Caffeine Fix

“Last call for Flight 667 bound for Canberra.”

That was the last thing I remembered hearing before waking up on the godforsaken island covered in sand, grime, and… could it be… yes, seaweed.

What was I thinking? I, Kathleen Robuck, who had avoided airline flight since the tragedies of 9/11, had actually decided to take a vacation that required air travel. I could have enjoyed a nice relaxing month on the beach with a couple of good books, but no! I had to travel! I wanted to see Australia! The nice temperate weather of L.A. just wasn’t good enough for me! I had to get out, meet new people and make new friends, yada-yada-yada.

Sitting on a large piece of driftwood I contemplated the situation. Where is everyone? Did the plane crash? Why couldn’t I remember more than my name and where I was going? How long had I been there? And again, where was everyone else since it had supposedly been such a packed flight I couldn’t even exchange for a window seat?

If the plane crashed, why didn’t I even remember getting on the plane?

I remembered the boarding call. I was trying to finish off the last of my cinnamon-vanilla latte as I was digging through my purse for my driver’s license. Somehow it had disappeared between airport security and the boarding gate – not unusual for me. I had searched through my pockets quickly. I found my travel itinerary, which had been folded and unfolded at least 200 times and had permanent creases, in my right back pocket. In my right front pocket I found a Kleenex that may or may not have been used. A small spiral notebook and pen were in my left back pocket because I never knew when I would have an idea for a story pop into my head. Lastly, a pack of gum that had seen better days was in my left front pocket along with my driver’s license. “Ahhh, there you are!” I exclaimed as I reached into the pocket pulling my now almost bent in half driver’s license out and sighing with frustration.

That’s all… that’s all I remember.

Taking inventory, I double checked myself to make sure there were no immediate injuries to further worry my mind. No pain, no broken bones, no scratches, no scrapes, no obvious head injury. Besides some dirt on my clothes, nothing appeared to be wrong with me. I stood and did a 360 degree turn in the sand trying to look at my backside for any blood or obvious tears in my clothing. Nothing. Well, I guess that’s good, I thought.

So why couldn’t I remember how I got there?

About that time, I did have one symptom that I recognized very easily – my stomach rumbling. “When was the last time I ate?” I wondered aloud. That would be breakfast, at 5:00 AM, before I left my apartment for the airport. Checking my watch, a 21st birthday present from my mother, I saw that it was almost 8:00 pm. My flight was supposed to have departed more than 12 hours earlier! I had lost 12 full hours of my life!

I plopped back down on my driftwood bench. “So now what,” I said to myself.

I need a plan, I thought. I didn’t know where I was at, how I had gotten there, or how to get home. I was all alone with no means of food, water or shelter.

One of my annoying habits according to my ex-boyfriend (and don’t get me started on that story) is playing with my hair. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had unruly, curly brown locks just past my shoulders, but for some reason, I always wear it up in a ponytail. Every day I put a colored ribbon that matches that day’s outfit around the ponytail. That ribbon in my hair, the locket my grandmother gave me for my 16th birthday and the watch from my mother, are the only girly items that I ever wear. As I sat on my driftwood bench, I played with my ponytail thinking, first things first. I needed to find food and water.

Food and water seemed to be the least of my worries as I noticed water had started lapping at my feet while I sat there. I compromised with my growling stomach and figured that a dry spot away from the water was more urgent at that particular moment. So I walked just a few feet up from the water. I noticed there was the perfect cluster of trees and with a little work I could make it into a suitable shelter for the few hours that I would be stuck before someone came looking for me; at least for the plane that I was sure I had been on at some point.

I managed to pull my driftwood bench over to my tree shelter and stood up to survey my work. It wasn’t too shabby. Not as nice as my comfortable sofa at home, but better than sitting in the sand and dirt. Then I decided that I needed to find some food.

I looked up and to my surprise I had planted my driftwood bench right under a fig tree. Figs would definitely not be my first choice, but right then I didn’t have a lot of room to be a picky eater. They looked ripe enough. I was feeling kind of lucky to have so easily found nourishment. I sat down to enjoy my fig dinner and to think about my next plan of action.

Once my stomach was somewhat satisfied, I sat there just twirling my ponytail around my hand and thinking about what I should do. I suddenly noticed something shiny rolling in with the tide. I sat there watching as the water moved in and then back out, in and then back out carrying the shiny token of my attention in and out with it. Moving towards the water I thought it might be a part of the plane. Getting closer I realized that it was just a piece of trash.

Damn litterbugs. Even stranded on a deserted island I felt right at home.

Being the environmentally friendly person that I am, I decided to rescue the trash from the water. I waded down to the water’s edge and waited for the water to come to me again, bringing whatever was floating on the surface with it. To my surprise it was just an old bottle. I could see that it didn’t have any writing or labels; just a plain clear bottle. I reached in quickly as it came towards me, but only managed to fall to my knees as the water rushed out quicker than I had imagined. Again the water came rolling toward shore and I waited… waited… timing it just right to reach down and grab the neck of the bottle before it returned with the tide.

Now slightly wet from my clumsiness retrieving the bottle, I sat in my make-shift shelter and leaned back against my driftwood bench to enjoy some beach time. I again started to survey the contents of my pockets. It’s another bad habit that has been with me ever since I can remember. I stick everything in my pockets. This time, however, I came up with the same contents as I remembered from before boarding the plane except for my driver’s license, which I must have stuck back in my purse.

I did have my little notebook and pen, however. Luckily my little fight with retrieving the bottle from the tide had not caused me to get too wet and the notebook was still pretty much dry and usable. I sat there looking through the past few day’s worth of notes that I’d made. I chuckled to myself as I read one of the items I had written the day before while having my morning coffee at the corner café. The most awful woman had come in and ordered. She was so rude to the young girl at the counter that I almost felt sorry for the employee who had never seemed to crack a smile even at me. Then the funniest thing happened as the woman walked out of the shop with her grande double cappuccino. She stumbled about a foot away from the door and the coffee went flying into a trash can. She could never have done it if she had tried, but I witnessed it with my own eyes. It appeared that she had broken a heel on one of her $300 pair of suede shoes. Oh pity! Karma is such a wonderful thing.

Sitting there I was so bored that I wanted to scream. I am not a sit-and-entertain myself type of girl. I didn’t have my laptop, so I couldn’t write. I didn’t have my iPod, so I couldn’t listen to music. I didn’t even have a book to read and I pretty much would have settled for just about any subject at that point – even an old Science textbook, which was the one class that I absolutely despised in high school.

A thought popped into my head. “No, that sounds too TV.” I said to myself. Too many movies, commercials and sitcoms have used the old “note in a bottle” thing for too many years.

But what could it hurt? So I sat there with my little notebook trying to decide what to say.

“Help! Stranded on deserted island!”

No, too obvious I thought as I turned the page to another blank sheet.

“I am here all alone on this beach in need of companionship. Please help.”

Laughing out loud to myself I turned the page again, thinking, how pitiful!

“Young, beautiful, cinnamon-latte loving woman who was supposed to be on Flight 667 bound for Canberra in desperate need of caffeine fix. Send help (and caffeine) to deserted island beach. Thank you!”

I sat and read it over and over again. Pretty much exact and to the point, I thought. I ripped the page out of my little notebook and rolled it into a tight cylinder. I then pulled the ribbon from my ponytail and tied it around the note in a little bow. I picked up the discarded bottle smiling and thinking to myself how inventive a way to recycle and slid the note down into the bottle. Taking the gum from my pocket, I chewed two pieces just enough to make them squishy and then corked the bottle tight; at least as tight as two pieces of chewed gum allowed.

“It won’t be completely waterproof, but maybe it will make it to the next island”, I said to myself.

Standing at the water’s edge I threw the bottle as far as my arm allowed. It flew through the air like an arrow and landed in the water about 100 feet from shore. Not too shabby for a girl, huh.

The sun was turning a beautiful pinkish orange and was starting to slowly sink into the water where my note and bottle had landed. I stood there with only a small hint of worry as darkness came. The stars came out one by one. I had never seen a more beautiful sunset or sky. I made my way back up to my make-shift shelter, curled up at my driftwood bench using it as a pillow and laid there staring at the sky and out at the water. I must have dozed off, but I was warm and I felt protected somehow there in the middle of nowhere.

“Attention. The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign and we are preparing for landing. Please bring your seats to the upright position and replace your tray tables.”

As I woke from my strange dream the flight attendant asked me to please buckle my seat belt.


Word Count: 1982