Sanibel Scribbles (28 page)

“Then what is it? You wanted a trip, and he doesn’t like traveling?”

“No,” laughed Connie. “We’ve got four kids, all under the age of seven.”

“Four?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to change the subject, especially not now, but I’ve got to ask. Do you know how to steer this thing? Because I sure don’t.”

“Oh sure, like I drive my sons to preschool every day in a dinghy. Yeah, we prefer it over the minivan.”

“Well, the dinghy should follow the same course as the wind is blowing. It’s blowing toward the island. Good God!” Vicki suddenly coughed on a wave that hit her in the face. Covering her mouth, she dropped one of the plastic oars. “Oh no, quick! Help! Use your hands, Connie!”

“No, don’t lean over. This thing is filling with water. We’ll have to let it go.”

“I’m drenched. Are you?”

“Vicki, look what we’re sitting in! Five inches of water!”

“What if a shark goes by? Are we safe, Connie?”

“No, but steer zigzag, and we should be fine. They can’t chase us if we steer zigzag. My seven-year-old, Tommy, loves shark facts.” Connie paddled with her hand, trying not to lean too far over.

“I think you mean alligators. Alligators have eyes that can’t move in the zigzag manner. Sharks have better eyes. Then again, I heard that was a myth. It’s not even true.”

“Well, I thought it was sharks. See what I mean? I don’t even listen to my own kids I’m so overwhelmed,” said Connie, gulping a wave. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely in love with my family, and my role as stay-at-home mom, but I’m so tired. I haven’t thought my own thoughts in seven years. I used to paint. I don’t do that anymore. Vicki, I’ve lost myself. I don’t know who I am any more.”

“Well, don’t ask Denver.”

“He’s kind of strange. He called me a buoy today. I don’t know what he meant by that.”

“We both look like a buoy out here tonight, bobbing up and down, but who knows what Denver had in mind when he said that. He sees people in an unusual manner.”

“Ruth invited me to yoga.”

“Are you thinking of trying it?”

“At midnight? I was hoping I could be in bed by eleven, but look at me, already, my first night, and I’m up past midnight paddling my way in a dinghy. It’s just like me to do this. At home, on rare occasions, when all four kids are asleep before ten o’clock, I would suddenly find myself folding laundry, which then led to cleaning my closet, then my bathroom.”

“Who is home with your kids now that you’re gone?”

“My husband. Times have gotten pretty bad for us. He took a risk with a venture capital company, and it filed for bankruptcy. He’s been home for weeks calling around for a new job. Our house is small, cramped, and always a mess, and I just lost it. I knew he’d never let me leave for some island, so I just left—and here I am.”

“How long do you plan to stay?” asked Vicki, feeling like soggy cereal.

“I’d love to stay for a month, but I miss my kids already. And I miss my husband horribly. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid if I return, I’ll start feeling the same way as before, buried under grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, changing endless diapers, and being awakened every night at least once by each child. That means being awakened at least four times a night; therefore, I’m only actually asleep for a couple hours a night. I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

“Well, unless we start seeing some clues as to where we’re paddling, you’ll be wishing you were home ironing, safe, dry, and alive,” said Vicki, surveying the area around them for signs of the island. “Wait. What’s that?”

She pointed to a light that had appeared out of nowhere. It shone again, long enough for the women to catch a glimpse of the island.

“It can’t be. Tarpon Key’s lighthouse has never had a light,” said Connie.

The women stared at the beam of white light in the night, two flashes
every thirty seconds. “I know, but it is,” said Vicki. “Come on, let’s start paddling faster and in that direction.”

“Thank you, madman John Bark. Thank you!” whispered Vicki. The waves had become so high that she lay down in the dinghy for a moment of shelter.

The direction of the waves worked to their advantage, and they noticed the current carrying them toward the light—and toward their island. Both were hugging each other under the slanting rain—in part for comfort, but also so that neither would fall out of the deflating dinghy. At this point, the dinghy had reduced its services to those of a kickboard, and it was no longer something they could sit in. Instead, with both arms holding onto it, they used leg power to kick their way back to Tarpon Key. Vicki’s foot cramped into a charley horse, but they did reach the back side of the island, near the old houseboat.

With the hair on their arms standing straight up from the cold, they left the dinghy and splashed ashore, dragging the collapsed rubber boat up the bank and leaving it there. They found the trail and started following it toward the staff house, not realizing they were doing so without flashlight, kerosene lantern, or moon in sight. Connie clung onto Vicki’s arm all the way.

“Your dream was not in vain, John Bark,” Vicki whispered as they ran past the fixed, immovable, dependable structure, but there was no longer any flashing light coming from the lighthouse tower. It stood there innocently, a relic of an era gone by, the object of one man’s skill, mastery, and passion.

“I think I’m going home tomorrow,” said Connie as they passed Ruth’s bungalow.

“Couldn’t you stay a bit longer? Can they survive without you for a couple more days?”

“Yes, they probably can, but I picture my three-year-old, Lizzy. She has the toughest time sleeping without Snuffy. She must have slipped him into my suitcase because she wanted me to have someone special to cuddle while I was away.”

“But everyone comes out here for a reason. Do you think you’ve gained anything from the island yet?”

“I feel like I’m a person again. I’m carrying on adult conversations. I’ve hardly said the word ‘boo-boo’ once all day, except when Howard sliced his finger with the potato peeler. Men, I think, have found me interesting and fun to talk with, even though I have absolutely no interest in anyone but my hubby.”

“What is going to be different for you when you return?” asked Vicki, her skin stinging from saltwater and her finger joints stiff from the cold.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

“Then we can’t go back to the staff house. You can’t go to bed, not yet. Time is of the essence. You’ve got to get more out of this island experience.” They passed the staff house and continued on to the restaurant, dripping wet.

They entered the dark, kerosene-lit bar, surrounded by postcards of lighthouses that hung on the walls and were surprised to see so many strangers on the stools at this time of the night, or morning, they didn’t know which. The same band that played during dinner was still singing more great hits from the Doors as well as songs from the Dave Matthews Band. For a moment, they watched men talking together at the bar. Some were millionaires of the mannequin sort—their complexions as clear and pampered-looking as their wives’—and others were plain old rugged-looking anglers. They had all arrived from different walks of life and had different stories. Vicki couldn’t help but hear their voices like the tides drifting in and out of her hearing range.

“I killed a five-foot-long alligator here on the island once,” said one man. “Yeah, that’s right. Cooked it for dinner. Tasted great.”

After a few sips of Chianti, she heard that same voice add, “I also caught this shark.” He held up a tooth he wore on a gold chain around his neck.

“You
caught a shark?” asked a lady sitting at the end, also overhearing his story. “On purpose or by accident?”

“I set out shark fishing for the night. Caught it on purpose,” he answered.

Just then Simon took notice of the women standing near the fireplace, drying their wet dresses. “What happened to you two? Looks like you were caught out in this storm,” he said.

“We didn’t know there was a storm coming,” replied Connie.

“None of us did. These guests have been stranded in the bar all night, drinking and talking. Nothing better than that,” he laughed. “Come on over. Join in.”

They took a seat on each side of Simon, and he put his arms around them both. “Are you two enjoying this magnificent mangrove as much as I am?” he asked.

“Oh yes, we are.”

“Good, because I have a lot of pride in this area. It’s in my blood, my history,” he said. “And the Calusa Indians, the Spanish Conquistadors, they all loved this magnificent area as well.”

“Hey, Vicki, looks like you could use a rum and pineapple juice. It’s the drink of the night,” said Ray from behind the bar.

“Sure. I’m getting kind of tired of red wine and that whole French paradox thing,” she replied. “Connie would probably like one too.”

“You got that one right.”

Ray stabbed a pineapple with a plastic sword and set a drink before Vicki. “Simon and these gentlemen were all just discussing life’s journeys.”

“That’s right,” added Simon. “Tell us, what’s one of
your
greatest journeys in life?” he asked the newcomers.

“I don’t have one.”

“I don’t either.”

“My dears, you’ve got to have one, both of you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I agree.”

At that point, Howard and his three-piece wig, which nested an inch too far to the left, walked into the bar and signaled Vicki to meet him at the dartboard. “Oh, I’m horrible at darts,” she said, then walked away from the life-journey conversation to join Howard.

“Listen to me,” he whispered, aiming a dart at the board. “Remember
that Spanish contact I told you about?”

He threw the dart, making bull’s-eye. “Here’s his name and number. He lives in Madrid. His name is Ignacio. Call him Nacho for short. He’s about your age. Look him up when you get there.”

“But, will he -”

“No questions. Just look him up,” said Howard as he handed Vicki the darts and started walking out of the bar in a hurry. “Oh, one more thing. Promise me you’ll ask him to play the piano for you.”

“The piano?”

“Yes, remember the piano.” Howard left the bar, and Vicki stood there with nothing to do but toss the darts. She missed the board altogether and almost hit Ruth, who just walked in.

“Hey, everyone! How about some coffee? We’ll put Kahlúa in it, on the house.” Ruth walked up to Connie and felt her cold, wet hair.

“Hey, I bet you didn’t know getting caught in a storm was part of the job description.”

“Ruth,” Connie said seriously. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it out here.”

“Oh? Could it be the feeling-stranded-on-a-remote-island phase? Vicki, you felt that when you first arrived. Tell Connie about it.”

“No, it’s much more than feeling stranded.” As Connie downed her rum and pineapple juice, she started laughing. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. The laugh differed from her usual one. It was a pathetic sound, as if she knew she should be crying instead of laughing, or as if her emotions were taking control and playing nasty tricks on her. Like a watershed, her tears kept pouring. Everyone stared.

“I left my four wonderful babies and my incredible husband to come here. They don’t know I’m here,” said Connie, crashing out of her emotional ride. “I was barely keeping my head above water. I was losing myself. I felt like I was existing simply to keep everyone else on track.”

“I told ya she’s a buoy, bobbing up and down,” stated Denver from across the bar, the first words he had spoken all night. They all stared at him for a moment.

“And I told Connie,” said Vicki, “that if she left too soon, she might be
pushing herself against the wind, and that she might only wind up back where she started from—confused and in need of another island escape.”

Both Ruth and Simon were now very much focused on Connie’s emotions.

“Yes, in part, you are right,” said Simon. “She will find herself in need of another escape; however, not everyone can pick up and actually leave for a real island.”

“I escaped here because we’re so low on money, that I figured I could at least escape to paradise and work at the same time,” added Connie. “If I return, I don’t have the money to leave again for another island.”

Ruth nodded in understanding. “This has absolutely nothing to do with real money, but you need to treat yourself as if you were a monthly bill. You need to pay yourself first. By that, I mean you must somehow find time to do something special for yourself every single day, despite the household demands that are screaming out to you. If you do not pay yourself first, you will soon die, emotionally. Children want their moms to be happy.”

“That’s right. Ruth spent years on Wall Street. She gives great financial advice.” Simon smiled. “And Connie, you need to discover a more realistic island, one that naturally fits into your life.”

“I once needed to escape my life, so I did,” added Ruth. “I physically fled. I upped and left New York City. I did not have to leave, but back then I only knew how to run. I’m here and I love it, so I’ve decided to stay, but you see, had I known then what I know now, I would have simply built a fortress there. It can be done anywhere. You don’t need to run from your life. You simply need to make it more beautiful, add walls adorned with flowers and a garden, have a sanctuary to peacefully sit in once a day, or more. It’s all up to you.”

“I say that everyone needs to discover an island. I repeat, it doesn’t have to be a real island,” said Simon. “It just has to be a time and place where you can stop and think.”

“It can be on a cozy chair by your favorite window, or a bench at your favorite park, or the local coffee shop,” said Ruth. “Then, you need to think about what sorts of boundaries and limits you can build in your life
so that you’re living in a peaceful palace.”

“There are islands everywhere just waiting to be discovered,” said Simon. “And Vicki, you say you have never been on a journey, dear? You have never been unemployed, unable to land a job? You have never said good-bye to someone you love? You have never lost something precious? You have never feared anything in life? You have never felt under the weather or like you were drowning?”