Missed Connections (4 page)

After a while, Connor couldn't resist a more intimate form of connection, and he leaned over to press his lips to Paul's while his hand started traversing purposefully down Paul's torso.

When Paul realized Connor's intent, he pulled away and shook his head. "It feels good, but it doesn't feel
right,
" he said. "I don't want to cheat on Patrick. I do want to break up with him, and then you and I can do whatever we want whenever we want. If we get back home safely—"

"
When
we get back home safely," Connor gently corrected him.

"After we get back home safely, I mean to have a talk with Patrick. This experience has been a wake-up call. I don't want to go through the rest of my life just drifting in a relationship that's comfortable but nothing more. Life is for living. Life is for
enjoying.
Life is for living to the fullest, not for drifting along in a relationship that isn't really satisfying anymore. I want to be with
you.
Assuming Patrick survived the disaster and makes it home safely, I'm going to break up with him. I'll do it as nicely as possible. I don't want to hurt his feelings any more than I have to just by ending the relationship. He doesn't deserve to be hurt unnecessarily. He's done nothing to deserve that. But my future is with you—if we have a future."

"Of course we have a future," Connor said, speaking with more conviction than he felt, yet hoping with all his heart that the words were true. He had more reason now than ever to want to live. Once again he embraced Paul and held him, soothing and gentling him with his hands, stroking his back and his arms.

The sun was fully out now, the fog completely gone, and they went searching for berries for their lunch. After they'd eaten their fill, Connor suggested they lie on the tiny strip of beach and soak up some rays. "I sure don't feel like swimming," he added with a laugh. "I've had enough of the water to last me for a while. But I wouldn't mind working on my tan."

"We don't have any suntan lotion," Paul pointed out.

"We each have a good base tan," Connor replied. "I think we can lie in the sun for a while without burning to a crisp."

"You sure?" asked Paul skeptically.

"I think so," Connor replied.

Just when they'd stripped off their clothes and settled down on the sand, a boat appeared on the horizon. Paul scrambled to his feet and began wildly waving his shirt.

"Save your energy. They're too far away to see you," Connor advised. "Wait till they get closer."

But the boat never did get closer. It crossed from the left to the right without veering in their direction. Paul sank down again, obviously disheartened, but Connor felt cheered by the event. "See? There are boats out there—probably searching for survivors. They'll find us eventually," he said comfortingly. "Meanwhile lie down and let's take advantage of the sunshine. It's like getting an extra day of vacation!"

"How can you be so cheerful?" Paul marveled.

"It's how I keep my spirits afloat," Connor answered.

"I like it. One more thing to admire and enjoy about you," said Paul, making an imaginary tally mark in the air. Connor laughed. Then Paul hesitantly lay down on the sand beside him. "What if a boat passes by and we don't see it because we're lying here with our eyes closed?" he worried aloud.

"Boats don't move that fast. If we open our eyes every few minutes and look out over the water, we'll see any boat that's nearby. And if it's not nearby, they won't see us anyhow."

What Connor said seemed to make sense to Paul, as he slowly settled back on the sand, although he kept opening his eyes and raising his head to scan the waters for any sign of a vessel. After he'd done this ten or so times, Connor said, "You do a very good imitation of a jack-in-the-box, but relax. You don't have to check for boats quite that often. Besides, I'm watching, too."

As they lay there, they exchanged information about themselves. Paul asked Connor about his friends back home in the city, and he told Connor about his own friends. They talked about their respective hobbies and interests, their childhoods, what it was like to come out as gay, and what their deepest hopes for the future were. Paul regaled Connor with a few funny stories that had taken place in the course of his work as a jewelry salesman, and although Connor couldn't think of any equally funny stories from his work, he did remember a few particularly interesting incidents and held Paul's attention with those.

The day passed, and in a preponderance of caution they sought shelter from the sun after a couple of hours of sunbathing and continued their storytelling under a tree.

"We have no shelter if it rains," Paul pointed out practically.

"Let's hope it doesn't," Connor replied.

Since it was summer, the sunset was late, but eventually the sun went down, leaving the pair in virtual darkness. A half-moon cast some light, but not much. "We may as well go to sleep," Connor suggested.

They lay down, entwined in each other's arms. Although Paul would not have sex with Connor till he'd officially broken up with Patrick, he had no such reticence about cuddling. They kissed and stroked each other, and since both men professed not to be sleepy yet, they exchanged still more interesting stories from their respective pasts. It was while Connor was telling Paul about the time when he'd gone to Washington, D.C., on a class tour in his senior year of high school that he realized Paul had begun to softly snore. "You're asleep, aren't you?" he asked softly and got no answer in return. Tightening his grip on Paul, he lay there till he, too, fell into slumber.

When Connor woke up, it was daylight and once again foggy. His arm was cramped in a position under Paul's head, and much as he didn't want to disturb his sleeping companion, he just had to move that arm. Connor tried to be gentle about it, but as soon as he tried to move, Paul stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at Connor and smiled.

"Good morning," he said sleepily, through a yawn.

"Good morning to you," Connor replied, brushing Paul's cheek with a soft kiss. "What time is it?"

Paul peered at his watch, then reached into his shirt pocket for his reading glasses, which had survived the dunking. Putting them on, he again looked at the watch and said, "A little after seven."

"I hear the island is serving berries for breakfast," Connor commented jocularly, thinking fondly of his abandoned pizza dog. He had long since removed the squooshed foil wrapper from his pocket and left it, still wrapped, in the bushes.

"Berries sound good, but I need to pee first," was Paul's reply.

"Me too."

When their bladders were empty, they went after their fill of berries and then returned to the thin strip of beach. It was way too foggy to see any vessel that was not right up against the island, but they took up the vigil, knowing the fog would clear by mid-morning.

"I feel grungy," Paul said. "I think I'll take off my clothes and dunk in the water."

"Don't go far," cautioned Connor.

"Do you think I'm a nincompoop?" asked Paul affably. "I certainly don't want to get lost in the fog. Are you coming in?"

"I've had enough of the water to last me awhile," Connor answered with a laugh. "I'll wait here."

Paul removed his clothing and walked cautiously into the water. Although he was only a little way out, he kept disappearing from Connor's sight in the thick fog, then reappearing again. He made quick work of his impromptu bath and came back up onto the island, although he left his clothes off and sat on his shirt.

"That's the idea," encouraged Connor. "Don't get your wet butt all sandy."

"Do you suppose a boat will come for us today?" Paul asked in a plaintive voice.

"They're bound to be out looking for us," Connor answered with all the optimism he could muster.

"How can we signal a passing boat?" Paul mused.

"Let's gather some wood," Connor said.

"What are you planning?" Paul asked him.

"When the sun comes out we'll aim it through your glasses at the wood and see if we can make the wood smolder. If we start a fire, maybe any passing boat will see it."

"Wow! That's a clever thought!" said Paul admiringly. They foraged into the center of the island looking for broken twigs and branches, dead leaves, anything that was likely to catch fire relatively easily. Then they piled everything up in a bonfire configuration and waited for the sun to come out.

Predictably, by mid-morning the fog began to thin out and the sun to make an appearance. Connor waited till the fog had fully burned off and the sun was strong before asking Paul, "Now let me have your glasses." Paul complied gladly, reaching into his shirt pocket and passing the eyeglasses over to Connor.

As he did, he spotted another vessel off in the distance. "Hurry!" he said. "There's a boat of some kind out there."

Connor angled the glasses so the sun's rays shone through them onto the pile of wood and leaves. But no matter how long he held the pose—and his arm ached badly after a while—he couldn't start a conflagration. The leaves and wood absolutely refused to catch fire. Finally he gave up on a note of despair.

Paul, refusing to accept defeat, said, "Let me try." He rearranged the pile of tinder and then held the glasses just above it, but he had no better success than Connor had.

By now the boat they had spotted had disappeared from their view without ever getting close, but the two men agreed that if another boat were to come into sight, it would be good to have the fire already burning brightly. Despite their best efforts, however, they could not get the pile of tinder to light. When Paul's arm was tired, Connor took over again, and when Connor's arm pained him unbearably, Paul took another turn. It was all to no avail.

"It works in comic books," Connor said.

"It works for Boy Scouts," Paul added.

"Were you a Boy Scout?" Connor asked. "That's a story you didn't tell me yet."

"No, but my boyhood best buddy was."

"Tell me about your boyhood best buddy," Connor prompted, and Paul regretfully put the glasses back in his pocket and settled back to regale Connor with another story, after which he asked Connor about
his
best bud from childhood. Connor told Paul about both of them—his best friend through eighth grade, till Dan's family moved out of the area, and then his high school best friend. The pair were getting to know each other and their backstories ever better, but they were no closer to being rescued.

No more vessels appeared anywhere within sight for the rest of the day, and it was a weary and discouraged duo who lay down to go to sleep that night, once again entwined in each other's arms.

"At least it hasn't rained," Paul said.

"Thank God for small favors," Connor said.

A lone bird called from the top of a tree as the pair snuggled in each other's arms and once again talked till they were ready to go to sleep. This time sleep claimed Connor first.

Once again he was the first one awake, and once again his arm was cramped and, when he tried to gently move it, Paul stirred and awakened. Once again a bird was singing—a different song and presumably a different bird, but Connor commented, "A birdsong lullaby and a birdsong reveille. There are good sides to living out in nature."

"Yeah, if you don't mind being marooned and maybe never found," Paul commented morosely. The fog swirled around them. "Damn this fog. There could be a boat right out there and we wouldn't see them and they wouldn't see us."

"They're not out looking for us in the fog," Connor soothed. "They'll wait till the fog lifts.

And indeed when the fog lifted…there was a boat! It was moving in zigzag patterns, obviously sweeping the waters in search of survivors from the ferry wreck. The two men joined their voices to yell loudly, "Helloooooo! Over here! Helloooooo! Help! Help!" But the boat showed no signs that anyone aboard had heard them.

"Give me your glasses!" Connor said urgently to Paul while whirling around toward the bushes behind him.

"Sure, but what's up?" Paul asked, extricating his glasses from his shirt pocket.

"Watch," said Connor. He retrieved the abandoned pizza dog from its resting place and removed the foil wrapper. Hurrying back down to the shoreline, he quickly washed the residue of food from it in the waters of the bay, then tore off a piece just a little bit larger than one of the lenses of Paul's eyeglasses. He wrapped it around the frame of one lens then held the glasses at an angle such that the sun's rays bounced off the aluminum foil, magnified by the glasses. He hoped the glint would be visible to the occupants of the boat.

The boat made a few more zigzag sweeps across the water while Connor desperately flashed the glasses at them. Then the boat suddenly turned and headed straight for the island.

"They see us!" Paul exulted. "They're coming! They're coming for us!"

Indeed they were! As the boat got closer, the men could see that it was the shore patrol, and when they got closer there was a lot of "Hello"ing back and forth between the boat and the men on shore. The boat stopped just short of the beach. There were two men aboard. "Are you injured? Can you wade out?" one of them called.

"We're fine. Yes," Connor called.

"And
very
glad to see you!" Paul added.

"Is there anyone else on the island?"

"Absolutely not. Just us." Both men had reached the boat now and clambered over the side with an assist from the two shore patrol members. Then the boat turned and headed for the mainland with the grateful and relieved duo aboard. Paul asked for any news of Patrick and repeated the question when they pulled up at the dock on the mainland, but nobody seemed to know about him.

"How are we supposed to get home? Both our cars went down with the ferry," Paul said.

"I still have my wallet. My money's waterlogged but still valid," Connor said. "We'll take a taxi."

"Don't you want to get checked out at the hospital first?" asked one of the shore patrol members.

"I want to get
home."

"Me too," echoed Paul.

"I want to take a shower, change clothes, call my job, call my insurance company, get a rental car to use till I can buy a replacement, get a new cell phone…." Connor reeled off a list of tasks.