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.