It had been five days since Mae had seen another person. It had been five days since she had brushed her hair, taken a shower or changed clothes, and those were just a few of the previously considered necessary things which she had not done since June 30. But it would end soon. It had to. She could see the mainland from here, for God’s sake! But it was too far to swim, and her only boat was currently smashed against the rocks about a half a mile away. In retrospect, it was really stupid to try to see how close she could go past the rocks without hitting them. She mentally promised to whatever insane, totally unfair god was up there that if—no, when—she got back she would never go out on a boat again. No, that was stupid, because if Mae didn’t get back she wouldn’t go out in a boat anyway. It seemed it was in God’s best interest that she just festered here for the rest of her life. Of course, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. On the wide part of the beach facing the mainland she had dug, in giant lettering, the words HELP! STRANDED! and a frowny face above it just in case any plane pilots were illiterate. She also had a red towel, rescued from her yacht, that she planned to wave wildly at anything that was or resembled a vessel that could carry humans. Now she was sitting on the cape, because her green shirt and blue jeans were the most conspicuous with a background of sand. The cape went out high and far enough that she could see all around her little island, making it impossible for a boat to go unnoticed. She was eating her dinner now, made up of fiddler crabs, snails, a lettuce-like plant that she hoped was edible, and eggs. The eggs she got from a nest she found in the woods. She had promised herself she would eat only two of them today, but they were too good to resist. She was now eating the last one. Has anyone else ever noticed that the colors of the sunset are much like those of yogurt? At first she had ignored the idea of finding food, instead depending on getting rescued, but after missing a few meals she changed her mind. There weren’t many choices. The Spanish moss, live oaks, palmettos and sea grass all were pretty unpalatable. She tried catching fish, but somehow they always got away. Then she remembered eating crab, and though she had never liked it, the abundance of fiddler crabs along the beach made them all the more appetizing. At first they were like the fish, always dodging away at the last second, but she learned to scoop them up and hold them like she used to hold fireflies she caught in her backyard. She soon found that they were good, though they pinched hard for such little things. She had tried finding clams, but when she actually found one she couldn’t figure out how to open it. Then she noticed the snails that were all over the sea grass. Mae had never eaten escargot before, but she remembered the French ate it, so she figured it couldn’t be too bad. All over the spiny sea grass in the marshes tear-drop-shaped snails crawled, inching their way through their own tiny world. She could just swoop down and pluck them off one by one. Once she ate some she couldn’t figure out what the French liked about them, but the snails were so easy to catch she felt it would somehow be a waste if she didn’t eat them. Mae knew she couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t lack of food, it was lack of people. There was no one to talk to, no one to gossip about, no one. Mae had always known she was an extrovert, and now she was being deprived of her biggest pleasure—people. Without them the world seemed empty and purposeless. Whenever she had eaten enough that she didn’t feel hunger gnawing at her stomach, a miracle that rarely occurred, she found that she didn’t have the motivation to go on. All she wanted to do was sit on the cape and try to identify the individual buildings that cut the smooth line of water and sky that was the horizon. It took her till she got hungry again to be able to get up and get something done. The sun was setting now, so Mae decided to stay on the cape even though she was done eating. She had realized that most animals had an obvious advantage over her in the nighttime. They could see her clearly, but she might have no idea they were there. She tried not to go into the woods or the marsh at night, figuring that’s where any potential dangerous animals would most likely hang out. She spent all her nights on the beach just above the high tide line with a small fire lit a few feet away (she lit it by using her glasses the way she used to use a magnifying glass to light fires) in case of any nocturnal planes. Has anyone else ever noticed that the colors of the sunset are much like those of yogurt? It’s true. They both have the same subdued, rosy tones. The sky near the horizon, Mae decided, was strawberry flavor, and the big red sun that hovered reluctantly above the skyline was a chunk of strawberry thrown in to make it look less artificial. If you went a little higher the sky became peach yogurt, and even higher the beginnings of night were coming in and a few of the bolder stars were already shining. Mae didn’t feel sleepy, so she stayed to watch the whole sunset. Mae had never been much of a sunset person before. Now, though, sunsets were often the highlight of her
January/February 2007
Fireworks
It had been five days since Mae had seen another person. It had been five days since she had brushed her hair, taken a shower or changed clothes, and those were just a few of the previously considered necessary things which she had not done since June 30. But it would end soon. It had to. She could see the mainland from here, for God’s sake! But it was too far to swim, and her only boat was currently smashed against the rocks about a half a mile away. In retrospect, it was really stupid to try to see how close she could go past the rocks without hitting them. She mentally promised to whatever insane, totally unfair god was up there that if—no, when—she got back she would never go out on a boat again. No, that was stupid, because if Mae didn’t get back she wouldn’t go out in a boat anyway. It seemed it was in God’s best interest that she just festered here for the rest of her life. Of course, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. On the wide part of the beach facing the mainland she had dug, in giant lettering, the words HELP! STRANDED! and a frowny face above it just in case any plane pilots were illiterate. She also had a red towel, rescued from her yacht, that she planned to wave wildly at anything that was or resembled a vessel that could carry humans. Now she was sitting on the cape, because her green shirt and blue jeans were the most conspicuous with a background of sand. The cape went out high and far enough that she could see all around her little island, making it impossible for a boat to go unnoticed. She was eating her dinner now, made up of fiddler crabs, snails, a lettuce-like plant that she hoped was edible, and eggs. The eggs she got from a nest she found in the woods. She had promised herself she would eat only two of them today, but they were too good to resist. She was now eating the last one. Has anyone else ever noticed that the colors of the sunset are much like those of yogurt? At first she had ignored the idea of finding food, instead depending on getting rescued, but after missing a few meals she changed her mind. There weren’t many choices. The Spanish moss, live oaks, palmettos and sea grass all were pretty unpalatable. She tried catching fish, but somehow they always got away. Then she remembered eating crab, and though she had never liked it, the abundance of fiddler crabs along the beach made them all the more appetizing. At first they were like the fish, always dodging away at the last second, but she learned to scoop them up and hold them like she used to hold fireflies she caught in her backyard. She soon found that they were good, though they pinched hard for such little things. She had tried finding clams, but when she actually found one she couldn’t figure out how to open it. Then she noticed the snails that were all over the sea grass. Mae had never eaten escargot before, but she remembered the French ate it, so she figured it couldn’t be too bad. All over the spiny sea grass in the marshes tear-drop-shaped snails crawled, inching their way through their own tiny world. She could just swoop down and pluck them off one by one. Once she ate some she couldn’t figure out what the French liked about them, but the snails were so easy to catch she felt it would somehow be a waste if she didn’t eat them. Mae knew she couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t lack of food, it was lack of people. There was no one to talk to, no one to gossip about, no one. Mae had always known she was an extrovert, and now she was being deprived of her biggest pleasure—people. Without them the world seemed empty and purposeless. Whenever she had eaten enough that she didn’t feel hunger gnawing at her stomach, a miracle that rarely occurred, she found that she didn’t have the motivation to go on. All she wanted to do was sit on the cape and try to identify the individual buildings that cut the smooth line of water and sky that was the horizon. It took her till she got hungry again to be able to get up and get something done. The sun was setting now, so Mae decided to stay on the cape even though she was done eating. She had realized that most animals had an obvious advantage over her in the nighttime. They could see her clearly, but she might have no idea they were there. She tried not to go into the woods or the marsh at night, figuring that’s where any potential dangerous animals would most likely hang out. She spent all her nights on the beach just above the high tide line with a small fire lit a few feet away (she lit it by using her glasses the way she used to use a magnifying glass to light fires) in case of any nocturnal planes. Has anyone else ever noticed that the colors of the sunset are much like those of yogurt? It’s true. They both have the same subdued, rosy tones. The sky near the horizon, Mae decided, was strawberry flavor, and the big red sun that hovered reluctantly above the skyline was a chunk of strawberry thrown in to make it look less artificial. If you went a little higher the sky became peach yogurt, and even higher the beginnings of night were coming in and a few of the bolder stars were already shining. Mae didn’t feel sleepy, so she stayed to watch the whole sunset. Mae had never been much of a sunset person before. Now, though, sunsets were often the highlight of her
They’re Pigs!
It was a beautiful morning in California. The ocean sparkled… the trees were a lush green… what a perfect time for the loud, unwelcome buzz of the alarm clock. Ryan got out of bed and shut the thing off. A little too suddenly, he decided, as he began to grow dizzy and weary He staggered across the room to the door. He needed breakfast. Now. What day is it, anyway? he wondered. The calendar said it was Thursday Thursday! Thursday was wake-up-the-family-in-a-weird-and-obnoxious-way day! He had been waiting for this day since… well, last Thursday! Quick as lightening, he got dressed and ran downstairs, grabbed his special bucket, and dashed into his parents’ bedroom. And sure enough, there they were. Two little bumps under the sheets. He walked up next to them, leaned way over the bed, tipped the bucket over, and out came pounds upon pounds of cold, wet mud. But he didn’t hear surprised screams. He didn’t hear a sharp gasp. What he heard was an “Ahhh… thank you son…” “Dad?” Ryan gulped. “What did you say?” “I said, ‘Thank you son!'” “Can you say that one more time?” “If you want me to…” “Can I have that in writing?” Ryan grinned. “I just said thank you, OK?” he cried. “It’s nice to wake up to something cool and refreshing once in a while!” “That was very nice of you, dear,” said his mom. And slowly, the bump underneath the sheets began to make its way towards the head of the bed. It reached the end of the sheets, then out popped a round, pink nose, two little black eyes, four little legs, and one curly little tail. All in all, a chubby little pig popped out instead of the tall slender figure of Ryan’s mother. Ryan wasn’t grinning anymore. “That was very nice of you, dear,” said his mom “Mom?” “Yes, dear?” “What on earth is wrong with you?” “What’s wrong with her? Why son, that’s very very rude!” His father poked his head out from under the sheet to reveal yet another pig, just as fat as the last one. “Are you guys, you know, really there? Or is this some kind of joke?” Ryan said. “What are you talking about?” The pigs were definitely moving their mouths to form the words. Freaky. Then the one that was talking and acting just like his mom looked at the clock. “Oh my goodness! It’s eight o’clock already! We’re going to be late for work!” And before Ryan could stop them, both pigs ran out of the bedroom, grabbed some documents, and headed out the door. Two pigs driving a car in the middle of rush hour. Oh dear. He had to do something. But what? He could take the bus and meet his parents at their workplace and stop them from being seen… but the nearest bus stop was over a mile away Then again, the nearest bike and equipment rental was just down the street. And they happen to specialize in motor scooters. Yeah. That would work. Just one more obstacle in his way. The s-is- t-e-r. Anxiously, he knocked on the door to his sister’s bedroom. “Sis? I’ve got to go… to, uh, take a special summer-school class that I forgot to tell you about… uh, really… and I’m going to be gone for a while so I thought I should tell you. Bye!” “Wait just one minute there, Buster! You promised to make me breakfast today!” “Really? Well, not now, OK? I’m already very late! Is it OK if I make you lunch instead?” “No!” She pulled open the door. And out stepped another chubby little pig, complete with lipstick and a bad hairdo. “Not you too!” Ryan ran downstairs and bolted outside, entirely forgetting his promise to make her breakfast. * * * Fifteen minutes later, he was on the bus, riding the twenty miles between his house and his parents’ workplace. He knew he shouldn’t have left his sister like that, but he also knew that if he had spent the time to make her a couple of waffles and an iced glass of orange juice there would have been no chance of bringing his parents home before they were seen. And, he thought, what would have happened then? Would they have been captured and placed on some farm out in the middle of nowhere? Has someone seen them already? And will they even make it to work without crashing into something, with those little piggy hooves of theirs on the steering wheel? He tried not to think about all the ifs and maybes, but they kept nagging at him. What if it really was a prank that his family was pulling? What if this was all just a nightmare? Yes, that’s it. It’s just a bad dream. And he was really still snuggled in bed, safe and sound. And it was a Monday Yeah! It wasn’t even wake-up-the-family-in-a-weird-and-obnoxious-way day after all! The bus came to a halt. It was time to get off. He got out of the bus and stepped onto a large parking lot before an ominous black building. He was there. The bus pulled away and Ryan was left alone in the lot. It was filled with thousands of shiny cars but there wasn’t a single person in sight. And it was impossible to see anything the size of a pig behind those rows and rows of automobiles. Not to mention a talking pig carrying a bunch of documents. But then… what was that over there? He squinted towards the entrance to the building. Yes, there were definitely two little pink dots making their way across the sidewalk. He had to get them away from there before they were seen. Ryan began to run as fast as he could. The pigs were too far to catch in time. If he was lucky, there would be no one standing next to the entrance and he could catch them inside.
