A Long Winter's Nap
Mary Ann's eyes fluttered open and she blinked, disoriented by the bright sunlight. Her back hurt and she realized that she had fallen asleep on the bamboo lounge chair in the clearing. She didn't remember falling asleep. She remembered that she and Gilligan listened to the end of The Nutcracker on the radio and then realized guiltily that she probably passed out on him in mid-conversation. Gilligan was gone now, but the blanket from his hammock was spread carefully over her.
She shifted and winced, her arms numb in their awkward position. Mary Ann had both of her arms wrapped around herself, tightly hugging the sailor doll. She sat up slowly, rubbed her head, and tried to stretch out the stiffness in her back.
It was quiet, but it seemed too late for no one to be up yet. Mary Ann tossed back the blanket and stood. All the presents were still wrapped and stacked beneath their tropical tree. She was staring blankly at one of the little origami swans hanging from the tree – Andrew Jackson's face spread across one wing – when she heard a booming voice behind her.
"Well, look who's up!" Mary Ann turned to see the Skipper emerge from his hut and stride toward her, a jolly smile spread across his face. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart!" In an instant, Mary Ann found herself swept up in the Skipper's massive arms and he was spinning her in an exuberant circle.
Mary Ann laughed over his shoulder and saw the other castaways emerging from their huts as she swung past. "Merry Christmas, Skipper!"
The captain set her gently on her feet and laughed. "Gilligan wouldn't let us come out to open our presents until you woke up!" The Skipper eyed the doll she held. "Although I see he made an exception for you."
"Yeah, she fought dirty," Gilligan offered as he appeared behind the captain. "She made the face." Gilligan demonstrated a wildly exaggerated pout accompanied by the obligatory puppy dog eyes.
The Skipper sighed at the first mate's horrific imitation. "I'm sure it looked cuter on you," he reassured Mary Ann before shoving Gilligan lightly. "Knock it off and hand me a present to open!"
"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan plopped down under the tree and began distributing gifts to the other six castaways. He handed Ginger the first one and she peered at the tag.
"Ooh, Professor!" she squealed, "You shouldn't have!" Ginger batted thick lashes at him and clutched the still wrapped present to her chest.
From under the tree, Gilligan sighed grandly. "Well, geez, Ginger, you didn't even open it yet. But if you don't want it, we can give it to somebody else. Don't take it personally, Professor."
Ginger swatted him away as he tried to take the box back. "Gilligan, stop!"
"It's just an expression, Gilligan." The Professor physically pulled him away from Ginger and deposited him on the bench beside the Skipper, who promptly hit him with his hat.
"Gilligan! Hand me a present and that's an order!"
"Yes, sir." Gilligan nodded and dove back under the tree, surfacing with a small package. "This one's from me."
The Skipper's grin was big and genuine as he took the gift. "Well, thanks, little buddy!"
"It's your pocket knife," Gilligan announced proudly before the Skipper could open it. Mary Ann clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter and Ginger hid her amused smile in the brand new hand mirror the Professor made for her. The Skipper looked lost at sea for a moment before frowning.
Mrs. Howell shook her head sadly. "Oh, Gilligan, don't you know it's terribly improper to give someone something that they already have? Especially if it's the exact same something that they had before you gave it to them?"
"Except money, of course, Lovey, dear!" Mr. Howell interjected. He held up the box of bills from his wife that he just unwrapped and laughed heartily.
"Oh, well, of course." Mrs. Howell dismissed this with a wave of her opera-gloved hands as her husband kissed her on the cheek.
The Skipper, meanwhile, glanced over at the doll in Mary Ann's lap. Gilligan had worked on it for four months, ambushing the Skipper every other day with another question. How many stripes did the officers have? What exactly does the Purple Heart medal look like? Why is the heart purple? Should he give the sailor one of those stereotypical "Mom" heart tattoos just for fun?
The captain then looked down at his present – his own pocket knife. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, little buddy, but ... what's the big idea?"
Gilligan looked crestfallen. "What do you mean? That's your favorite pocket knife. Remember how you lost it over the summer? I remember because you complained about it for three weeks and blamed me for losing it for four weeks. You were real upset about it. I looked for it every day and finally found it last month. I cleaned it up and polished it and made sure all the tools work. I even whittled a new toothpick for it. See?" The first mate picked up the knife and pulled the tiny toothpick from one side.
The Skipper looked both hopelessly guilty and deeply touched. He stammered for a few seconds. "That's right. I'd completely forgotten. I'm sorry, Gilligan. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Skipper." Gilligan grinned and returned to the tree. "And I already know what I'm getting you for your birthday, too."
"You do?"
"Yeah. While I was looking for your pocket knife, I lost your compass."
The castaways spent the rest of the day admiring their gifts and enjoying each other's company. Mary Ann's new doll was the center of attention and Ginger cooed over it until Gilligan got embarrassed and tried to convince everyone that the Professor's new bamboo beakers were even more fascinating.
That night, Mary Ann realized that she hadn't properly thanked Gilligan for her present. He had wandered off after dinner, so she set out to find him. She eventually ended up at the clearing from her dream and stopped just within the trees when she saw Gilligan standing in the moonlight spotlight. She watched his back as he stood perfectly still facing the trail that her family had disappeared down in her dream.
She thought she heard Gilligan whispering and she quietly entered the clearing. "What are you doing?" she asked as she appeared beside him.
Gilligan looked caught for a moment, but not necessarily surprised to see her. "Truth?" he asked, part of him hoping that she'd prefer him to lie. But Mary Ann nodded and he looked back to the trail. "I'm talking to your mom."
Mary Ann looked taken aback and her mouth opened with no plans of what to say. Finally she managed, "What?"
Gilligan sighed. "I had a dream last night." He had no idea how he'd explain this so that she wouldn't think he was either completely insane or mocking her. "She gave me a job. She ... she asked me to do her a favor. I just came here to tell her not to worry."
"Oh." Mary Ann was quiet and Gilligan was surprised that she didn't ask him what his assignment was. He sensed that she already knew. "I had a dream about her, too," she finally offered.
"You did?" Gilligan looked adorably worried and Mary Ann smiled reassuringly.
"It's okay. It was a good one."
"Good." Gilligan nodded and returned to watching the trail, as if he was waiting for someone to actually appear. "She was pretty."
Mary Ann smiled. "She liked you."
Mary Ann pulled her sweater tighter around her body and looked around the clearing. The shaft of moonlight shining perfectly through the opening in the canopy above their heads illuminated a flawless circle of soft grass beneath their feet. The bright colors around them were muted in the darkness, but vivid greens, oranges, and purples surrounded the clearing, a sharp contrast from the stark pure white of her dreams.
Everything is as it's supposed to be.
Mary Ann joined Gilligan in watching the trail. "Thank you," she finally whispered.
"You're welcome."
They stood side by side in silence for a long time. Then, without discussion, they took the trail, heading back to camp the long way.
"Your dad's kinda scary, though," Gilligan admitted softly as they entered the trees, as if Henry Summers were still there on the trail and could hear him and would show up to prove him right.
Mary Ann laughed. "No, he's not. He just never got to intimidate any teenage boys with his gun."
Gilligan gulped and his voice cracked. "He has a gun?"
Mary Ann burst out laughing as Gilligan spun on his heel. "Where are you going?" she demanded as he began striding back toward the clearing.
"To tell your mom I quit. What if you sprain your ankle? Or get a mosquito bite? I'm not getting shot over that!"
Mary Ann laughed harder and grabbed his arm to spin him back around. "Gilligan! Where's my hero?"
"On the shelf in your hut!" He pointed in the general direction of camp and used the momentum she created to pull him around to keep going until he had turned in a full circle – spinning Mary Ann around with him – to face the clearing again.
"Gilligan!" she managed again between giggles. "He can't hurt you!" Mary Ann finally got him facing the right direction, but held tight to his arm. "He wouldn't, anyway. You always take good care of me. Don't panic."
Mary Ann patted his arm comfortingly and Gilligan reluctantly let her lead him back to camp. He knew he was being irrational and he wouldn't even have to change his current behavior much to keep his promise, but his shoulders felt heavy with responsibility now and he didn't want to disappoint anyone. Even people he had never actually met and would never actually get to meet.
Sometimes he wished his dreams weren't so realistic.
Beside him, Mary Ann was smiling. "He wouldn't hurt you," she repeated, but then paused and smirked. "Uncle George might, though."
Gilligan skidded to a halt, digging his sneakers into the dirt.
Uncle George was very much alive.
Mary Ann laughed again and heaved on his arm, practically dragging him along behind her. "Come on!"
By the next holiday, which happened to be Valentine's Day, Mary Ann was eager to see if Gilligan would continue his doll-making tradition, but also wouldn't be surprised if he skipped this particular occasion. So when he showed up at her hut with a lily and a wrapped present and the most uncomfortable look she'd ever seen on his face, she couldn't help making him more uncomfortable by squealing with delight and pulling him inside.
Mary Ann laughed when she opened the box and saw Wrongway Feldman staring up at her, complete with scruffy beard and ivory aviator scarf, and knew that Gilligan had agonized over what would be the most unromantic doll he could possibly make. But she threw her arms around him anyway and he squirmed awkwardly, but hugged her back nonetheless.
For St. Patrick's Day, Mary Ann received a cowboy. His hat sat at a jaunty angle and he had a gun slung on his hip. Without the long lasso and tiny spurs, which kept getting tangled in one another, he looked remotely like a slightly scarier version of her father. She giggled and rolled her eyes when she realized this, but poor Gilligan seemed unaware of the results of his overactive subconscious.
For Easter, Mary Ann added another little girl doll to her collection. This one was a plucky blonde with an impish grin and dimples wearing her best Easter dress. Mary Ann knew that if this was the real-life Cindy Smith the dress would stay clean for a maximum of ten minutes – until she decided to climb a tree or chase a chicken.
One Sunday in May, Mary Ann returned to her hut to find a package from Gilligan on her cot. There was no note, no explanation, and it was wrapped much more simply than the others. She sat down and took the box in her lap. If she stared at it long enough, maybe it would tell her why it was here. After a few unenlightened moments, she sighed and carefully unwrapped the present.
Mary Ann lifted the lid and gasped sharply, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't know if she should smile or cry, so she settled on a combination of both. She gingerly lifted the doll from the box, almost afraid to touch it.
It was a ballerina.
In a gorgeous burnt orange tutu with dark pink and gold jewels that glittered brilliantly in the sunlight streaming through the window. On her head, a sparkling tiara peeked from a pile of dark curls. The tiny pink Pointe shoes looked suspiciously like her satin hair ribbons that had mysteriously disappeared from the Christmas tree when the castaways took down their improvised ornaments.
The ballerina stood in perfect third position and grinned up at Mary Ann, her chocolate eyes almost sparkling mischievously. The doll was as amazing as the others, but even more detailed, if possible. It must have taken him months to make. She even had tights on.
Mary Ann bit her lip and ran her fingers over the orange tutu. A salty drop of water fell onto the doll's cheek and Mary Ann wiped it away, hastily rubbing her palm under her eyes. She stood, sniffling, and turned to eye the shelf the Skipper built for the dolls. She reached up and gently placed the ballerina between the cowboy and the Mary Ann-looking doll in the little blue gingham dress. She looked at home there.
Mary Ann hadn't left her hut all day when Gilligan and Ginger showed up later that afternoon with a huge bouquet of flowers. The three youngest castaways took the flowers to Mrs. Howell, as they did every year, to thank her for taking such good care of them. Mrs. Howell always seemed surprised and incredibly moved as she took the bouquet and hugged them all tightly.
They knew that she always cried after they left, but of course would uphold the highest standards of propriety when in the presence of company. They also knew that she would never admit to it later, except maybe to her husband, who was very grateful that 'the children,' as she called them, very felt the same about her as she did about them.
It was only then, held close by the older woman, that Mary Ann realized why she had received the ballerina doll that day.
It was Mother's Day.
