel my cell phone. Soaked. I open it and take out the battery and leave it on a rock in the sun.
I want to call him.
I dig deeper in the backpack. Down at the bottom is one can of 'Blue Ice.' Something new I thought he'd get a kick out of. Almost funny.
I toss the balloons back into the backpack and head off to find some water. I luck out and there is a stream bubbling along just off the beach. Pretty little grotto with a waterfall. It reminds me of something from the movie ‘Blue Lagoon.’ I shudder remembering painted natives and sacrifices. Back to Survivor-think. I should boil the water. I can't. I'm thirsty. Oh well.
Water has never tasted so good!
Smiling, I stick the can of beer into the cold water between a couple of convenient stones: insta-fridge. . I can use the can, but I’m not ready for that. Yet.
Holding the balloons under the stream of the waterfall, I quickly fill several of them and tie them off. Back into the pack they go and I return to the beach.
I add more wood to the fire. It is a beautiful sunset.
Wouldn’t he just love….heck, he’d be complaining I didn’t grab the camera!
I pick up some large shells as I watch the sun burn orange and red before the ocean sucks it under.
I drag wood closer to the fire and pile it.
I need to keep it burning. Least my clothes have dried out.
Dark now. I light one of the candles and stick it to the roll of the conch shell. Doesn’t give much light, but it makes me feel better as I munch a peanut butter cup. A breeze wafts and the candle sputters out. Then it relights itself.
Handy little bugger!
Clear, warm night. More stars than I’ve ever been able to see before. Diamonds tossed on a indigo blanket.
I pick up the battery to my cell phone. Hmmm, It’s dry. I put it back into my phone. 1:00 am.
Happy Birthday, Hon. Sigh.
“Hmmmm. What? I actually have a signal? Holy shit!”
I push send, scroll down and click send again. It is ringing.
“Sweetheart! Oh my god! Where are you? You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m on an island, I think. Messed up my arm pretty bad. I think it is broken.”
“I’m on an island too. Hey, check your gps and zing in on my cell.”
“Hell, hon, got to be the same one. You aren’t far. Stay put.”
“Okay, sweetie. I’ve got a fire going. It’s pretty big, you should be able….hello? Hon?”
A few minutes later, I hear him hollering. Then I’m running down the beach like I’m in a movie.
Two silhouetted figures running in slow motion.
We are sitting near our fire. He’s quit swearing, but his arm is set, best I can.
“You set up a decent camp here. All those years of watching Survivor actually paid off! Fire, shelter, water, food. Now all I need . . .“
Suddenly I remember the can of beer. “Shush!,” I say, interrupting him.
“Wait here, hon. Oh. I need the flashlight from your phone. Be right back.”
Returning from the spring, I hand him the cold can of Blue Ice.
“Happy Birthday, my love.”