Homecoming

I swam from the wreck towards the jagged peaks of a black-emerald isle some fifty metres off. When the sea shallowed I walked, knee-deep in the briny surf. Behind me green flames tore from the sailboat; I heard it crack and hiss like birchwood until the sea rushed in and drove it under.

I stood there a long time, breathing deep, and closed my eyes tight. How would I get back home, to my apartment, my bed, my life? Surely, my parents would send a boat. Or, I’d build an elaborate system of signals, a hundred strings of little fires leading up to one great, big blaze, and when a ship sailed by or a plane flew over they would see my brilliant signal and think, “Poor guy, stuck there all that time. But wow, those fires. Practical, yet beautifully designed!” They’d take pictures of my work. Then they’d find me thriving, thanks to the complex system of crab traps and desalination tubes and kelp-drying racks I’d constructed out of palm fronds. They’d welcome me home as a hero. The president would pin a medal on my coat, folks would line up to shake my hand. I’d be world-renowned for my fire-design photography. Everyone would love me. “An artist AND an engineer!” they’d say.

Raindrops needled my hair; a powerful wave crashed against my legs and I staggered back. The island loomed against the rolling clouds. The rain quickened and fear ripped through me; I ran for the beach.

Something bobbed in the surf, washing up the beach and back out again. I made out a small, yellow thing, and veered towards it, snatching it from the sand. A dry bag, the drawstrings and edges slightly charred but intact – my phone! My God. My ticket home! I sat on the beach, fully clothed, water seeping from every thread, and wept.

Webs of white lightning cracked the sky in the distance. Thunder rattled. I moved up the beach and found shelter in a rocky crevice beneath the trees. I opened the bag and found my phone. It was on, and had a signal! I shared my location, scrambled to take a photo of myself and post it with the caption “No idea where I am. Need help. Who wants to give me a ride?”

A little checkmark appeared at the top of my post. It worked. I turned the phone off as quickly as possible and slipped it back into the bag, then lodged the bag in the sand. I leaned back against a porous rock and it scratched me. I recoiled, then relaxed. The rain penetrated the thick brush above me and I noticed the saltwater drying my skin. Thirst ripped through my mouth and throat and eyes like shards of glass. I cupped the falling water in my hands and drank.

I waited there until the storm passed, and the sun crept out from its hiding place. When it stopped raining I checked the phone again. No service this time. No response.

I wanted to stay there in the crevice, but I knew I had to dry off before night fell. I stripped to my shorts and hung the wet clothes over the bark of a horizontal tree, careful not to slip on the wet rock. I carried two armfuls of stones down from the tree line to the edge of the beach, and stacked them delicately there. Barefoot, I walked along the beach, surveying the forest for – well, I don’t know what. Threats, maybe. Signs of life.

I thought if I could just make it through the night on that island, someone from back home would see my post and send a boat, or alert the authorities. They would do something, at least. Maybe even come faster than that. I just had to hole up, figure it out for one or two nights, if that, and I’d be fine. So I wouldn’t move much. I’d avoid the inside of the island, move around as little as possible to avoid spreading awareness of my arrival. If I got hungry I might find some fruit. Or a coconut. Then hollow out the husks and if it rained again, use the halves to catch the rain.

I found two large, half-green coconuts, took them from the ground and carried them back down the beach, stopping at my little stone pile. I wedged one into a ridge between two jagged rocks, then drove the sharp end of another into the top. Once it held, I hammered down through the flesh with a large, flat stone. Water spilled from inside and I savoured its sweetness. My stomach contracted and groaned as I scraped out the flesh. My stomach expanded quickly and I lay down in the crevice. I wanted to stay alert but a deep exhaustion fell on me and I dozed off gradually.

I woke to see the moon rise and light up the land. The sky pulsed with the dull white light of so many galaxies, flashes of orange like striking matches. I saw more stars in that one night than I will ever see again. The hum of nocturnal life arose all around me, clicking, digging, scurrying creatures hunting and drinking and making shelter, building little lives for themselves on this island home. My sense of solitude vanished. The noise kept me awake.

With wide eyes I took in the slow motion of the starlight as the earth turned. Waves kissed the shore up and down, higher, then lower, like lips over a lover’s body. The wind rose. Water fell onto me from the high leaves and cooled my skin. I caught some in my mouth. It tasted sweet.

I heard something behind me. It moved through the underbrush and stopped above me on the hill. Fear returned; I felt the thump of my heart as it accelerated and tasted salt-sweat on my lips. I tried not to breathe, listened to the creature’s soft panting. Its breathing grew louder; I felt like shouting, but I stayed still. The animal sniffed the air and moved away in near-silence, its only mark a rustling of leaves.

I exhaled and my heart slowed. I thought about finding a new shelter. It would be a rough sleep knowing that thing had seen me, knew my scent and the location of my den. But it left me alone, whatever it was, and I couldn’t risk seeking out a new place at night, with every living thing at the peak of its activity.

I imagined what I’d do if I ever saw home again. Maybe I’d become an engineer, which I could have done (which I was fond of saying at parties). I thought of my family, my parents’ lives and their parents’ lives, how they all fed into mine, like a great filter into which their experiences were poured and out came: me.

What a shame it would be if it ended like this, having accomplished nothing worth recording. All those school years gone to waste, the degree, different relationships, the fights with my brother; so many people’s money and time and love just waiting there for me. And now I might never get to thank them, or pay them back, or put it to any use at all, because I’d be dead. And I’d pissed it away. Hundreds of nights spent scrolling, glued to that little blue light, waiting for someone to respond or say anything worth responding to. Waiting for connection, just wanting to belong to something. Maybe the biggest waste: sailing lessons. I smiled at the thought: a bad smile. The kind that forces itself on you.

I fell asleep at some point. I know because I was stirred by the sting of sweat in my eyes, the sun blazing down and beginning to burn my skin. I was shocked. And alive.

The island is small enough that I could view the sea half way around. No boats had arrived, or come near, or noticed me, at any rate. I felt hurt; I thought a helicopter or some other craft would have arrived by then. I wondered if anyone had noticed.

I turned the phone on. It took longer to start than usual; I worried about water damage. The bright background appeared and I felt that familiar dopamine rush.

I held the device up to the sky to search for reception. Nothing. The battery was nearly dead now. I had to move to higher ground. I packed the phone into its yellow bag and strapped it around my shoulder.

Until then I hadn’t felt deep fear. I was startled when the creature approached, but that passed quickly. My mind had been too busy to let it sink in. Now I felt like a drowning victim, pulling their rescuer under with them.

I really could die here, I thought as I neared the beach. What a joke. I broke into a run, head up, scanning back and forth from the beach to the island, looking for any sort of trail to take me further upland. I ran hard but it was useless; I shouted obscenities into my hands. The bush stood before me, ferns and moss and fallen trees thick with growth and decay, so thick it was like nothing else lived there. I chose a spot and fought through it, ducking and bowing with every step. Rocks cut my feet and the trees scraped my arms and legs; the wounds filled with dirt.

The sun was high when I heard the sound of running water. I approached until a pond appeared through the knotted trees, mounted by a waterfall, the water clear and crashing gently at the pond’s furthest edge. Trees bearing red and white fruit grew on my side of the water. I knelt to inspect the water, it was clean, and drank from a cupped hand. The fruit was a berry, and soft. The sweetness of the fruit revived me and I ate until I no longer could, my face and fingers stained pink. I dove into the water and scrubbed the salt from my skin. The pool was deep and black. The water held me there, washed and loosened my tangled hair, and I felt the island had led me to that place. Like it had pulled me further into itself.

A snap echoed through the clearing, followed by a thump a short distance away. My breath slowed. I left the water and walked silently in the direction of the sound. One tree stood with a broken lead. At the base, under the broken branch lay a large, brown snake with an egg in its mouth. It was still. Dead. “Shame,” I thought. “Such a beautiful creature.”

Higher land peeked out above the treetops, so I pushed past the broken tree towards it. I reached another clearing, this time a short, obtuse cliff topped with a wide ledge. I scaled up the cliff face and sat to rest. The phone was dead.

I saw the canopy laid out before me like a carpet stretching all the way to the sea. The sun beat down against the water and stained it with rolling white streaks. A whale breached in the distance. Birds chuckled in wonder from their shady vantage. Some croaked like frogs, others rung out like church bells.

How grateful I felt – just to be part of it.