Trash In The Water

by James MacLaren

Coming as they did, towards the end of a long, hot, and very flat summer, the

waves were a welcome change. Not that they were very good waves. But on the east

coast of Florida, three foot slop is a welcome respite from the standard summer

fare.

The disorganized low pressure area had tracked all the way across the Atlantic

under the expectant scrutiny of thousands of wave riders. That it encountered

upper level shear in the Bahamas and came ashore in Florida as nothing more than

squally weather was just about par for the course. It had been one of the worst

summers in anyone’s memory. And that’s saying a lot in Brevard County.

Paul Carlin was stoked, “Man! Did you see that radical slash off the soup I

did?”

Bill Hayes was not, “Oh yeah. Yeah sure. You’re gonna be on the cover of all the

mags. No doubt.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t sound real happy.”

“Take a look at my arm.”

“Ooh, nice slash yourself. You oughtta take that to the beach before you attract

a shark or something. How’d ya do that?”

“Some kind of junk barely floating just outside the shorebreak. I didn’t see it

until the last second and when I tried to turn around it, I fell off and landed

right on it. Musta caught my arm on a nail or something. Nice scratch, huh?”

-*-

Maria was crying softly. Antonio kept shushing her up with admonitions not to

wake the baby. This only seemed to make the muffled sobbing get worse. She was

sitting at the little table in the kitchen with her head down on her arms. Her

whole body shook with each sob. Antonio and Estrela continued gathering things

together. Outside in the darkness, little Hector was chasing fireflies with a

six-year-old’s energy and determination. He seemed excited by all the activity.

-*-

Bill stood next to his new Jeep in the parking lot at Second Light and glared

down at the beach. As Paul came up to the top of the stairs, Bill pointed an

accusing finger up towards the break at First Light.

“There. See it? Looks like it’s in about waist deep water over by Rock

Garden’s.”

“Yeah. I see it. That little rip there’s starting to push it back down this way,

isn’t it?”

“Looks like it. Let’s go drag it out of the water before somebody else gets cut

up on it, ok?”

“Sure. Let’s lock the boards in your truck first, though.”

“Yeah. That’s all I’d need now. After getting the shit cut out of me. Stolen

board. No thanks.”

The receding tide coupled with a light cross rip had pushed the ragged object

into knee-deep water just north of the parking lot.

The two friends walked down to drag it up the beach and out of harm’s way.

-*-

A rising gibbous moon was peeking through the pepper trees as the old Ford

pickup coasted to a stop. They had been driving without headlights for the last

five miles. The potholes they had hit in the darkness rattled the rusty truck

and caused Maria’s arthritic bones to ache. Antonio dragged a heavy mass from

under the pepper trees and out into the water as Maria hugged her daughter

fiercely. The little raft drifted northward on a light southeast breeze with the

entire family of four aboard. Soon, they were invisible in the gloom. Maria

sighed, got back into the pickup, and drove back home. She drove with the

headlights on the whole way.

-*-

“Man, look at this thing.” Paul was incredulous.

“Yeah, whatta ya figure it is?” Bill wasn’t sure.

“Hard to say, really. Might be some kind of raft or something. Probably more

damn Cubans.” Paul’s tone was disdainful.

“Yeah, probably. Look here. The dummies actually tried to tie styrofoam strips

to these two-by-fours with hemp line. Looks like most of it just dissolved when

it got wet. What a bunch of dumb-asses.”

“And they’re probably sitting on their butts somewhere in Miami right now

sucking down cervezas they bought with welfare money.”

“While we have to bust ass at work to pay for them.”

Paul gave the remains of the little craft a perfunctory tug toward the dune. The

piece he grabbed came off in his hand.

Bill was disgusted. After eyeing the sharp edges of the galvanized strips nailed

to the wood and then regarding his scratched arm, he spat on the raft and headed

back to his Jeep.

-*-

After five days of brutal sun and no breezes, baby Gloria just gave out. She

hadn’t been in the best of health to begin with and there was nothing anyone

could do. She emitted one final whimper and then was still. Estrela was still

holding her as the crescent moon rose over the glassy ocean. The next morning

the three of them intoned prayers and eased Gloria’s tiny body over the side of

the raft. Hector was no longer excited about their adventure and sat staring

into the distance.

-*-

Bill leaned against his Jeep. “You know, that cd player really sucks.”

Paul laughed. “Yeah. It’s not the best sounding thing I’ve ever heard, that’s

for sure. And this ham sandwich ain’t so good either. Guess I shoulda used a

little less mayonnaise.”

Bill scowled at his new acquisition. “Next damn car I get’s gonna have some

serious sound equipment in it. How the hell they expect us to drive a car with a

set of tin speakers in it?”

Paul looked at Bill and offered his sandwich. “Want any?”

“Nah, that looks like some of the stuff we dissected in biology class last week.

My stomach’s got a higher set of standards thanks all the same.”

“Definite rat food.” Paul tossed the half-eaten sandwich into the sea grape.

Bill had lost all interest in the waves. “You ready to go?”

“Not yet. Check the little blondie over there. Let’s hang out for a while.”

“Sure.” Bill was apathy personified.

-*-

As the meager supply of food and water dwindled away, Antonio and Estrela quit

eating and drinking. They had been on the ocean far longer than they had

originally planned. What was left went to their surviving child. Hector didn’t

like the way his mother and father were starting to look. But he didn’t like

being thirsty either. On the morning of the twelfth day, Hector awoke to a

rising breeze and swell. He was alone. Somehow, during the night, both of his

parents had disappeared. He cried and wished there was some water to drink. In

the evening he could see the diffuse glow of distant city lights in the sky

below a sliver of crescent moon.

-*-

As Paul and Bill looked on, another surfer came out of the water and walked

directly over to the attractive blonde they’d been considering. They kissed.

Bill had had enough. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Paul was agreeable. “Yeah. Maybe there’ll be some decent waves in the morning.”

As they waited for the light to turn green, they could see another surfer poking

at the remains of the raft with his toe.

Bill snorted. “Fucking Cubans.”

The light turned green.

-*-

Between rain squalls, Hector could catch the occasional glimpse of condominiums

along the shore. He was almost close enough to see individual people on the

balconies. Overhead, unseen in the grey clouds, some kind of large airplane

roared by. As he considered the sound of the jet, a wave broke directly upon the

raft. Hector clutched instinctively at a piece of styrofoam as the water carried

him over the side. The styrofoam broke off in his hand and went with him into

the ocean. The raft continued on alone, drifting northwest on the wind and

current.

-*-

The next day, in Daytona Beach, a six-year-old left the water and ran excitedly

to his father. “Daddy! Daddy! Look what I found!”

The father considered his son’s treasure. A small bit of styrofoam about six

inches long with a little algae growing on it. He then turned to his wife and

asked exasperatedly, “Why in blazes did we spend thirty-five bucks on buckets

and shovels and floats?

The six-year-old returned to the water clutching his find. The wife smiled and

turned another page in her romance novel.