"I know it's around here somewhere." Gilligan mumbled to himself as he opened the weaved-palm and bamboo cupboard and peeked inside. He quickly closed it again. "Not in there." He moved over to the far corner of the hut to the conglomeration of wooden planks that passed for a closet and swept the curtain aside. "Maybe it's in here. Why does Mary Ann have to keep organizing things?" The closet was stacked about chest high with boxes and crates, some filled with Gilligan's collections, others with tools or supplies. On top sat the Skipper's old sea chest.
"What are you looking for?"
Gilligan jumped at the unexpected voice from behind him. He whirled around, a hand on his thudding chest. "Oh, it's you, Skipper. You scared me."
"Of, course it's me." The Skipper huffed, feigning indignance. "Who'd you think it was?"
Gilligan shrugged with a mischievous grin. "Bigfoot?"
"Very funny."
"Oh, here it is!" Gilligan bent down where the mouth of his canvas duffle bag peeked out from beneath the pile of supplies. Before the Skipper could stop him he grabbed the nylon pull-strings and gave them a hard yank. The bag popped out and half a second later a cascade of boxes tumbled from the closet. The Skipper's sea chest hit the ground with a heavy 'thunk' at their feet, popping the lid open and spilling it's contents all over the sandy floor.
"Whoops." Gilligan said with a nervous laugh.
"Gilligan!"
The first mate dropped to his knees and quickly righted the old box. "Don't worry, Skipper. I'll pick it up."
"Never mind!" The Skipper bellowed as he bent and began stuffing things back into the container.
"It's okay. I've got it." Gilligan insisted as he plucked a handful of papers off the floor. There were a couple envelopes and the Skipper's little black book. He began to put them back into the box when a piece of paper slipped from the pile and fluttered to the ground. "Hey, what's this?" He lifted the old, faded photograph from the sand and brought it close. "Is this you?" Gilligan stared in disbelief. The Skipper's smile was unmistakable. He stood on a grassy lawn in front of a quaint little house. Only one stripe adorned his white Navy uniform. He wasn't looking at the camera but at the tiny dark-haired baby he cradled in his arms. "I didn't know you were ever that skinny." Gilligan teased.
"Give me that!" The Skipper snatched the picture away so quickly it gave Gilligan a paper cut.
The first mate brought his finger up to examine the injury, then decided it wasn't worth his attention. "I didn't know you like babies, Skipper. Is he your nephew or somethin'?"
"None of your business!" The Skipper shouted, slamming the sea chest closed as he got to his feet.
Gilligan flinched at the unexpected outburst. Generally the Skipper loved relating stories about his past, always with exaggerated descriptions of his own heroism. The young man had expected a story, not an explosion. He scrambled to his feet in confusion. "Sorry, Skipper. I didn't mean—"
"Beat it Gilligan!"
"B-but…"
"Get out of here!" Gilligan stumbled backwards, blown over by the Skipper's anger. With every word the big man's face turned another shade of red and his voice rose several decibels. "Check the lobster traps or something. Just get out! That's an ORDER!" The last word thundered across the island as the Skipper thrust a violent finger toward the door.
Gilligan's heart pounded as he scrambled back, wondering what he possibly could have done. The intensity of the Skipper's fury made him seem several times as large as he actually was and at that moment Gilligan was sure that if he didn't get out of his way he would be in pain very soon. His feet kicked up sand as he tried to run backward, not having the presence of mind to actually turn around. A wrong step and an errant shoelace sent him tumbling to the ground. The next second he sprung up and bolted for the door.
The Skipper glared at the open door, knuckles clenched white and jaw muscles pulsing. He stood like that for a long moment until something inside gave way. His broad shoulders sagged as he let out a huge breath. He fell into the nearest chair, resting both elbows on the table. A lump swelled in his throat as he gazed at the faded picture. Tears rimmed his eyes as a finger caressed the image of the smiling, dark-haired child he had held in his arms so very long ago.