The Raft

  The dirty guy stood there holding my hair, looking like he could barely stand up. “Lucy!”

  My heart pounded as I tried to scream, yell, do something, anything to stop him. But all I could get out was, “I’m not Lucy.”

  “I told you to go home!” He grabbed my cornrows tighter, forcing my head down so I could only look at the ground where my vanilla shake had splattered white all over the sidewalk. “I told you to go home.”

  I tried to move away, grab my hair back, something, but he had a tight hold and was wrapping it around his fist.

  I started to cry. “I’m not Lucy!”

  Why wasn’t anyone helping me?

  Instead of letting go, he wrapped my hair even tighter so I had to step closer and closer to him. He smelled like fried onions and something else that made me cringe. Something gross.

  A male voice shouted, “Hey!”

  The guy let go and I stepped back. Another guy started yelling at the first one and I ran, the sound of pounding footsteps close behind me.

  I sprinted all the way back to AJ’s building, crying. The security guard wasn’t there and I didn’t want to wait in the lobby where someone on the street, maybe the dirty guy, could see me. So I ran to the elevator and punched the 10. When I finally got to the apartment, my hand was so shaky I had to hold it with my other one to reach in my pocket for the key. It wasn’t there.

  “No!” How had I lost it?

  Calm down.

  I took a deep breath, and then felt again. My fingers closed around the smooth metal and I breathed a sigh of relief. My hands were still shaking so hard I almost couldn’t unlock the door. When I finally got in, I slammed the door, locked all three locks, and dropped to the floor, breathless. My back against the door, I hugged my knees and sobbed.

  three

  No way was I staying there by myself.

  Despite my initial excitement at being on my own, being free, I was done. I didn’t want to be on my own. I wasn’t ready to be on my own. More than willing to go back to Midway to be with my parents, I wiped my face and found my little calendar book from my bag.

  Running my finger down the dates, it was clear I’d missed the passenger flight that went every other week, but the monthly supply flight left the next evening. Only one plane did those three trips to Midway a month, an aging Gulfstream turboprop. Unlike regular airline flights, the flights to Midway on the G-1 were pretty mellow. No security lines, no wait to check in, no worry about getting bumped. If you were a Midway resident, you could pretty much decide an hour beforehand that you wanted to go. Just show up with a passport, and they’d get you on.

  I took a few deep breaths, just so my parents wouldn’t be able to tell how upset I was. Then I picked up the phone and dialed.

  I waited for the click, then the pause, then the ring. I envisioned our heavy old-fashioned black curly-corded phone sitting on the counter just outside the kitchen, could even hear the loud ring.

  But there was nothing.

  I hung up and dialed again. Waited.

  Nothing.

  Periodically, along with the Internet, the phone lines on Midway crapped out. They were all dependent on the satellites, and the wiring on the island was old, so it wasn’t a surprise. Still, I wanted to talk to my parents, have them arrange the flight for me.

  Should I call AJ?

  I shook my head, answering my own question.

  She would just freak out and feel guilty about leaving me alone. Not to mention maybe get mad at me for not telling her Bobbi wouldn’t be checking on me after all.

  Figuring I’d call Mom and Dad in the morning, I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas. My room was down the hall from the bathroom. Usually no big deal, but I always had to pee in the middle of the night, and tonight I didn’t want to go walking around when it was dark, and nobody was there but me.

  So I went into AJ’s room, which had an attached bathroom. I locked her door, tossed all her blue and green shams and decorative pillows on the floor, and crawled under the covers. The sheets were cool and I stretched out my toes.

  Then I reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

  But I couldn’t.

  I did not want it to be dark. So I left it on and rolled over, facing the other way toward the sliding glass doors that went out to the balcony. The white curtains were shut.

  Pushing the covers back, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to them. Reaching out a hand, I grasped the edge of the curtain. “One … two … three—”

  I whipped them back, gasping.

  Except for a few plant pots, the balcony was empty. And we were on the tenth floor; nobody was going to crawl up.

  Don’t be a baby.

  I let the curtain drop. Still, I was relieved I’d checked.

  I crawled back into bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Without my aunt, my favorite place in the world had turned into something else.

  I heard a noise. A tapping.

  It’s just someone knocking on the apartment next door.

  The tapping continued.

  It’s just something loose, blowing in the wind.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  It’s the ice maker, something is just loose.

  But I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it was the weird guy from the street, trying to get in, trying to get me.

  I pulled the covers up over my head and trembled, my heart beating so hard I was almost able to hear it in the quiet room.

  Now and then I peeked out of the covers at the glowing red numbers of the bedside alarm clock, which shifted slowly throughout the night.

  11:13

  1:02

  3:29

  I waited, ready for whoever might come in to get me.

  4:43

  Finally, just as it began to lighten outside, I fell asleep.

  four

  AJ called at about nine and woke me up.

  When she asked how I was, I lied, told her everything was fine and Bobbi had stopped in the day before. I felt bad, but what did it matter when I was heading home anyway? Then I tried my parents, but the phones still weren’t working.

  When I stepped in the elevator to head down to Starbucks, my heart pounded until I reached the lobby. The security guard who always smiled and called out “Aloha!” wasn’t at his post.

  Back upstairs, I packed, then went to the pool for a while, made a ham sandwich for lunch, and took a nap. About four, I got dressed. The drive to the airport, and waiting around there, would be hot, but the plane would be chilly, so I had my standard outfit for flying: khaki Bermuda shorts, a white camisole, and my green hoodie. I wore white flip-flops, but shoved a pair of socks in my bag. I debated adding my new Converse, but put them in my suitcase instead. Then I called a taxi.

  As usual, the loading of the G-1 at Oahu Air Services was pure chaos, people hauling boxes and cartons and barrels out to the plane. I left my bags by the door to the waiting lounge and went looking for the woman who usually organized the loading. I didn’t see her anywhere. A tall, bald guy held a clipboard, so I asked, “Where’s Suzanne?”

  “Sick.” He shook his head. “Of all days. The Costco order didn’t get delivered and there’s a new copilot.” He waved at a couple guys loading the plane. “Hey!” He headed off, leaving me standing there.

  The pilot, Larry, came around the plane, wearing black pants and a short-sleeved white button-down shirt with gold pilot epaulets on the shoulders. Tall with dark hair that never had a strand out of place, he swaggered a bit.

  I waved.

  His forehead wrinkled for a moment, and I called out, “Hi, Larry.”

  “Robie?” A slow smile spread across his face. “I didn’t even recognize you. Nice hair.”

  “Thanks. I’m trying to catch a flight home.”

  He nodded. “We’ll be stuffed, but there’s always room for you.”

  “I didn’t see Suzanne.”

  He scratched his head. “Yeah, she’s gone today. It’s a mess, especially with communications down at Midway
. My new copilot is around here somewhere, trying to make sense of it all. Max. He’ll get you on the manifest. Why don’t you wait inside where it’s cool? I’ll come get you.”

  The waiting lounge inside Oahu Air Services was air-conditioned and I dropped my bags, then plopped down on the couch. There was a little fridge near the seating area, and I pulled out a Coke, and then grabbed a handful of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts from the koa wood bowl on the table. A golf match blared from the television mounted high on the wall, but there wasn’t a remote to change the channel, so I flipped through a Glamour magazine for a while.

  The flight was supposed to be wheels up around five, putting us on the ground at Midway about eleven or so. During nesting season for the albatross, the Midway runway had hundreds of thousands of bird crossings a day, potential disaster if a jet engine sucked one in, or even if the G-1 collided with a bird. Albatross weigh about fifteen pounds; they’re like a flying cannonball with feathers. So flights could only land and take off there at night, when the birds were less active.

  I never really got used to flying all that way over water at night. I wasn’t scared, because I’d been flying since I was little, but I still tried my best not to think about it. Knowing Larry, and trusting him, helped a lot. I’d taken the G-1 back and forth to Midway probably twenty or so times, most of those at night. Larry could probably fly the route blindfolded.

  I waited for them to come and tell me to get weighed. The G-1 could only hold 3,800 pounds of cargo and people, because that’s how much it could still fly with if one engine went out. Since we got a supply flight only once a month, and that was all our mail, groceries, parts they needed for the generator and other equipment, it meant we did without a lot that was simply too heavy. Like milk. A gallon of milk weighed eight pounds, and milk for fifty people added up too fast. Thinking about it, I fell asleep on the couch.

  Larry shook me awake. “We’re ready to go.” Then he asked me something about Max and weighing in and paperwork or something.

  Still groggy, I just nodded. My watch said nine, which meant we were getting a late start.

  He carried my big bag; I took my small one and my backpack. I climbed up the short flight of steps and ducked my head as I stepped aboard. All nine rows of the red upholstered seats were chockful of boxes and cargo, except for two seats halfway back, right next to the starboard exit. The new copilot was already up in the cockpit. Max looked about twenty-five or so; I couldn’t tell. Younger than AJ anyway. His dark hair was very short, like in the military, and he wore the same black pants and white shirt as Larry, only he also sported a black tie. Max glanced my way and didn’t say anything.

  I smiled. “Hi.”

  For about a millisecond, he nodded and smiled, but his eyes didn’t. They seemed sad.

  My dad was tall and always had to stoop to avoid the ceiling, but I could walk normally, albeit sideways, through the narrow cabin back to the fifth row of seats. The bin above my seat was filled with a blue mesh bag of satsuma oranges, my favorite. I noticed the Sharpied Mitchell on the label and grinned. Part of Mom’s grocery order. I undid the top of the bag, pulled out two oranges, and then folded the bag and slammed the bin shut. The bin across the way was also stuffed, so I just put my bag in the seat next to mine. Then I sat down and buckled up.

  Although Larry had said it numerous times, he gave me the emergency safety spiel, pointing out the exits, the compartment that held the emergency raft, the flotation device under my seat. He came across a little cocky, but I’d rather have a self-assured, ultra-confident pilot than an insecure one. As always, I listened, but hardly.

  I’d heard it all before.

  Larry went back to the cockpit and put on his headphones.

  Not long after that, the propellers started to turn and air rushed out of the vent above my head. Sweat trickled down the side of my face, so I twisted the knob open all the way and held my face upward, smiling into the cool blast of air. Soon, the propellers buzzed and the plane moved forward, lining up for takeoff.

  I looked out the window. A United Airlines jet rumbled as it lifted, probably heading toward the mainland.

  A few minutes later, Larry’s voice came over the intercom: “Here we go.”

  My knuckles weren’t white as I grasped the seat, but my grip would definitely pass as tight. I wasn’t usually this nervous, but I’d just watched the plane crash on Lost and was trying hard to put it out of my mind.

  The engines motored up to full throttle as we stayed there, so it felt as if we were a dog on a leash, raring to go as someone held us back. My eyes went to the spinning propeller, already going so fast it was invisible, then to the words Rolls-Royce on the engine. Larry once told me that Rolls-Royce propellers went counterclockwise. Good Jeopardy question.

  I leaned my head back on the seat as the G-1 surged forward, rocketing down the tarmac until we gained enough speed. The front wheels lifted and we were airborne, lights below us, the steady drone of the engines loud. Out the window I saw lights from ships in Pearl Harbor, then ships farther out, until they slipped away from my view, leaving only darkness beneath.

  The G-1 flew steadily up until it leveled out and I relaxed to the familiar drone of the engines. Home was only a few hours away. Releasing my grip on the seat, I took off my flip-flops, put on my socks, and got comfortable. Still wiped out, I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, my watch said one a.m. Lights glowed in the cockpit, but except for the small lighted track along the floor and the galley light, the cabin was dark. The ride was a little turbulent, but I’d been through a lot worse on other flights. An especially rough one had led my mom to say to Larry, upon landing, “Earned your money today, huh?” He had shrugged, then said he didn’t think it was a rough flight at all. Since then, I’d read that turbulence didn’t ever cause a plane to crash, so bumps didn’t really bother me.

  Five rows up, Larry sat in the cockpit and Max stood in the galley, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Not as tall as Larry, Max was thinner, rather wiry, and athletic looking.

  Max went back to the cockpit and Larry stood up. He got a cup of coffee, noticed I was awake, and came my way. “There’s a storm front that moved in a little quicker than we expected. I’m going to skirt to the north a bit, but it shouldn’t slow us down too much.”

  “Okay.”

  “Help yourself.” He lifted his cup and went back up front.

  Despite the late hour my stomach grumbled, so I unbuckled and went to the galley. A drawer held ice and drinks, and I grabbed a pink can of guava juice before rummaging through a big blue plastic cooler full of sandwiches. I chose a thick turkey one, and then went back to my seat. Unlatching the tray in front of me, I dissected my sandwich, taking off the tomato, lettuce, and white cheese before replacing the top of the onion roll.

  At my first bite, the plane shuddered and bumped below me, and an especially large lurch shoved my stomach up into my throat.

  Larry’s steady voice came over the intercom. “Robie, make sure you’re buckled in tight, it might get rough for a little bit here. We should be out of it soon.”

  I wrapped up the sandwich, saving it for when the turbulence calmed down. Maybe bumps didn’t bother me, but I didn’t really like eating during them.

  As far as I could tell, we were only about an hour and a half from home. The ride got rougher and rougher, so that my knuckles were white as I held on and wished for Midway. Out the window were occasional flashes of lightning, but they didn’t illuminate anything except for the rain pelting my window.

  Constantly lurching in the dark, it was as if we were in a car sliding on ice. Leaning out in the aisle, I tried to watch the pilots in the cockpit, see if they looked especially concerned, but their backs were to me and their hands just looked busy. Larry hadn’t announced anything for a while. I seriously wanted to call up to him, ask when we’d be landing, but it seemed stupid.

  We’ll get there when we get there. Grow up.

  Then the sound of th
e engines got louder. I tried not to think about the dark and the water underneath us. Nothing but dark and all that frickin’ water.

  five

  Ten minutes later, although I wouldn’t have believed it possible, the turbulence got worse. Now it felt as if we were in a snow globe that someone just shook and shook and shook. The lurching turned into deep plunges that made me feel like we were nose-diving, before we finally came back up, all the while bumping. One huge thump sent all the oxygen masks tumbling down, where they swayed from side to side. Mine swung right in front of my face.

  Oh my God! Was I supposed to put it on?

  A glance up front showed neither Larry nor Max had donned a mask. I couldn’t very well ignore mine, so I tied a big loop in it, just to get the thing out of my face.

  Another huge thump popped open a few of the overhead bins.

  All of a sudden, a quick barrage of soft but forceful punches pummeled my head and shoulders, but the assault was over before I could even shriek or fend them off.

  Oranges from the bin above my head.

  One landed in my lap, and others lay all around me, rolling up and down the aisle with every shift of the plane.

  I wanted to scream, but held it in.

  Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, especially not the pilots. Again, I tried to see what they were doing, their demeanor, their attitude.

  Were they worried?

  Struggling with the controls?

  It was impossible to tell from my vantage point.

  I felt an overwhelming need for reassurance, for someone to tell me everything would be okay.

  That I would be okay.

  But no one did.

  As we bounced around, tears started sliding down my face. I stopped myself and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  You baby.

  There was no need to cry over a little turbulence.

  Tons of things are worse than this.

  And then there was a hush.

  Not totally quiet, but there was just less of a drone than there had been. I leaned over and peered out the window at the starboard engine. At the end of the wing, a blue light winked. Usually, the propellers were nearly invisible in flight, because they were turning so rapidly. But as lightning flashed, I could very clearly see the propeller, circling slowly, turning only with the movement of the plane.