The Curse of Survival

I’ve always liked the ocean, the comfort of it anyway. Listening to the waves caving into one another with all sorts of beasts – humans, insects, the night – crawling around me, all I could hear were the waves. It was like a thousand whispers chanting softly: It’ll all be fine. Amid war, I’d imagine a soldier would bring a seashell to his ear. I’d imagine gunshots couldn’t compare to the overwhelming feeling that it’s all going to be fine.

 

The ocean surrounds us. I’m stretched above a tree branch with a bird’s eye view. Papa scratching his peeling red skin, Mama pacing near the shore, and my baby sister, Avery, drawing on the sand. The island could be seen wholly in a glance, a buoy in infinite water. I always liked the ocean until it became all there was.

Papa picked up a boat on the side of the road one day and declared that our family needed to ‘live a little.’ We were living a little. We were living just enough to brush wet air into our salty lungs and drip water down our desert throats. He planned to steer off the coast of Florida, but when our map flew into the horizon, we were left stranded. Throughout the many weeks, Mama has just stared into the water, her yes slowly transforming into a sea-glass stained void, reflecting an endless ocean.

I find it hilarious, Mama’s madness. The failed state of her sanity, the object of my laughter. The peeling skin around Papa’s face resembles a mask – like one a superhero would wear. Reality lives a long way from the truth.

His hands are weak, yet he digs deeply into his bald head. Blood red tucked beneath his fingernails.

“Papa, Mama mentioned rods when we first arrived. Let’s try fishing.” I tried not to sound horrified; his nails tear deeply into his skin. His face remains expressionless.

“Your mother doesn’t seem right,” he whispers.

“It’s been rough on all of us, Papa.”

“Don’t put any blame on me, Henry,” his words are rough. “I’m working on a raft. I’m doing all I can. Go check on her. Go do what you can.”

I do as I’m told.

“Mama, we were thinking about fishing,” I say nervously to her reflection. She wears a multitude of faces torn by a thousand ripples. Which one can I trust? Which one is still my mother?

“Fishing. Yes, it’s early morning. Hurry,” she agrees. She looks towards me and I am taken aback by her raisin skin and glossy eyes. She looks as if she belongs more to the water than her own flesh. “Go now, Henry. Yes, now is good,” Mama insists, looking back out to the water. I squeeze her hand once, lingering for any last words. Papa had always made fun of Avery for believing in mermaids, the supernatural. Ironic now, his wife has become a ghost.

I catch up to him, following his motion as he rolls the wire out. I felt this horrible urge to speak – knowing there was nothing to say.

Papa doesn’t ask about Mama. He doesn’t see to it that Avery is fed and safe. Was this really all it took to break a person? How easy it is, to feed into this illusion of invincibility when within your own comfort. I keep my eyes on the water, afraid to meet my father’s eyes. Afraid to be met with the fragility of my own state.

His blood is fresh, and my desire to speak is buried as deep as fingers dug.

The rod tugs.

Like lightning – Papa’s face shoots up. The rod dives into the water, but Papa reacts fast. He follows it, one hand on the stick, his full body being dragged in. Seeing him, the blood, sweat, and tears, I could almost believe he was a superhero.

“This is one big fish!” he sang, hurdling deeper into the water.

“Mermaid!” Avery babbled. My heart sank, at her youthful eyes full of pride for her father. I glance at Mama and notice her gaze following a swift current approaching the shore. I felt as if I was grasping for something – anything, to ground me, hold me, slow everything around me into a speed I could comprehend.

But, there is nothing.

Instead, I catch Papa’s eyes as they dip into the water. I watch as his bloody fingers dance above the surface, as all hell breaks loose.

His body emerges from beneath the waves. It was first the snapping of the string, and then his bones.

“Papa!” My voice breaks through his lethal screams, through Avery’s aching cries. “Papa! Get out!”

In the center of a black hole, there is complete silence. Order, in its finest. There is Papa’s body floating lifeless. There is a shark, satisfied and glistening his pearly teeth. There is Avery, vomiting over our fire logs. She looks frozen, the pain eminent in her baby blue eyes. Once her cries began, I felt she might remain that way forever. Lungs aflame and shaky shoulders unfit to hold such despair.

My legs go numb; my mind follows blindly. I do not tremble, I do not cry. I float above my body. I gain a bird’s eye view once more. We all look so small. Papa’s disfigured body close to shore, Mama’s erratic humming as she approaches us, Avery’s violent shudder at her touch. And me, I am so still. So withered – a pale spec of sand among a million grain. Survival has meant blending into my surroundings, but at some point I stopped blending and began fading away.

As night fell, darkness became us.

Mama snores through Avery’s cries. My eyes never close, but take note of the raft tucked between the palm tree branches, as if placed just for me.

We have run out of food and water is scarce. Defeated, I feel my way to the shore, reaching through the pitch black sky. Right where the waves met the land, Papa’s body lies cold beneath my feet. Innocence, I decide, is a choice.
I drag his body until I feel the palm tree against my back. It is my turn to dig. I hope he’s flying into heaven. Soaring. An angel. A superhero.

The ocean is silent. Her salty chaos lives in the pit of my throat, waves streaming down my cheeks. The hair on my neck rises as if accepting a challenge. I move like a deer drinking water by a stream – peaceful within this sacred moment, before questioning the floating log with the hungry stare. I wonder now if my father was still alive as the shark bit into him. I wonder if that is the kind of fate I will soon beg for.

Footsteps approach fast, and my shirt collar is grabbed tightly. I feel something sharp press against my neck and a wet muttering into my ear.

“Henry,” and she says it with such cruel softness. Like she knew very well of my vulnerability and willingly proceeds.

“Let go!” I yelled.

“Help us! Save us!” she beckons.

All I could think of was the prick of the stick held at my neck. Papa’s soul watching, Avery awaiting her mom’s return. Was she a dragon begging to be slain? Was I the monster for even thinking of such a thing?

The stick pressed deeper into my skin and for a moment I almost thought she would do it, but Avery’s cries sent her away. I listened for her vanishing footsteps before I dove into the grave – tucking my neck beneath the naked muscles my father bore instead of arms. It’s all going to be fine, I whispered to him again and again until my voice too, fades away.

 

The sun rises onto my face as I roll over in an empty grave. Sand catches in my eyes, squinting to make out Mama’s shadow behind the tent. It smells of burning rubber and iron.

I hold her faraway gaze as she turns something over the fire. Her teeth are sharp, glistening a fiery red – recognition sprung through my body. Avery feverishly feeds on the food in front of her, down to the marrow. I glanced over to the grave, then back to the bloody meat over the fire – the muscles I laid beside the night before. There was a promise in my words last night, a chant that has overruled all thought.
Just as innocence is a choice, so is survival.

I take Avery into one arm and shake the palm tree desperately till the raft falls. Avery bounced against my chest as we ran to the edge of the island. Mama follows. The water revolts against my raft, my hands doing nothing to tame the fiery waters. My scabs burn with salt water, but slowly Mama’s silhouette is swallowed by the scorching sun.

 

Time has waxed itself into an infiniteness I cannot express. I do not know how long we have been out here, but it is still daylight when Avery points up ahead. Another island – my eyes widen at the sight. There were hundreds of trees and people to match it. I held up Avery, a dying baby as a white flag. The wooden raft split, and I threw myself onto land – Avery crashing beside me. A man with golden skin held his hand out.

“It’s all going to be fine,” he says cheerfully, as if we have just reached paradise. Avery chuckles softly, premature relief in her voice.

The ocean is screeching in my ears, waves crashing all hope. The islanders dragged my body just as I did my father. I watched my sister be carried off by a blur of people headed into the forest. On an island full of foreigners – the danger wasn’t found on any of their faces. Instead, my eyes land on the water, a familiar figure bobbing up ahead with great speed.

Eyes no longer staring out to space, but laser-focused on me.