Jave Islands

The sun is hot on my skin. I have so much to do and so many places to be but I'm not in a hurry. I've had a song stuck in my head all morning so I'm humming the melody and my toe taps the water to the beat. Little circles spread across the water with every downbeat. I belt out the lyrics and my voice echoes across the water. Birds fly out of the mangroves and soar into the sky. I giggle and sit up. I take a long drag from my joint and exhale dramatically.

My head drops back and the sun is in my eyes and I yell. It comes from deep in my body. More birds fly away and something splashes into the water next to me. It's just so quiet out here.

I'm only halfway thinking of a story to tell my mom as to why it has taken me so long to deliver this basket to the family on the island next to ours. They just had a sweet little baby and I'm sure the basket contains a multitude of medicines that my mom made. I spotted the yellow and white checkered blanket my grandma has been working on since she found out we would have a new baby around. Everyone gets positively giddy when someone decides to procreate.

A nurse shark swims by. I watch it effortlessly glide through the water. Dragonflies dance on the surface. The reds and oranges and yellows in the sunset have started streaking the sky. It looks like something my little sister could have painted. She's into all that. So creative and perfectly adorable.

I'm a little stoned by the time I realize that the spray of color above me means the sun is dipping down and they'll be waiting on me now. I got into a fight with a shark. It was surprisingly aggressive. I had to fight it off. Maybe a dolphin came by and stole my paddle and I had to swim after it until it finally released it. Maybe something with a bird. The tips of my fingers dip just into the surface and the coolness of the water is a relief. My hand hangs over my stomach and each drop forms a little dome on my skin and then rolls down my side. I have absolutely no desire to do anything today.

The paddle slips into the smooth glass surface and the paddleboard silently carries me. The shore creeps over the horizon. A boy sits on the sand drawing shapes with a stick that the water reclaims with every wave. He spots me and stands up. I have to stop myself from giggling when I see his face. He's been waiting a while. The red on his cheeks tells me I'm super late.

"Rowan! Hurry! I'm sick of sitting here waiting for you!"

Jeez. I saunter over and place the basket next to him. I pass him the joint and he takes it.

"How's your mom?"

He takes a huge hit and a cloud of smoke surrounds him. His eyes roll back and he takes a calming breath. "She was in labor for a whole day. But the baby is cute. It's a boy and he's healthy. He has very healthy lungs."

"Well good luck sleeping. If you need some quiet you can sleep in our hammock. I'm sure no one would mind."

He takes a big hit and hands it back but it's mostly kicked now. He probably needs it more than me. I remember when my little sister was born. She cried all the time. All. The. Time. It was her favorite hobby. Eat sleep poop cry repeat. She's pretty cool now. I would never tell her that though.

I grab the basket and we walk towards his house. The community has already left a huge display of flowers around the baby. Hawthorn and calendula and chamomile bouquets surround the front door. The elders believe that hawthorn and calendula offer protection to a new baby. My grandmother always says the earth remembers what we forget. That’s why we leave offerings, why we listen when something grows where it shouldn’t. There were years in the old times where babies might not make it but it's been a long time since we've lost one. Only once since my mother was placed in charge of herbs and medicine. Even then it just went to sleep and no one knew why. The whole island was devastated.

Today was a day for celebrating though. I see the teeny new life swaddled in his mother's arms. Mother and baby get a kiss on the forehead. I open the basket and pull out a warm linen bundle full of some fresh bread my dad baked this morning with soft cheese and butter. I pick some basil and place it in front of her. Sometimes you just need a freakin snack. I imagine this is doubly true after a person walks out of your lady parts. Nature is rough.

The paddleboard glides through the water and I'm in more of a hurry to get home now since it'll be completely dark soon and only the moon will guide me home.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a quick flash of light. No, not light. A reflection. Something is tangled in the mangroves and it's probably a manatee. They're so dumb sometimes. I paddle over to unwind the giant sea cow and startle. It's not an ocean animal at all. It's a man. No, a boy. He isn't from here. His clothes are strange and his skin is pale. His hair is red and matted with dried blood.

I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to blow the conch shell strapped to the back of my board. I'm supposed to run to my mother so she can rouse the island.

If it's a straggler my mother will want to silence it. But he is different. His skin is taut and shows no signs of damage. I start to worry he might actually be dead.

I poke him with my paddle. Nothing. Poke him again. Poke. Now you’re just playing with it, I tell myself.

He moves and a gasp escapes his mouth. Shit. He's alive. I jump into the water and with all my strength pull him onto my board. It takes longer than I'd like. The ocean kept trying to pull him back and I couldn't give it an inch or she would overtake him.

Finally he's secured and I slowly get us back to shore so my mother can either help him or possibly ground me.

She didn't have to say anything when I came to shore. I was late and I'd brought home company. We didn't know strangers here. After the bombs dropped, people wandered for generations and died. My great grandmother had found these islands. The Jave Islands are a chain that used to be dry desert but after the wars the coastlines changed. The green lushness of the land allows us to stay as long as we respect her.

My mother slowly unbuckled the hard shells that covered his body like armor. His skin underneath was smooth and undamaged. He wasn't one of the stragglers. Living in the radiation could make your skin peel and your ears slide down your face. We usually took care of them at the border before they got this far inland. But he was different. I just knew it.

Mother healed him slowly. She watched him almost as if she recognized something. The elders didn't tell us much about the old times.

The sun was just peaking over the water the first time he opened his eyes. They were cornflower blue and striking. He tried to sit up quickly and reached for something next to him that wasn't there. We made eye contact and just stared at each other in silence. Taking each other in.

I held out my hand. My fingers unfurled, my eyes never leaving his. He broke eye contact first and looked down. His face flushed and for the first time he looked like a boy. His face softened and he took the tiny silver mirror in both hands.

His mother had died for this mirror. He gripped it until he could feel the edge digging into his palm. His mother was dead. His father was dead. Everything was coming back to him. He had been running from his uncle, from his home.

He was drawing in the hallway outside his mother's quarters when it happened. She sat at her little table brushing her hair. She always sang when she brushed her hair. She smiled at her reflection and snapped the mirror shut.

The doors flew open and his uncle marched in like he owned the room. Demanding to know where it was. Where is it. He was shaking her. She said she didn't know but she did.

His mother was a seer. She knew things. She would tell me the mirror could whisper secrets to her when she gazed into it and sang her lullabies. They lived in a tower that could touch the sky, still the tallest structure around, still demanding the respect of everyone beneath it.

But tonight his uncle was alone and angry. She reached for something on the table and he grabbed her wrist. There was a shuffle of noises and the sleek turquoise-encrusted knife her fingers had found on her table slid between her ribs and her face went slack. That was when his father came into the room.

His father assessed the scene and lunged. The knife was still in his uncle's hand. Tears were streaming down his face when it lodged into his father's chest.

When it was safe to come out he lay over his mother's body and waited for the trembling to stop. The mirror lay next to her. A single crack ran down the center of the glass. Broken. Just like him. Just like his family.

He started running and couldn't stop. He ran until he hit water and then he waded and swam until he couldn't anymore. He would never go back to New Vegas. He would never go back to his uncle.

Rowan watched every emotion move across his face.

Then she heard the conch shell. The warning.

Without thinking she grabbed her spear from the wall and took her place beside her mother and father and grandmother at the edge of the tree line. They watched in silence as the boat made its way steadily toward the island.

The man standing at the bow had the markings of a straggler. The radiation had left kisses all over his face. The drippy skin was hard to look at.

But here he was.

Beside me, the boy moves to stand with me, spear in hand, almost holding him up.

My grandmother was right.

The earth remembers what we forget.

And I have the feeling it just remembered him.