Micah's Island (8 page)

I love that moment when a man starts to
come.  I love how they go completely still, their faces frozen and a little
white as they groan with pleasure, then release a flood of hotness in long,
strong spurts.  Micah did not disappoint me in that regard.

He collapsed on me, gasping and
half-sobbing.  I held him, rubbing the hair at the nape of his neck, and cooing
to him.

“Did you like that, baby? I love you so
much.  I never want to be without you,” I remember whispering in his ear. 

When he finally came to his senses, he
held my head on both sides and covered my face and neck with grateful kisses. 

~***~

That’s the thing about Pandora’s Box.
Once you open it, you better be prepared to deal with the consequences.

For a few days, I was on my back more
than I was on my feet. He would ambush me at the oddest times.  In the middle
of the night, while I was eating, combing my hair, or just taking a walk with
him. He always seemed to be hard.

I didn’t mind at all. 

Things were wonderful after that.  At
least for a while.

Micah loved to sort through the stuff in
his junkyard.  Er...scratch that.  I’d started thinking of it as his ‘debris
field’.  Every time I thought the word ‘junkyard’, the theme song from ‘Sanford
and Son’ started playing in my head.  Micah was definitely
not
Fred
Sanford.

Anyway, two days later, I left him
sorting through his stuff with the idea that I was going to wander around the
island on my own a bit. I loved being with him, but I needed some space, some
‘me’ time.  He was busy, and I didn’t think he’d miss me.

I wrapped the sarong around me and set
out through the palms.  I headed in the opposite direction of our home and the
waterfall.  We didn’t usually go that way to gather stuff, and I wanted to
explore. 

I don’t know what I thought I’d find.  It
looked just like the rest of the island.  But I enjoyed being by myself, just
walking and musing, collecting my thoughts. 

After walking for a half hour or so, I
sat down under a bit of foliage for shade.  When I looked up into the canopy of
the tree I was sitting under, I saw them:  The sweet green fruits that Micah
and I ate for breakfast most mornings. 

I wanted to be helpful, so I took off
the sarong, loaded a bunch of them into it, and flung the sack over my shoulder. 
I kept one out to eat on the way home.

I took several bites of the fruit and
managed to swallow, but these were bitter and hard.  I decided after a couple
more bites and swallows that maybe they weren’t ripe yet.

I’d just rounded the slight curve of
palms and was almost within sight of home when the stomach pains started.  They
were horrible. If you’ve ever had food poisoning, you know what I mean.  I
couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t move.  I went to my knees gasping, the sack of
fruits I carried scattered across the sand. 

It felt like something was trying to tie
my intestines into knots.  I tried to call for Micah, but I couldn’t draw a
breath in deep enough to whisper, let alone shout.  The pain kicked up a
notch.  Before long, my stomach rolled over on itself, and I vomited foamy green
fruit all over the place.

I started to shake, my vision went
blurry, and I didn’t seem to be in control of my own body anymore.  I rolled
from my hands and knees onto my back. I was naked in the open sun, and I
couldn’t get any of my muscles to obey me. That was
bad
.  I needed to
call for someone—I
had
to—but I couldn’t remember that someone’s name
anymore.

My vision narrowed to a pinpoint, the
edges black and ominous.  I could hear my own breathing in my ears, more like
panting, an echo in a cavern.  I tried one more time for some type of noise
before my brain collapsed in on itself.

~***~

I can’t speak to anything that happened
after that.  Micah found me, I know that much. I don’t know how long I was out.
I have no idea how long I was sick.

I think I might have died. No,
seriously. The next...well,
conscious
...thought I had is totally beyond
my comprehension.  I had my back pressed into the palm fronds of the roof of
the arbor. I was floating
above
myself lying in the hammock as Micah did
his best to bring me back to life.

The poor guy sat on an old bottle crate
next to the hammock, sponging my naked body and making these awful, keening noises.
He patted my hand and face occasionally, trying to get some response.

I looked freaking awful. I was a ghastly
shade of green/gray/blue.  It was the color that people turn when they’re about
to die.  My eyes were half open.  I could see the ice blue color of my irises
peeking out from under slack lids.  My mouth was relaxed and open; my lips
seemed to be as blue as my eyes. 

I don’t remember feeling particularly
freaked out that I was dying down there. I don’t really remember feeling
anything at all except a little anxiety for my poor Micah.  I wondered if he
had any concept of death?  Did he know I wouldn’t be with him anymore?

The thought made me cringe, floating
there under the roof of the arbor.  God, he would be so alone if I died. 

Time seemed suspended.  I floated and
thought and floated some more.  Micah bathed me, cried, hugged me, and shook
me. I thought about things for a little while longer.

It must have been several days at least,
that I hovered, watching. After a while, I became aware of the presence of my
parents. 

I didn’t see them.  I just knew they
were there behind me.  My mother spoke first.  “Come to us, Gianna.  We love
you so much.”

“We’ve missed you, baby,” my father
said.  “There is no pain here. No suffering. Come and be with us.”

I wanted to, but I couldn’t.  I was
tethered to Micah.  He was suffering down there, and it was all my fault.  The
fruit I’d eaten had obviously been poisonous.  If only I hadn’t wandered off by
myself...

“Look at him, Mom.  He loves me.  I
can’t leave him.” 

“He does love you, Gianna. But there is
danger...” my father said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You must choose. If you go back, there
is danger.”

I whipped my head around trying to see
them. “What do you mean, danger?  What kind of danger?”

“Choose, Gianna.  But if you go back,
you will have to be brave,” my mother said.

“What the hell does
that
mean?”
Now I was pissed.  “None of this would have happened if you wouldn’t have
handed me over to Calvin!  You know that, don’t you? The last three years have
been nothing
but
me being very fucking brave! I can be brave all day
long if I have to!”

“You’ll be safe with us. Forever.”  My
dad, the risk taker, talking about being safe. I almost laughed, but I didn’t.

I curled my hands into fists, if that
were possible in my spectral state.  “Maybe I don’t
want
to be safe. 
Maybe I want to take chances! Maybe I want to live dangerously! Maybe I want to
love this man on this freaking island until the day I die. What do you think of
that
?” I felt bold, invincible, sure of myself.

“Choose, Gianna.” They spoke together. 
It was a little spooky.

By this time, Micah had thrown himself
over my almost dead body and was sobbing like his heart was breaking.  I could
hear him saying “Gee.  Gee. Gee.”

“I’m going back,” I said firmly.  “I’m
going back to be with him no matter what happens.  I don’t give a shit about
danger.  I don’t give a shit about bravery.  I
need
to be with him. And
he needs me. I’m all he’s got.”

“The choice is made.” My parents faded
away.

A whirlwind of sound and pain and
emotion sucked me down and back into my sick and struggling body.

I don’t know if any of this actually
happened, or if it was just a toxin-induced hallucination.  But that’s how I
remember it. It sure felt real to me.

~***~

I regretted my choice to come back
immediately. I was in so much freaking pain! I thought for sure someone had set
me on fire.  I dimly remember hoping it wouldn’t freak Micah out to watch me go
up in flames.

When I came around a little more, I knew
why I hurt so badly.  I hadn’t moved a muscle for a very long time.  My head felt
as though a coconut dropped from a great height had caved it in. I thought that
was kind of funny, but I didn’t have the strength to twitch my lips into a
smile.

Micah was not beside me anymore. I could
hear him stomping around on the upper decks and yelling something.  My ears
were ringing loudly.  I could barely make out what he was saying. I tried to
focus.

Bless his heart, I love that man.  He
was pacing around shouting, “NO, Gee.  NO.  NO, Gee. NO! NO! NO!”  He was mad
at me. It was almost worth dying to hear him talk so much.

I turned my head slowly, painfully, in
the direction of his voice. I tried to make some type of noise, to let him know
I was back.  My mouth was as dry as the sand on the beach; my lips were cracked
and sore.  How long had I lain here? I swallowed hard, trying to lubricate my
throat so I could call to him.

“Micah!” I thought I was yelling, but I
know it was no more than a weak whisper.  “MICAH!”

It was enough.  His little tirade
ceased, and he turned around to look at me with huge eyes. In one giant leap,
he was on me in the hammock.

He shook me, obviously happy to see me,
but it hurt like hell.  I grimaced and said “Easy, Micah!  That hurts!”

He sat down beside me, picked up the
sponge, and began to bathe me again. It felt wonderful. I was finally able to
open my eyes fully and look at him.

He’d lost weight.  He looked terrible.
Grief had etched deep lines on his face. Even though he was smiling down at me,
I could see pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to whisper.  “I’ll
never eat anything without your approval again.”

I don’t know if he understood, but he
got to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at me.

“No, Gee. No, Gee. No.NO!”

“I get it. I understand,” I said with a
weak smile. “God, I love you, Micah.”

~***~

I was extremely weak for two or three
days after. I could barely lift my head to drink.  Micah was with me all the
way.  He mashed up bananas and fed them to me when I was too exhausted to feed
myself.  He carried me to the falls and bathed me when I needed it. He ran a
comb through my hair whenever I asked him to.

More importantly, he just held me at
night, spooned against him, his body warm against mine.  I drew strength from
him, and I got a little better every day.

~***~

After listening to him talk so much when
I was sick and couldn’t really enjoy it, I decided to give him an English
lesson.

He was sitting on the edge of the deck,
sharpening a stick for use in spear fishing.  I went and sat down beside him.

“I love you, Micah,” I said, snuggling
up to his shoulder. “Say
I love you, Gianna
.”

I swear it was worse than trying to get
a toddler to talk. He just kept smiling at me, though I could see love in his
eyes.

“
I love you, Gianna
. Say it.
I…Love…You…Gianna
.”

“Gee,” he said, poking me in the breast
bone. “Gee. Gee. Gee.”

“You’re not going to say it, are you?”

“Gee. Gee.”

I sighed. I knew he loved me. I had all
the time in the world to work on teaching him to say it. 

Change is inevitable. I know that. Life
throws you curves, and you have to be able to react and adapt to them.  I just
wish the curves we were about to be thrown wouldn’t have been so cruel and violent.

It took me a while to get over eating
the poisonous fruit.  It was about ten days before I really started feeling
like myself.

  Micah and I spent that time cocooned
in a haze of love and sex and each other.  We had a couple of those wicked
purple lightning storms during that time, and we rode them out huddled together
under the arbor.

During the five weeks I’d spent with Micah,
I’d never seen a ship near the island.  I’d never seen a jet vapor trail in the
sky. Other than the two of us, I’d never seen one other freaking sign of
humanity.

I heard it early in the morning, just as
the sun was starting to rise in the sky after one of those storms. 

A helicopter.

It sounded so strange to my ears, so
incongruous to the sounds of paradise around me, that at first I thought I was
dreaming. But it grew louder, and I knew it wasn’t a dream.

I partially rolled over and looked at
Micah behind me. He was out, his mouth open, his face slack with sleep. I
cocked my head to the side and listened again. The sound was unmistakable—the
pulsing heartbeat sounds of helicopter blades whipping the air. I felt sick.