Sabrina (Post 6)

Somehow, Bryan the Aussie Pirate managed to get every last drunken passenger on board in record time, and we were off. Bryan didn’t bother to unfurl the sails this time – he was trying to beat the storm, and the engine growled unpleasantly, coughing gasoline fumes that made my unsettled stomach all the more unwilling to keep down my lunch.

I looked up at the sky, watching an ominous patch of clouds move over Rose Island. How odd that no one saw this coming. Because it looked like it was going to be pretty bad. I tried to swallow the bile in the back of my throat, wondering if we’d get hit by the storm while at sea. I would definitely end up puking then.

“Hey, Voodoo Lady!” Shaggy Hair was smiling lopsidedly at me, a beer in his hand. “You’re the only sober one left. How pathetic is that?” I looked around me. Yup. Everyone was having a blast, completely oblivious to the danger we could be in. Even Sky was swaying giddily, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

“I’d better not be the only sober one,” I called back over the engine, jerking my thumb at Bryan, where he stood steering the boat. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his upper lip, and underneath his tan his face was bloodless. Several empty plastic cups lay crumpled at his side, and I realized with a flash of horror that I was, in fact, the only sober one on board.

“Come on, you prude,” he said, his voice suddenly in my ear. I jerked around to find that Shaggy Hair was standing right next to me, smiling. “One shot, and I’ll leave you alone.”

My eyes widened. “You promise? Because that’s all I really want – for you to leave me the fuck alone.” I kept glancing back at Bryan, fear swelling up inside me. I looked at Tanya and Sky, where they were laughing and dancing like nothing was wrong. Our captain was drunk, we were about to get hit by a monumental storm, and I was the only one who was worried. I snatched the shot glass from Shaggy Hair. I tossed it back without hesitation, and then said huskily, “Get me another one, would you?”

Shaggy Hair hooted, his face flushed. “Yes, ma’am!”

After choking down another shot of whatever that was, I started to feel a bit calmer. I made my way to Bryan and asked, “Um, is there something I can do to help?”

Bryan didn’t even look at me as rain droplets started to splash against the control panel. “Could you get everyone to put on a life jacket and get below, mate? This is gonna be a bad one.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I answered doubtfully. I grabbed a few life jackets and stumbled back out to where the drunks had finally noticed it was starting to rain. The women started laughing, their faces upturned into the now rapidly falling droplets. This was going to be like herding cats. I started with Sky and Tanya. “Guys, the storm is here. Let’s try and get everyone below before someone ends up overboard.”

Tanya glanced at me, and I could tell what she was thinking. Of course I was the only person not having a good time. Of course I was the only person with a stick up my ass. Of course I was the one trying to ruin everybody’s fun. I would have been rigid with fury, but those two shots were working their magic. My joints were made of rubber. I pointed to Bryan, who was mopping his brow with the tail of his shirt. “T, your boy asked that you put this on and get down below. Don’t fight me.”

That convinced her, and before I knew it, I had managed to get everyone below deck, if not in a life jacket. The cabin was small, stuffy, and crowded with, well, drunks. The smell of body odor and alcohol mingled in the stagnant heat, and I felt my stomach leap into my throat. The storm was getting worse, and the waves tossed the catamaran like a toy in the bathtub. The boat pitched from side to side, and as I stood pressed between Shaggy Hair and Sky, I suddenly knew I was going to throw up.

“Sabrina! Where are you going?” Sky cried, her own face a light shade of green.

“I’ll be back,” I mumbled. “I’m going to be sick.” At that moment, one of the frat boys retched  noisily on the floor, and I knew I had to get the hell out of the cabin. I squeezed past the sweaty bodies and up the ladder, nearly falling as the boat rocked to the left. Above, the rain pelted down mercilessly, and Captain Bryan, drenched and panicked, was trying to radio someone, anyone.

“Get back below!” he yelled at me as I rushed to the metal railing and puked up a combination of hard alcohol, Bahama Mama, and chicken fingers. I wiped my mouth and looked at him, shaking my head. The rain felt good, and I wasn’t just about to go back down there. He yelled a series of incoherent curses at me, saying something about the compass not working.

As the cabin door began to push open – probably by the passengers who didn’t want to sit amongst the heat, sweat, and vomit – Bryan kicked it shut forcefully, leaning against it and locking it with one swift movement. “No one else is getting out of there until this storm is over,” he yelled angrily, flashing a look at me.

I lay down on the slippery deck, gripping the railing with one hand. I just wanted it to stop. I would do anything for this feeling to go away. Anything. I tried to roll on my back, but my backpack, which I had so cleverly strapped on over my life jacket, prevented me from doing so. I didn’t have the energy to tear it off, so I just lolled on my side, my hair matted to my face, looking up into the most frightening sky I’d ever seen. The clouds reached down to the sea like ghostly hands, illuminated from behind by an unearthly glow.

You have displeased your loua… Something big is about to happen to you…

By “something big” had she meant “death”? It sure was beginning to seem like it. Suddenly the boat lurched violently. I felt my skull crack against the fiberglass hull, my body thrown like a ragdoll into the air. I’m not sure if I screamed. I’m pretty sure I didn’t, considering I couldn’t even get up the energy to flail or grab for something. I tasted salt water, felt it burn my eyes. It filled my ears and nose, pulled at my limbs.  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tell which way the surface was. The life jacket and backpack pulled in opposite directions, one dragging me down, the other trying to break the waves, both riding up around my neck. I shook my head in distress, and the backpack covered my face. Suddenly, death seemed like a welcome reprieve to the sea sickness, to the battering of the sea. My head hit something hard again, and the next thing I saw was Sophie’s face when she was four or five months old, smiling her toothless smile, her chubby hands reaching for me…

Take good care of her, Jake. I love you both.