9. A Little Equilibrium
The Professor awoke with a start, his head snapping up with a small gasp. He had been asleep he realized with a sudden horror. How could he have let this happen? With so much on the line he had allowed his determination to waver and had given in to physical weakness. How long had he slept? A horrible dread crept over him and he knew he had to check the time. What would he do if he was too late?
Glancing down at his watch he let out a breath of relief: 4:10. He hadn't been asleep long. But still, precious time had been lost. Dwelling on mistakes was counterproductive and he knew it. The logical approach was to learn from them and move on. But he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt knowing that he had been sleeping during such a crisis. He chastised himself for such lack of self-control.
The rest had certainly done him some good. He was still tired but the complete exhaustion that had earlier clouded his mind was gone. With both hands he shuffled through the papers that cluttered the island-made desk, scanning his notes with renewed vigor.
He had to get his mind back on track if he was to stop Gilligan's decent before it was too late. The Professor froze as the thought passed through his head. He turned to look at the machine, then back at his notes. "Stop his decent." He said aloud, hearing the words as well as thinking them. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that before?" He leaped from his chair and immediately began flipping switches.
4:45 PM day 2
"Hey, Skipper. Did you know 'ole Abe has a mole?" Gilligan sat, cross-legged on the table in their hut, examining a penny the size of a dinner plate.
The Skipper wasn't really listening. He was staring at his watch. Each tick brought seven o'clock a second closer. And every second the odds of his first mate's survival grew slimmer. It wasn't that he questioned the Professor's intelligence. The Skipper had no doubt that he would find a solution…eventually. The question was, could he do it in two hours. Every moment that went by it grew more likely that the resolution would come too late.
The Skipper swallowed hard. As much as he dreaded it, it was time to tell him. Gilligan had a right to know. "Gilligan…"
"Huh?" He looked up with innocent blue eyes, completely oblivious of the danger he was in.
"Little Buddy…there's…" He felt his voice catch. "There's something I need to tell you."
Gilligan's brows furrowed at the somber tone. He could tell that something was seriously wrong. "What's the matter Skipper?"
"Gilligan I…" He stumbled over his words, not even knowing where to begin. There was so much he wanted to tell his young friend but the weathered sea farer had never been good at expressing his feelings. "You remember when you got that oil well from Mr. Howell?"
"Yeah." Gilligan nodded slowly becoming more worried. He had never seen his captain act like this.
"And I told you that you were like a son to me."
"That's okay Skipper." He gave a small shrug. "Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it."
Gilligan's words sent a knife through his conscience. He should never have used something like that to influence Gilligan's judgment. "Well, that's just it, Little Buddy I…I did mean it. At least, I mean it now."
Gilligan's lips parted and his eyes widened in an expression that the Skipper could not quite read. He didn't reply, just stared.
"I know I blow my stack at you sometimes. But the truth is I'm glad to have you as a first mate." The words sounded awkward and somewhat sappy. At this point he didn't care. If the worst did come and he hadn't let Gilligan know just how he felt he would regret it for the rest of his life. "You've stuck by me through stormy seas and fair. You're one in a million, Little Buddy and…" He put a large hand behind Gilligan and rested his thumb on the young man's shoulder. "I couldn't have a better friend."
Gilligan was at a loss. So many emotions stirred inside of him he couldn't even identify them all. He had always admired the Skipper, looked up to him like a father. The captain of the Minnow was the strongest, bravest man he had ever met. To hear him speak with such emotion both moved and confused the first mate. "Gee, Skipper, I…well…I didn't know you felt that way. You're my best friend too." Was all he could think of to say. "But I don't understand. How come you're telling me this now?"
"I might not get another chance."
Gilligan frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Huh?"
He pursed his lips, bracing himself for what he was about to say. "Gilligan, Little Buddy you're shrinking…"
"You think I don't know that?"
"But if you keep shrinking…" But he didn't get any further. The Professor's urgent voice cut him off.
"Skipper, Gilligan, come here!"
"That's the Professor!" The Skipper shouted, leaping to his feet and nearly knocking over the table. Gilligan threw his arms out for balance, but fell on his backside anyway. "Maybe he's finally done it!" The big man hurried for the door.
"Skipper, WAIT!" Gilligan tried to follow but was stopped by the sheer drop at the edge of the table. He looked down and deliberately took a couple steps back, intimidated by a touch of vertigo.
"I'm sorry, Little Buddy." The Skipper said, turning back. "I guess I forgot." He laid his hand palm up on the surface of the table.
Gilligan climbed on and settled himself right in the center of the Skipper's hand. It was quite a comfortable seat, soft and the Skipper's body heat added an odd warmth. He held onto his hat as the Skipper hurried across the compound to the supply hut. The scenery seemed to whip buy as if they were moving really fast. It felt like he was cruising in his uncle's convertible. He wondered if the Skipper moved his hand up and down he'd have his own roller coaster. The thought made him smile.
The supply hut door swung open and the Professor motioned them in with an excited wave.
"Have you done it, Professor?" The Skipper asked anxiously. "Have you figured out how to make him big again?"
The Professor laughed and put a hand on the Skipper's shoulder. "I've been a fool. I can't believe I didn't see it before!" He looked down at the first mate, who was now standing in the captain's hand. "You were right Gilligan. All I needed was a little rest."
"Professor!"
The three of them turned to see Ginger and Mary Ann standing in the doorway and the Howell's peeking through the window.
"We heard you yell." Mary Ann said. "And we thought maybe…"
"Is it good news, Professor?" Mr. Howell interrupted.
The Professor nodded, a smile on his face. "Yes. Very good news."
"So you know how to make him big again?!" The Skipper gestured excitedly with both hands, nearly dropping Gilligan, who yelped and grabbed his thumb.
"No."
The Skipper's shoulders slumped and an air of disappointment passed through the group. "But I thought you had good news."
"I do. As of yet I haven't discovered how to return him to his natural height but I can make him stop shrinking."
A small cheer erupted from the excited castaways, with Gilligan being the loudest of all. "What are we waiting for?" The first mate asked. "If I get any smaller you won't be able to find me."
"Yes, you'll be knee high to a grasshopper." Mr. Howell added. "Now, get on with it, Professor."
The Professor too was eager to get on with the procedure. "Skipper, if you'll just put him on the table."
The captain nodded and lowered his hand so Gilligan could step onto the wooden surface.
Turning to the collection of spectators the Professor said: "This is a very complicated procedure and I would appreciate it if you would temporarily disperse."
Ginger and Mary Ann turned reluctantly. "Tell us when you're done, okay?"
"Thurston, I do believe we're being dismissed." Mrs. Howell said as her husband lead her away, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath.
"Do you want me to leave too, Professor?" The Skipper asked, hesitant to abandon his little buddy.
"No. You can stay. Just come back here." He beckoned the Skipper over and instructed him to stand behind the machine. "I don't want you getting in the way of the beam." He explained, tinkering with the controls.
"How'd you do it, Professor?" Gilligan asked.
The Professor smiled and shook his head. "It was so obvious I can't believe I missed it. You see, I've been trying to create an instantaneous reversal from decrease to increase. It didn't occur to me that I might have to arrest the reduction before I could even make an attempt at renlargement."
Gilligan frowned, looking thoroughly confused. " 'Arrest' it? Did it break the law?"
The Skipper rolled his eyes. "Oh, Gilligan. He means that he has to stop you from shrinking before he can try to make you grow again."
"Oh. Well, why didn't he just say so?"
The Professor finished whatever he had been doing to the machine and straightened. "Gilligan, I want you to just stand still, okay."
The first mate nodded. "Okay." He stared at the glass cylinder that topped the odd device. It was pointed straight at him and he felt as if he were staring down the barrel of some futuristic weapon. No matter what he knew it really was it still looked like a laser to him. Getting shot again by that thing was certainly not something he was looking forward to. But he supposed it was better than shrinking.
"Are you ready?" The Professor asked.
"I'm ready." The first mate answered, sounding anything but.
The Professor flipped a switch and the shrink ray began to hum. The sound rose quickly both in volume and pitch. Florescent colors raced back and forth in the transparent cylinder, getting faster with the rising sound.
"I'm not ready!" Gilligan shouted. "I'm not ready!"
Despite Gilligan's protest the device fired. A thin shaft of white light shot out, hitting Gilligan dead center. As it made contact the beam separated into colored strands that swirled around the frightened young man. The same tingling that he had felt before crawled over his body like ants. The beam was gone as quickly as it had appeared but the tingling lingered, joined by a sudden dizziness. He put a hand to his head and wobbled slightly. The world quickly stabilized before he had a chance to fall over.
"Are you alright, Little Buddy?" The Skipper asked
"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy for a second." He looked up at the Professor, who had also approached the table. "Did it work?"
"I don't know yet. Take off your hat and stand straight."
Gilligan did as he was told and the Professor held a ruler up behind him.
"3.8 inches." The Professor said as he wrote the number on the nearest piece of paper. "We'll measure you again in ten minutes and if you aren't any smaller we'll know it worked."
That ten minutes had seemed like an eternity…for everybody. Gilligan sat impatiently on the edge of the fruit bowl in the center of the communal table, his chin in his hands. Both Mr. Howell and the Skipper wore a trail in the sand from pacing, Mary Ann chewed the fingernail on her index finger down to the nub, Ginger's long nails tapped rhythmically on the table. It was quite an annoying sound but everyone was so preoccupied that they scarcely noticed. Mrs. Howell fidgeted with her rings and the Professor simply monitored his watch.
"It's time."
At the Professor's words all motion stopped and it felt as if one could cut the tension with a knife.
"Come here, Gilligan."
The first mate hopped down from the bowl, stood before the Professor and removed his hat. He didn't need to be told to stand straight as the ruler was held up behind him.
There was a moment of dead silence before a large smile broke across the Professor's face. "Exactly 3.8. It worked!"
There was a rousing cheer, Mary Ann applauded, the Skipper snatched off his hat with a flourish and waved it over his head and Mr. Howell raised a fist as if in a toast.
"This calls for a party!" Mary Ann said, rising from the table.
"Oh, boy!" Gilligan clapped his hands together. A party always meant one of Mary Ann's pies.
Mr. Howell rose as well. "I'll break out a bottle of bubbly."
"I love a good party!" Mrs. Howell exclaimed, twiddling her fingers excitedly as she followed her husband. After only a moment she paused, a thoughtful finger at her chin. "What hors d'oeuvres ought one serve at a 'you've stopped shrinking' party?"
"What else? Shrimp." The millionaire quipped instantly. Laughing sharply he slapped his leg. "That was a fast one."
"So Professor," Gilligan looked up at the resident genius. "Now that I'm not shrinking anymore when can you make me big again?"
The Professor smiled just a bit at the boy's eagerness and naivety. "I don't know. The renlargement process seems to have an entirely different set of controls. It will take me a lot of trial and error to achieve the right combination."
"Oh."
Gilligan's disappointment was clear and it urged the Professor to continue. "Even if I'm not able to ascertain a solution the owner of the machine ought to be here any day now and he will surely know how it works."
The first mate's face lit up. "Hey you're right!"
7:40 PM day 2
"This tuna casserole really hits the spot!" The Skipper shoveled another bite in his mouth.
Gilligan nodded vigorously, his mouth too full to comment. He sat comfortably on a spool of thread from Mary Ann's sewing kit. One of the Professor's large books served as a perfect table, on top of which sat a bottle cap overflowing with the girl's cooking and a thimble full of guava juice. He took a long swallow to wash down that last bite of lobster. "That's one thing I'm really going to miss when we're rescued."
"Mary Ann's cooking?"
Gilligan thought about it for a second and nodded slowly. "Well, yeah. But I meant free food."
The comment brought a tittering of laughter.
"So Gilligan," Mary Ann asked the little figure on the table. "What's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?"
"Call Mom. I haven't called in four years. She's probably wondering where I am by now."
The young brunette nodded. "Me too. I know my parents are worried sick about me."
"I'm calling my agent." Ginger offered. "So he can book my talk show appearances. After all, the return of Ginger Grant will be big news. What about you Mr. Howell?"
The millionaire frowned into his glass. "Raise the rents." Then he mumbled something about losing four years' inflation.
Mrs. Howell patted her blonde hair. "I'm going directly to Marcel's beauty parlor. Do you realize how long it's been since I've had a proper manicure?"
"Oh, I know!" Ginger agreed, displaying her fingernails as if that was supposed to tell them something.
"How 'bout you, Skipper?" Gilligan asked between bites.
The big man grinned. "I'm going straight to Charlie's Chum Bucket and order me a two inch thick steak…rare! No offense, Mary Ann but I'm dying to have some real meat."
"Carnivore." She said, feigning disgust.
His laugh nearly shook the table. He gave the Professor a slap on the back that nearly sent him face first into his plate. "And you?"
The high school teacher had taken a long rest, shaved and was now looking like his usual clean-cut self. "I'm going to publish my paper on the effects of social microcosm."
Six faces stared blankly at him. "What?"
"Nothing." He shook his head, smiling to himself as if amused by some personal joke.
After a moment of confused silence it was Mary Ann who spoke up. "Well, I hope you all saved room for dessert." She said as she rose from the table.
"You bet!" Gilligan said eagerly.
She came back moments later carrying a large pie. She set it not far from the little first mate. "It's your favorite. Coconut crème."
Gilligan rose slowly from his seat, a look of open-mouthed reverence on his young face. With humble steps he approached the gigantic pastry. The pie plate reached his waist but the filling and whipped cream rose at least an inch above his head. "I dreamed about this once." He inhaled deeply taking in the sweet aroma that filled the night air. In the intoxication of such a dream come true he leaned back against the Skipper's bamboo glass. It was about a quarter full and was not heavy enough to hold him. Both Gilligan and the cup toppled over and deep crimson berry juice splashed all over the Skipper's lap.
The captain jumped out of his chair. "Gilligan, you numbskull! These are the only pants I've got!" His hand automatically went to his hat, ready to give his first mate a sound smack. Gilligan saw the movement and his eyes and he threw both arms over his head, preparing for impact.
The Professor through out a halting hand. "Skipper, no!"
The Skipper's fingers touched the brim of his hat and stopped, realizing just what a blow like that could do to his greatly diminished little buddy. He settled with a verbal scolding. "Gilligan, you're a walking disaster. Just sit down before you ruin anything else."
Gilligan opened his mouth to protest but the Skipper didn't let him begin. "Siddown!"
The booming order hurt his ears and Gilligan obeyed instantly, dropping to the tabletop. He scooted back a little so he could use the handle of the Skipper's fork as a seat. It wasn't very comfortable but it worked.
"Good." The Captain nodded in approval. "Now just stay there." In a gesture to punctuate the order he slapped a hand down. Unfortunately it landed on the tongs of the very fork Gilligan was sitting on. There was a scream as a flailing blur of red and blue was catapulted into the air, arcing above the castaway's heads. A loud 'splat' sent whipped crème flying in all directions. After getting over the surprise of flying dessert the group leaned forward expectantly. A perfect Gilligan-shaped hole had appeared in the center of Mary Ann's pie.
After only a moment Gilligan's head and shoulders popped above the impact crater. Coconut crème filling covered every inch of him making him look like a miniaturized Yeti. He ran his hands down his face, trying to wipe holes for his eyes.
"Are you alright, Gilligan?" Mary Ann asked, sounding quite worried.
Gilligan flicked his hands, trying to remove as much of the sticky gunk as possible. "You know, Mary Ann, your pies are great. But I think I like 'em better on the inside than the outside."
"Sorry about that. It was strictly an accident." The Skipper reached over and pinched the back of Gilligan's shirt. The first mate gasped in surprise as he was lifted up and out of the ruined pie. He set him lightly on the table. Through all that crème filling it was hard to read his Gilligan's expression but he could tell that his friend was not happy. "What's the matter?"
Gilligan was quiet for a moment as if he didn't quite know how to say it. "Don't pick me up like that. I really don't like seeing my feet with nothing under them."
"Sorry." Now that he thought about it the Skipper could imagine it would be not only disconcerting but a bit embarrassing to be picked up by the scruff like a kitten. "We better get you cleaned up."
"Yeah," Gilligan looked down at himself, still trying to wipe the sugary froth off his clothes. "I'm done with dessert anyway."
9:00 PM day 2
A candle flickered brightly in the center of the small card table in the sailor's hut. Just beside the primitive illumination was a large soup bowl half filled with water. Immersed contentedly in the steaming liquid Gilligan scrubbed a shoulder with a small strip of flannel. He peeked over the brim of the bowl to look at the Skipper, who was rummaging around in the closet, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Hey, Skipper, do you realize how long it's been since I've had a real hot bath?"
"Four years." He said rather absently.
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Gilligan, I was shipwrecked at the same time as you. Or have you forgotten?" The Skipper found a large matchbox and set it on the table.
"It sure is easier to warm up a bowl full of water than a whole tub full, huh?"
There was a knock on the hut door.
"Who is it?!" Gilligan shouted, ducking as low as he could into the bowl, terrified that it might be one of the girls.
"Mary Ann." Came the answer.
"Go away!" He reached one hand out and snatched the handkerchief from off the table, keeping the rest of him hidden inside.
The Skipper rolled his eyes. "Oh, for heaven sake, Gilligan. She can't see you in there." With that he stepped over to the window.
"Gilligan's clothes are dry. And here are those things you wanted."
"Thanks."
"Sorry but your pants aren't done yet. I'm sure they'll be dry by morning." After a short pause she added. "What's wrong with Gilligan? He sounded upset."
"Lady Godiva in there is just bashful."
"Oh. Well, goodnight." A little louder she said. "Goodnight, Gilligan."
"Goodnight!" He shouted at the door. The large red handkerchief was wrapped tightly around him, just in case she happened to pop in unexpectedly. It was really way too big for a towel, larger even than his grandma's king sized quilts.
The Skipper turned back, carrying Gilligan's red shirt and bellbottoms pinched between his fingers. In the other hand was an odd assortment of fabric. He set Gilligan's clothes beside him and the other items next to the matchbox.
"What's all that junk for?" Gilligan asked as he pulled on his pants.
"Your bed." The Skipper started folding what looked like one of Ginger's scarf's.
"Huh? You mean I can't sleep in my own hammock?" He paused, his shirt only halfway on.
The big man sighed. "Are you kidding? You'd fall right through the netting."
10:00 PM day 2
Gilligan lay quietly in his tiny makeshift bed…thinking. The large matchbox was the perfect size for him. Ginger's cotton scarf, folded beneath him made a comfortable mattress. Mr. Howell's silk handkerchief, folded over once, was warm and he could never have imagined sleeping under something so soft. Mary Ann's pincushion was a perfect pillow. Gilligan didn't think he had ever been in a more comfortable bed, not even when he was living at home.
The bath had been great. He had soaked in it for a good ten minutes until his fingers were wrinkled. Dinner too had been excellent. He had eaten as much as he wanted and nobody gotten onto him for being a pig.
Maybe being small wasn't as bad as he thought.