Calm Waters ~ a short story
by John Wolf
My therapist said take a trip, it will relax you. So, here I am in a life
raft, whacking at sharks with an ore. Where is my bloody tranquility now?
Take a cruise you said. Well, the ship is sitting 200 feet down in murky
water, upside down.
“We’re going to die!” yelled Stephanie.
“You’re damn right, if you don’t stop screaming. Stop rocking the raft or you’re shark bait.” I laid the paddle down and grabbed the rope running around the inside of the raft. I pulled a leg out from under her and she smacked in the bottom of the raft, spraying water in my face.
“What happen?” she asked with that innocent, child-like smirk.
“I’d say we got torpedoed or a meteorite hit us.”
The thirty foot day-cruiser literally exploded while we were eating lunch. The life raft on the roof of the cabin was blown from its mount and came crashing down on us in the middle of a toast. I had just lifted my glass and this huge orange object descended on me, which turned out to be a blessing.
“You said this was going to be a pleasure trip, a day of fun in the sun.” She was flapping her arms like a gull in heat.
“You’re going to get plenty of sun. Now, shut up.”
An arm came flopping over the side.
Stephanie screamed again. After the initial shock and seeing it wasn’t a sea creature looking for a meal, I latched onto the hand and pulled myself up to look over the side. It was Buddy.
“Help!”
“Sure, we need another for gin,” I said reaching for his shirt collar.
Once the water stopped sloshing and the three of us collected our thoughts, sitting with our backs to the raft wall, Buddy said, “It was the cook stove.”
I just stared at him.
Stephanie screwed up her face trying to launch a thought.
“The propane line split. I smelled the gas, but I was in the head at the time. By the time I finished and got back to the galley—boom. The next thing I remember is hearing two familiar voices arguing inside a raft.”
“Where was the captain?” I asked.
“He went below and checked the engine room for leaks.”
“Damn, I’ll bet he was blown out the bottom of the boat, some leak.” I got up on my knees and looked out. I scanned the horizon, nothing but debris. Papers, cups, wooden railing pieces, and chunks of Styrofoam were floating aimlessly in an oil slick. A lot of gasoline was in the water. “God hope there isn’t anything left burning.”
I sunk back into the boat. My face looked like I’d swallowed a terd.
“Jeez, baby, what is it?” Stephanie’s face was boiling up ready to let out another scream.
“Hand me that paddle. We need to move away from Vesuvius.”
“Why don’t you ever make any sense? Vesuvius is a fucking volcano.”
There was a flash. An orange and black wall of flames popped and sputtered as it gained strength and raise up out of the sea like an angry spirit.
“Shit!” Buddy exclaimed.
“A volcano,” Stephanie said in a religious tone.
I began paddling like the Mississippi Delta Queen. By the time we drifted out of the flames, my face was blackened and beads of sweat ran down my reddened forehead. I looked like a Sith. Stephanie screamed again.
We drifted for hours. The sun went down. Buddy was trying to get the survival kit open since shortly after the water caught on fire. He succeeded in liberating a can of water.
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“Look. A can of holy water.”
“Great. How do you open it?” I asked innocently.
Buddy rubbed a finger around the top of the can, turned it over, and shrugged his shoulders.
Just then a metal object fell from the kit. Stephanie saw it first.
“There it is. I can opener.” She dove for it, falling face first as her hand enveloped the razor sharp mechanism.
As she picked it up to show it off, a stream of water produced a tiny fountain in the middle of the raft.
“Argh.” I crawled across the raft floor and placed a finger in the hole. Buddy yanked on the kit and this time it exploded. Every kind of gadget known to man flew out. He fingered around amongst the junk and came up with a thing that looked like a patch device.
The hole was now secure. I gave Stephanie a death ray looked, which should have been convincing with my new Sith face, and I handed Buddy the can opener with a great dramatic move.
We savored the water and our vision began to improve. Stephanie started getting sea sick and grabbed the side, hoisting herself up just in time. A sound like stepping on over ripe fruit in galoshes emerged from her.
“Look, lights.”
Buddy and I scrambled to peek over the side. Sure enough, the horizon in front of us was a thin line of sparkling lights. A large bunch of bigger lights were in the middle.
“Miami,” I said in my best Cuban accent. “You can hear the rhythm of the drums.”
The drums were getting louder. A huge shadow off to our right came out of the darkness—a ship.
Buddy spun around and said, “Flares.”
You’d think a whole raft’s worth of flares would be seen by the crew of a passing ship. No. It was a kid on the fantail yelling, “Look daddy, fireworks.”
It took about an hour for the tourist ship to come to a halt and another hour to find us again. This is where Stephanie shined. Her screaming could be heard in Miami.
The next day we checked out of the hotel. I was tapping impatiently on the counter waiting for my printout. “When does that shuttle get here?” I was ready to reach out and strangle the clerk.
“It’s coming now. Have a nice day.” He handed me the paper. I snapped it up and ran to be the first one on the bus.
Stephanie, Buddy, and I sat on the shuttle bumping alone toward the airport and freedom from luxury vacationing. Never again. Give me the rat race any day. At least I know how to deal with those kinds of sharks.
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John is an eRagSheet journalist, author, and musician.
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