a.k.a.
The Love Story of Skinny Mulligan and Florence Oppenheimer

That evening, Gilligan and Mary Ann stood in the center of what Gilligan had finally deemed the perfect clearing. They had spent the last hour dragging pounds of supplies back and forth across the island to find the ideal spot.

If Gilligan was going to go camping, he was going to do it right.

As soon as they entered this particular clearing, Mary Ann saw his eyes widen and knew they had found the one. She dropped everything in a pile before he could find something wrong with the area and made herself comfortable on a nearby rock.

Mary Ann had to admit that the spot was gorgeous. The clearing was almost a perfect circle, surrounded on all sides by towering trees. The canopy broke here to allow for stargazing, which Gilligan had explained was a required camping activity, along with telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows (which she had to remind him that they didn't have) and playing games and staying up all night.

The clearing was far enough away from camp to give them the full camping experience, but still close enough so that the others agreed to let them go without too much of a fight. If tonight was the night, they wanted everyone together.

That afternoon when they returned from their safari, Mr. Howell was pacing irritably outside the hut, demanding to know why his wife didn't charge them a rental fee for the clothes and equipment. Mrs. Howell sighed as he wore a path in the sand and gently reminded him that he can't take it with him.

When Mary Ann took Gilligan's list from her pocket and announced that they were going camping that night, the first mate's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. He ran into the hut and reappeared not ten seconds later in his own clothes again and struggling to carry everything they'd need, and a few things they probably wouldn't, for a night in the wilderness.

Mrs. Howell was naturally scandalized and insisted that they couldn't go without a chaperone. She immediately volunteered her husband, who stamped his foot in the sand and retreated to the hut. Mrs. Howell watched Gilligan try to untangle himself from his fishing pole and gently took Mary Ann's elbow. "Darling, I know you want to experience everything before the time comes, but ... try not to experience everything, alright?"

Mary Ann stared at her for a moment before her mouth fell open in shock. "Mrs. Howell!"

Ginger stifled a giggle in her hand and the older woman shrugged nonchalantly. "It's perfectly natural to want to get the most out of life, especially when you're young."

Mary Ann gaped at her. "Mrs. Howell! That's not on my list!"

Ginger shrugged. "Maybe it should be."

"What's not on your list?" Gilligan's head popped up from behind his duffle bag, one foot stuck up in the air and tangled in his fishing line.

"Never mind, Gilligan."

"Oh, I remember!" he suddenly exclaimed and Ginger arched one eyebrow. "You told me something yesterday that you didn't write on your list."

Mary Ann felt her face redden and she willed the ground beneath her feet to open up and swallow her whole. "Never mind, Gilligan."

But Ginger was smiling. "What was it?" she asked.

"Don't you remember, Mary Ann? You said you wanted to get married and experience true love and have a baby." Gilligan grinned proudly at his sharp memory, straightened his hat, and concentrated on untangling his foot from the fishing line. "I told her we probably wouldn't have time for that," he added and Mary Ann lowered her head, pith helmet sliding slowly down over her eyes.

"Gilligan, dear," Mrs. Howell called, patting Mary Ann's arm comfortingly. "You will be pitching separate tents tonight, won't you?"

"Oh, sure, Mrs. Howell."

As Mrs. Howell nodded and led Mary Ann away, Ginger slid up onto the edge of the table and perched there, watching Gilligan extract his foot from the fishing line. She crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee. When the first mate was finally free, he stood up straight and flinched when he discovered her sitting there watching him so intently.

"Hi, Ginger."

Ginger slid off the table in one fluid movement and was in front of him in an instant. She smiled mischievously. "You better stay in your own tent tonight, mister." The movie star tapped him playfully on the nose and glided away, her ringing laughter floating back on the breeze.

Mrs. Howell had led Mary Ann away under the pretense of collecting her safari gear, but instead proceeded to give her all sorts of what she thought was helpful motherly advice. Mary Ann said nothing, horrified, and tried to ignore Mrs. Howell's whispered counsel and conspiratorial nudges. Mr. Howell was pacing behind the blanket wall clearing his throat and dropping things to drown out the one-sided conversation in the next room.

Now Mary Ann sat on the rock on the edge of their campsite, chin cradled in her palm, watching Gilligan try to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together. "Why don't you just use your matches?"

"Because then it's not camping."

"I promise not to report you."

"No, it has to count."

Mary Ann sighed. One of the sticks snapped and Gilligan's momentum drove the sharp end into his palm and he yelped. He tossed it aside onto a steadily growing pile of other broken sticks and retrieved a new one. "Can I help? I was a Girl Scout, you know."

Gilligan straightened up and stared at her. He looked insulted. "Mary Ann. I was in the Navy." He bent over the structure he had built of twigs and leaves again. He had spent half an hour building it, all the while describing the precise specifications for the perfect campfire.

"Forgive me. I'm sure there were lots of fires aboard ship."

Gilligan was now blowing onto a tiny wisp of smoke that had appeared from the depths of his twig teepee. He huffed and puffed and encouraged the gray curl until he made himself lightheaded and toppled over. But the work was done and the leaves began to smolder, the twigs catching soon after.

"I had to learn how to do a lot of stuff." Gilligan sat down beside Mary Ann on the rock. "How to build a fire. How to tie all those crazy knots. How to pitch a swell tent." Gilligan gestured to the two tents he had constructed out of extra sheets.

"They're gorgeous," Mary Ann offered and he grinned. He looked enormously proud of himself, but, truthfully, the tents were a little lopsided and a little rickety, but they had a certain offbeat backwoods charm and it was better than sharing the communal hut with six other people.

Tonight Mary Ann had her own personal space with a pillow and extra blankets and she could lie with her head outside the tent and gaze into the heavens. Gilligan's identical tent stood beside hers and he had already filled it with snacks and an interesting rock he found on their walk and some comic books in case they got bored.

But Gilligan highly doubted that they'd get bored. He had big plans for tonight.

After they fully set up camp and unpacked and had a proper camping dinner cooked over the fire, Gilligan announced that it was time for dessert and Mary Ann had to remind him yet again that they didn't have any marshmallows for roasting. So Gilligan announced that it was time for ghost stories instead and then looked immediately apprehensive at the mere mention of the word "ghost."

Mary Ann told him a story that the Skipper had told them one night around the bonfire after Gilligan had already gotten scared and gone to bed – with the lantern on, of course. It was about a native cannibal chief who was so evil that his own cannibal tribesmen turned on him. But they were too superstitious to eat him, so they buried him way up in the mountains of this island and every full moon – here Gilligan peeked up into the sky to make sure it wasn't a full moon – his ghost got hungry. It was bizarre and didn't make much sense, but she loved to watch him pretend not to be scared, to play the big strong man character and boast that he'd protect her from anything and then jump three feet in the air every time a bird squawked in the jungle.

Gilligan then told her a ghost story about a ninja and a caterpillar. The tale had plot holes big enough to drive a bus through, but she played along and pretended to be scared at the appropriate parts so that he could puff out his chest some more and tell her not to worry, that it was only a story, but if it were real then he'd be there to protect her.

Later that night as they lay in their separate tents talking a little about everything and a lot about nothing, the magnitude of their adventure over the past few months finally hit her. Mary Ann lay on her stomach on her makeshift blanket mattress, her head and shoulders outside of the tent and her chin resting on her hands. The fire glowed orange in front of them and the moon shone brightly overhead. Gilligan was babbling on about something next door.

Mary Ann felt like a gypsy or a traveler in an old fashioned wagon train, living only with whatever could be packed quickly and carried with them. She would be the mysterious fortune teller or the adorable schoolteacher and Gilligan would be the magician who never quite got his tricks right or the scout with a big floppy hat who fell off his horse.

"Mary Ann?"

His voice jarred her from her thoughts. He was watching her with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry. What?"

"It's my turn."

"Oh, okay. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare!" he yelled, grinning and watching her expectantly.

Mary Ann's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Okay. Um ... go climb that tree over there." Gilligan screwed his face up in disapproval and she sighed. "You know I'm no good at Dare, Gilligan. Pick Truth."

"I don't want to," he pouted. "I know what you're gonna ask me."

Mary Ann rolled onto her side so she could watch him properly and bunched her pillow up under her ear. "Who's A.M. and why do you want to dance with them?"

Gilligan stared up at the stars, his hands folded over his stomach. Mary Ann could tell that he was on the verge of actually saying something pertinent, so she waited. "I don't," he finally admitted. "Not anymore. It's just something that happened a while ago that always kinda bothered me. Truth or Dare?" he asked before she could ask any more questions.

"Truth."

Gilligan sighed dramatically. "You always say Truth."

"That's because your dares are scary and dangerous. I'm not going to poke Gladys and then run away."

"But you flew this morning."

"And it was scary and dangerous."

Mary Ann wasn't sure if Gilligan was aware of how long he paused before speaking sometimes. It was usually before he said something inadvertently profound or so simple and truthful that it froze you in your tracks and made you rethink every choice you've ever made. When he spoke next, his voice was low and reverent, like he was divulging the greatest secret on earth. "But once you fly, you can do anything."

Mary Ann got the impression that he was concerned that she hadn't realized this on her own, that he had taught her to fly incorrectly and it didn't take. "Truth, Gilligan," she reminded him.

"You really wanna get married, don't you?"

"Well ... sure. Doesn't everyone?"

"I guess." He was quiet for a long time. "If we had a week left instead of a day ... I'd marry you."

"Thanks, Gilligan."

"I mean it."

Gilligan then gave her the most sincere look she'd ever seen and Mary Ann's heart ballooned, flooding with feelings for her life, her experiences, her best friend – gratitude, love, premature loss.

"I know," she whispered.

"I want to do everything you want to do. Even if you didn't write it down."

Gilligan noticed her looking at him strangely, almost pained, so he grinned his goofiest grin, the one he knew always made her laugh – and she did. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to the stars twinkling above them.

"Skinny Mulligan and Florence Oppenheimer experienced true love," he blurted casually. Mary Ann's eyes widened, but Gilligan didn't seem fazed and he sailed blithely on. "Florence's dad went crazy and chased Skinny all over town." Gilligan laughed. "He hid in my tree house for a week."

Mary Ann frowned. "What are you talking about?" She didn't want to ask, just in case, but she was never sure that he was talking about what she thought he was talking about.

Gilligan turned and their eyes met. "True love," he answered simply and looked away again.

Mary Ann wanted to find out what he meant, but she didn't want to ask – just in case he was actually talking about something that she didn't want all the gory details of. But apparently this was such a good story that Gilligan continued without prompting.

"Skinny had kinda liked Florence for a while and he was real embarrassed about it, but when we were thirteen he got more serious. She was our friend for a long time and she always gave him her dessert and told him how wonderful he was when he answered a question in class. His answers were always wrong, too. It was disgusting and Skinny would just kinda laugh and then hit his head on his locker. One day he came over my house and he was acting really strange and said he needed somewhere to hide from Mr. Oppenheimer. He was all jittery and excited, but every once in a while he'd stare off into space with this dumb look on his face and I'd have to yell at him to get him back. I thought he was dying, but ..."

Gilligan rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, as if afraid that Skinny would appear and bawl his best buddy out for revealing all his mushy secrets. By this point, Mary Ann was entranced. She was lying on her stomach, hanging halfway out of her tent only about a foot away from him, hugging her pillow under her chin and listening intently.

"But ... he told me he just experienced true love. I started to make fun of him, but I never saw him so serious." Gilligan shook his head. "He said he walked Florence home like usual. And he was telling her about some animal he saw or a good comic book he read or something and all of a sudden she reached out –"

Gilligan reached out and laid his hand down in the grass between them, palm up. Mary Ann looked down at it lying in the grass in front of her.

"– and she took his hand –"

Mary Ann wanted to, but she clutched her pillow to keep her own hand safely to herself. Gilligan studied his palm, brow furrowing slightly as he watched his fingers twitch.

"– and she held it."

He looked up at Mary Ann, who was completely mesmerized.

"For no reason."

Gilligan pulled his arm back, tucking it safely under his chin and he made himself comfortable in the grass, staring into the fire.

"So after that Skinny was feeling pretty brave. Florence held his hand all the way to her house and by the time they got there, Skinny decided that he was gonna kiss her. So he did. And then her dad came outside and chased him across town with a baseball bat." Gilligan laughed at the memory of Skinny barging into his house and locking the door, pulling Gilligan down below the window and the two of them watching as Mr. Oppenheimer stalked, squinty-eyed and clutching the bat, up and down the street for half an hour.

"They were still together when we got shipwrecked. I hope they get married, even though I won't get to go." He shrugged sadly. "But that was their first kiss – before they broke the World Kissing Record." Gilligan paused and peered sidelong at Mary Ann. She was still listening intently. "He said he could tell it was true love. I still remember what he told me it felt like. Do you want to know what he said?"

Mary Ann nodded.

"He said it felt like he got punched in the gut." He frowned. "Or was that because Florence punched him in the gut afterwards?" Gilligan shrugged again, dismissing this. "Anyway, Skinny said it felt really weird. He said he was tingly all over, like pins and needles everywhere. Even his toes tingled. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see straight. He couldn't think. He could barely stand up."

Gilligan stared into the fire. He squinted a little and Mary Ann could tell he was thinking very hard. She was always fascinated by the things that stuck with him. He remembered this very clearly for some reason and it was obvious that he thought about it on occasion.

"Skinny said he felt like his legs would give out from under him, but also that he could float away without them. I don't know how you can feel all those different things at the same time, but that's what he said. It was weird and scary and fantastic all at once. He said there were a million butterflies inside him ready to lift him up. That's what true love feels like," he concluded sincerely. "Like flying."

Gilligan turned to her. Mary Ann was watching him in awe. She suddenly had the overpowering urge to grab him and see if Skinny was telling the truth. She was close enough to just lean forward and kiss him, but she gripped her pillow tighter and swallowed hard, pushing the desire deep down inside her.

"Is that what you want?"

Mary Ann nodded again. "I want to fly," she whispered.

Gilligan smiled. "But we flew this morning." His brow furrowed then and he glanced away, pondering this and seeming to realize for the first time that he'd taken something literally that wasn't meant to be. He shrugged and shook his head a little before grinning again. "Guess what Skinny said to Florence when it was over." Gilligan waited for her to guess, but Mary Ann kept watching him intensely. "He said, 'Ow.'"

"Ow?"

"He kissed her and then he said 'ow.' Because it felt like he got electrocuted." Gilligan suddenly smirked. "I think that's when she punched him in the gut."