Straight No Chaser

Island Is a Dark Place, The and The Labels Survey

He wakes on the beach, midmorning sun pummeling him from between the fronds of the palm tree by the shelter. Alone and prostrate on the sand, he rubs his temples, waiting for context.

It's quiet; the only sounds are of wind and sea. He waits, waits for one of Sakka's lusty cries, the softer little kitten mews of--

Of--

He gets it, suddenly; sits up and hurls the nearest coconut, hard, at the trunk of the nearest tree. A dream, one whose details are rapidly fading. He remembers their little faces but not her name; remembers water, panic, something about eggs. A traumatized Kai with her arms outstretched.

All offshoots of his overworked and exiled mind, apparently.

Twins are often premature, he remembers now, more clearly. And I'm going to sleep. Her last words, uttered just before she stalked inside with one hand bracing the small of her back.

No babies.

*****

general:

1. what is your opinion of labels?
eh. they have to come from somewhere, right? and they've existed, rather accurately, within every group of which i've ever been a part, including this current one in all its dysfunction. generally they overlap, but they only really become a problem if anyone has to share.

2. do you choose to label yourself?
only with the understanding that labels are fluid, not rigid, and i try to stick to positives.

3. what do others call you and how do you react?
i'm "the smart one" (variations: "the nerd," "the geek," "the dork," "the bookworm") or sometimes "the weird one," or "useless trivia girl," "the game queen," "the skinny one," and several others that i'm probably forgetting.

4. what label would you NEVER conform to?
"the bitch," i guess. not on purpose.

5. do you believe that labels are for sheep?
that's actually one of the stupider questions i've ever tried to answer.

*****

He watches her bathe. Same curves, still there, none as pronounced as in the dream. She's certainly bigger than she was with Kailani, but still, twins seems a stretch, suddenly.

She'd be angry, he knows, if she caught him like this; watching her languid, waterborne movements from behind the camouflage of the biggest berry bush. He tells himself it's not really spying; that whatever the dynamic between them, she's still the mother of his children. Still his responsibility.

*

Idiot. She sees the dingy white of his t-shirt between the bush's scattered blueish leaves. He must know she's ignoring him on purpose; she never bathes this way, eyes half-closed, lathering and rinsing each square inch of skin with excruciating slowness in hopes that he'll get bored and leave.

Movement. Slight brush, lower left. Her hands, already engaged in scrubbing her sun-browned shoulders, twitch at the sensation, but she doesn't respond. Doesn't touch. This will be easier, for her and for her audience, if she doesn't.

*****

prep/girly:

1. are you a girly girl?
no. emotionally i'm pretty hyperfeminine, but clothes completely bore me, and the extent of my concern for my appearance is just making sure i don't look freakish. i hate sports and beer and stupid wrestling shows, though, so i guess it's a tossup.

2. would you say you bitched a lot?
yeah, i guess.

3. gossiped?
well. i don't think it really counts if it's only with one or two people, and when the purpose is not to gossip for gossip's sake but rather to analyze every event till it makes contextual and philosophical sense.

4. how popular are you, and for what reasons?
pretty popular, because it's not a huge school.

5. do you go shopping often?
definitely not often, and not voluntarily. usually it's a joint effort between my mom and krystle; mom tempts me with a giant budget and krystle hogties me into an all-day mall trip. and it suuuuucks and i whiiiine and i really couldn't stand me, if i were krystle, but i guess she is just more charitable than i.

6. do you spend a lot of your parents' money?
speaking of which, the bottom finally fell out of od's and her dysfunctional coupling. not sure what she said differently, this time, except that maybe she was just more blunt about it, but for some reason it got through to him, and now his heart is broken. oh my god, it is, like, the most tragic thing ever. seriously.

7. do you wear short skirts?
when i wear skirts, which is often when it's warm out, they tend to hit several inches above the knee.

8. do you flick your hair?
yes. i hate having it in my face.

9. every time you pass a mirror, do you look into it?
actually, every time i pass a mirror, i make a colossal, invariably awkward effort not to look into it. i hate my reflection.

10. do you enjoy most pop/mainstream music?
not by far.

*****

Kailani sings as she paints. She's discovered orange; one by one, she defiles her green-and-purple masterpieces with garish fingerstreaks, displaying each one proudly upon completion. "Look!" she commands, holding up this latest, which rather resembles a tornado.

"Pretty, baby," remarks Shannon from behind, tugging Kai's just-washed hair into limp little twists.

"Is very pwetty," murmurs Kai, tossing the paper aside, reaching for another. Before she dips her fingers again, though, she cranes her neck, meets Shannon's eyes with her own. "Where's Daddy?" she asks. "Where's Daddy?"

The twice-asked question is a good one. It's been hours since bathtime, and he still hasn't made his presence known. "He's catching fish, baby," invents Shannon, consoling herself with the thought that it might be true.

A baby pushes at Shannon's ribcage, Kailani's right shoulder blade. "'Top," giggles Kai softly, leaning forward, thrusting both hands into her paint tray.

Soon, thinks Shannon.

*****

geek/nerd:

1. do you spend a lot of time by yourself?
that's pretty impossible, here, but when i have the opportunity, i definitely do.

2. do you thoroughly enjoy school and get good grades?
no and yes. as i was explaining to the guys the other day, when one of my obsessive-compulsive class doodle pages fell out of my backpack in front of everyone, the slowness of class is, sometimes, embarrassing for me. i can't slow my brain down to where lectures are particularly bearable, and i have to zone out to keep from exploding. sometimes this makes it tempting to do things like skip class, a habit i try to limit considerably. i never go to logic class except on test days. i have over a hundred percent, at the moment.

3. do you belong to any after school clubs?
it's sort of hard to divine "school" from "after school," in college. meetings and other engagements are sprinkled all throughout the day; classes sometimes stretch on into the primetime hours of the evening. but, yes, i have a lot to get done, all the time.

4. do you follow all rules?
no.

5. do you spend a lot of time on your computer?
absolutely not.

6. do you love video games?
not especially, not anymore.

7. do you get beaten up by preps/popular idiots?
i don't think i've ever actually witnessed a popular kid beating up a nerdy kid, except on tv or in the movies. that's one of those stereotypes that, even though it makes intuitive sense, is hard to perpetuate under the trigger-happy administrations at contemporary schools.

8. is your iq over 120?
yes.

9. are you bad at sports?
very, but i don't think that's on account of being a nerd. i think it's because i'm skinny and i hate sports.

10. do you not conform?
didn't you ask me this already? i conform less in some areas than others. it all just depends.

*****

Kai whimpers all through her second bath, hungry for lunch. "Okay, okay," soothes Shannon, lifting her, still wet, from the spring.

"We eat wif Daddy?"

"He's still busy, baby. He's still off somewhere fishing."

Kailani's lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout.

Lunch is a single tiny portion of pig meat roasted in pineapple sauce, served with something that looks and tastes like kale. Shannon watches longingly as Kailani feeds herself, stomach quivering at the smoky-sweet smell.

Kai notices and stops chewing long enough to offer up a strip of pork. "Mmm?" she grunts generously.

"No thanks, baby," sighs Shannon. A shiver courses through her famished body.

*

Increasingly frustrated, Aaron digs to the bottom of the second Walmart trunk, tossing tubes and bottles carelessly onto the sand. The rubbing alcohol is nowhere to be found, not that this should be a surprise; they are forever cleaning Kailani's little cuts and scrapes.

Though, to be fair, the last major injury was his own, a deep gash down the length of his forearm. Ten stitches, a procedure Shannon expertly performed with the same needle she uses for her fabric crafts.

In...the shelter. The shelter, then, is where the alcohol should be, still in its yellowish bottle, still half-full after more than three years.

He takes off running.

*****

gothic:

1. labels are for soup cans, right?
i thought we just agreed that they were for sheep.

2. do you have a strong belief in individuality?
individuality is completely inevitable. there's no way to be anything other than what you are; even if what you are happens to be a conformist sycophant, you're still behaving as a (stupid) individual.

3. do you enjoy gothic architecture (i.e. like churches, castles, graveyards, etc.)?
yeah.

4. do you like to read and watch horror.
yes. uh-oh, i may have found my niche. it would be the weird one.

5. would you say you were a morbid person?
in elementary school, my mom freaked out when one of my teachers informed her that i'd abandoned the class field trip to go sit in this eighteenth-century graveyard someplace else. i thought it was super-cool, she thought it was a sign that i was doomed to hell. i'm not that way anymore. whatever "that way" was. inquisitive, i guess. a bit of a reject.

6. do you frown upon those girls who follow fashion religiously?
yes, honestly, because in most cases i've observed, it costs them unjustifiable quantities of money for a superficial and ultimately boring return. i think shoe stores are a huge waste of time and i lose a tiny bit of respect for my female friends every time i have to stand in one for more than ten minutes. but my opinion doesn't count anyway, because apparently i'm a goth.

7. do you feel happier when you do things your own way?
who doesn't?

8. do you like, or do you own any corsets?
i have no use for a corset. i'm nineteen inches around in the place where one would go.

9. do you wear a lot of black, red or purple?
i never wear red or purple, but black is sort of my default color.

10. pale makeup?
it would look ridiculous on my golden-brown skin. i have no desire to moonlight as a circus clown.

11. do you have dark hair, and is it dyed?
yes and no.

*****

Procuring the knife takes some doing, because the girls are having lunch only a few yards from where they keep the utensils. He watches from a distance as Kailani chows down on something brown and green, smiles as she offers a bit of it up to her mother. Frowns when Shannon refuses.

Several uneventful minutes later, they stand. Kailani reaches for a pick-me-up; Shannon offers her hand instead and leads the little girl toward the shelter. Naptime.

Aaron sprints for the utensil rack, chooses the two sharpest knives. As an afterthought, he makes a run for the writing tree, as well; scoops up the red notebook and Shannon's rhinestone pen. Shoves the pen into his pocket, where the alcohol bottle sloshes to the rhythm of his frenetic movements. Carries the fruits of his scavenging off to the hurricane hole.

*****

emo:

1. how would you describe your hair cut?
permed and straightened and past my shoulders, usually in a flip but sometimes, more recently, curled under so i look a little more like my mom.

2. do you wear low slung jeans with studded belts?
yes to the jeans, no to the belts. i have great hips, and they tend to do all the holding-up on their own. any beltage would be purely for decorative purposes, which, because i don't particularly care how things look, is not likely to happen.

3. do you love bands like fallout boy, my chemical romance and taking back sunday?
my strongest opinion is of fallout boy, which i hate.

4. do you wear a lot of black eyeliner?
no. when i do wear eyeliner, it is black, but that only happens on special occasions.

5. do you believe that nobody understands you?
no, there are a couple of people who do, fortunately.

6. do you own pairs of converse?
no.

7. do you write lyrics?
i tend to think that for anyone who isn't a musician, or who doesn't plan to set his or her lyrics to music, lyric-writing is more aptly described as lazy poetry-writing. i don't write songs, so i don't write lyrics.

8. do you cry a lot?
i don't know what constitutes "a lot." i only cry when i'm completely frustrated, which happens, on average, less often than once a week.

9. do you relish the idea of two emo boys kissing?
not remotely.

10. do you love those emo boys who look like girls?
no more than i love the ones who don't.

*****

Sometimes, like now, he wishes, more than anything else, that the island had a library. Someplace he could find a medical textbook, an emergency scenario survival handbook, anything to help with the task at hand.

He spends the afternoon meditating, making plans, drawing diagrams; dredging up long-ago gym lectures about the female reproductive system.

She wouldn't help him with the dates, so he does the work himself. Pinpoints first the season, then the month and approximate week; counts back. Without benefit of her makeshift calendar, etched crudely into the giant rock wall on the west beach, his task is a near impossible one; he rechecks his work three times, and comes up with three distinctly different answers.

None seems long enough, but what is long enough? He can't remember that, either.

The sun sets and he hears Kai's indignant nighttime tears. He catches one wailed syllable--"Deeeeee"--and he thinks, briefly, about ending this cold war, about the foregone privilege of tucking his tiny daughter in for bed.

The thought dissolves suddenly, when he remembers the piglet.

*

Kai is asleep, finally.

Shannon is weak with hunger, having eaten nothing all day, and her immediate instinct is to crawl into bed beside her daughter, where she will almost certainly dream of pad thai and parfaits. Food, food is what she wants.

She exits the shelter and shuffles down to the coast. Leans over. Jams a finger down her throat before she has time to think; tickles the sensitive base of her tongue. A bit of runny fluid comes up, spilling over the ridges between her knuckles before landing on the churning water. Just a bit. Repeating the procedure, she draws only a painful dry heave, followed closely by another, weaker one. Nothing left. Her system is empty, her bladder is empty; the only fullness is in her gravid womb, whose inhabitants lie still, waiting.

The bush by the spring yields the biggest, firmest and reddest berries--the most potent, by her guess. Fortified with more Vitamin C than what her own body can handle, much less that of an unborn infant. A few days of this--of fasting, then glutting on the toxic orbs--should be enough to get the job done without overdosing. Aaron can't raise Kailani alone.

She plucks a cluster from the nearest branch, counts quickly, reaches for more. Continues to pick till she's got over a hundred of them, then tosses the first handful into her mouth. Chews and swallows. Each one stings her tongue as it bursts between her teeth.

*****

metalheads:

1. do you own or want to own a motorbike?
no.

2. do you dig heavy metal?
some.

3. do you love to headbang?
sometimes.

4. do you smoke cigarettes or weed?
no.

5. drink a lot of alcohol?
none.

6. go to a lot of gigs?
no.

7. do you play guitar/bass or drums?
acoustic guitar, and i can fake it on a bass.

8. do you do drugs?
i gets high on life, baby.

9. do you want to be a groupie?
definitely not.

10. do you love guys with long hair?
no.

*****

Her insides burn for only a second before she goes completely numb, plops heavily onto the sand by the spring, and rolls miserably onto her side.

This should work, she thinks. She remembers too late to apologize to her little victims; by the time the thought strikes, she's already halfway to unconsciousness.

*****

hippie/indie:

1. do you have super long hair?
no.

2. do you wear a lot of bright colors?
no, i stick to blacks, whites, pastels and earthtones. nothing particularly loud and nothing in the primaries.

3. what is your opinion on war?
i don't think i'm informed enough to give an overarching opinion, but i think the current war is entirely wrong, and that eventually we'll all get ours for choosing another four years of moral depravity.

4. animal testing and hunting?
mixed feelings on animal testing. unless it's for sustenance, and thereby justified by the natural order, hunting is completely ridiculous, self-indulgent and inhumane. it's also a cornerstone of the nra's rationale, and the nra are, as you may recall, some of my least favorite people on the continent.

5. are you a peace activist?
like i said, i don't think i'm informed enough to lead an overarching campaign against war. but i could certainly contribute to one, and probably should sometime.

6. do you love nature and all animals?
except for poison ivy and the suriname toad, which i understand to be integral to their respective ecosystems anyway, i love nature.

7. do you listen to a lot of indie?
not especially.

8. do you play acoustic guitar?
i believe i just answered this one.

9. are you a strong believer in peace?
not a strong one, no. but i'd choose it over conflict any day.

*****

He means to ask, of course. He's sure she wants this over and done with as much as he does, and while he can imagine her hypothetical horror at being sliced open by an untrained island caveman, he assumes she'll think it's best.

She isn't in the shelter when he steps inside. Kailani is fast asleep on her tummy, arms and legs splayed out like the points of a pajama-clad star, but he hides the supplies anyway. The alcohol, the knives, the sewing kit. Should she awaken suddenly, it would only be a memory for her to repress later.

He checks the spring next, and there she is, stretched out on her side. She isn't crying; he'd recognize the shuddery movements of her shoulder blades, and she is still. Not moving at all, in fact. Breathing shallowly, and with her arms at a strange angle, as if by accident, not design.

He looks to the bush next, notices the bare patch where there are dark glossy leaves but no berries. He is hardly shocked, and approaches her slowly, letting the tears glide down his face.

He sits beside her and lifts the hem of her top.