18. Hopeless
7:10 PM day 3
"GilliganLittleBuddy!" The Skipper exclaimed in one word, amazed and elated to see his tiny first mate standing in the doorway. "You're alright!"
"Oh, Gilligan, we thought we'd never see you again!"
"Alive." The millionaire added tactlessly. "My boy, we thought you had become a pincushion."
"Mr. Howell!" The Skipper shot an angry look at the rich man. The graphic mental image of what he thought had happened to his Little Buddy still lingered in his mind and the thoughtless description had not helped it dissipate.
"No." Gilligan replied to the millionaire's comment. "I don't even know how to sew."
"We're so glad you're okay."
"Indeed. We were all quite concerned."
"Yes, Dear." The feathers on Mrs. Howell's hat fluttered as she nodded. "We were at the end of our rope wondering what had happened to you."
Gilligan couldn't help smile a little at the heart-felt sentiments. Usually when the whole group spoke to him at once he was usually getting hollered at over some mistake he made.
"Speaking of rope." Mr. Howell shrugged a bit in a display of discomfort. "I would like to get out of these blasted bonds some time before the next recession."
"If only I had my pocket knife." The Skipper shook his head in frustration. "But I was sharpening it earlier and left it on the table." He nodded toward the small table on which also stood a candle and Gilligan's matchbox.
"You could climb up there, couldn't you Gilligan?" Ginger asked hopefully.
"Of course he can! My Little Buddy can climb like a monkey."
Gilligan looked up at the table dubiously. The chair that he had climbed down that morning was still there. The chair legs were simply to thick for him to shimmy up but if he could find something to stand on to reach the grass skirting around the bottom of the chair he might be able to pull himself up. "I can try."
They watched as he went straight to a brown paper bag that sat in the corner of the hut. He disappeared into the opening and the bag rattled as he rummaged around inside. He emerged moments later pushing an empty turtle shell in front of him. "I found this on the beach last week." He explained, maneuvering it under the chair's grass fringe. "I'm kinda glad the turtle lost it." After climbing on top of it he reached up with is right hand and took a firm hold on one of the stiff blades. With a small hop he pulled himself up and lifted his left arm to hoist himself further but the moment his fist tightened he screamed, released his grip and tumbled backwards off the shell and into the sand.
"Are you alright, Little Buddy?" The fall hadn't particularly worried the Skipper. Gilligan had taken far worse spills than that, including the one off the table. But his first mate's pained yell had him concerned.
Gilligan didn't reply at first, just sat on the ground waiting for the fire in his wrist to fade. He had known better than to try. But his friends needed him. He had hoped that he would be strong enough, brave enough to swallow the pain. "I'm sorry." His voice was just barely loud enough to hear. If only he hadn't landed that dumb machine!
Mary Ann saw the complete defeat in the young man's posture. "Don't give up, Gilligan! You can do it."
"If at first you don't succeed make a better offer."
"Hold on a second." The Professor put a halt to the encouragement, noting the way the tiny sailor was holding his left hand. "Gilligan, is there something wrong with your arm?"
He nodded slowly, guilt rimming his blue eyes. "It's broken. I don't think I can climb up there."
"Don't feel bad, Gilligan." Mary Ann said. "It's not your fault."
The Professor let out a small sigh. Their predicament was indeed frustrating but he didn't expect Gilligan to do the impossible. After all he of all people could understand the young man's pain. "We'll just have to think of another way."
"Maybe we could burn the rope off." Gilligan suggested. "One summer Skinny Mulligan got this brand new magnifying glass, one of the real fancy ones like Sherlock Holmes has. Anyway it was a really sunny day and we were playin' around with it at school and we both ended up in detention."
The Skipper looked dubious. "For playing with a magnifying glass?"
"That's what I said! Besides, it wasn't like we burned down the school or anything. Just that one book."
"That's it!" The Professor cried, revelation having exploded on his face.
Mr. Howell raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, we don't have access to a magnifying glass and even if we did the inside of this hut is not exactly the sunniest spot on the island."
"No. The key word is 'glass'!"
"The jar!" Shouted several castaways at once.
"Exactly! A fragment of glass could undoubtedly sever these bonds."
Gilligan nodded excitedly. "Yeah, and it oughtta cut the rope too!" He hurried out the door and came back a few minutes later pulling a large triangular shard. It was quite a bit larger than he was and left a clean little trail as he dragged it across the sand.
"Well, come on, Gilligan. Hand it here!"
Gilligan stared up at the Skipper's hands so far above his head. "Anybody got a stepladder?"
"Oh, right." Leaning against the pole he was tied to the Skipper lowered himself until he was sitting on the sand, his bound hands nearly touching the ground. Careful to only use his good hand Gilligan maneuvered the glass until it was within reach of the Skipper's fingers.
7:27 PM day 3
"Thanks, Skipper." Ginger rubbed the red rings around her wrists as the Skipper finished untying her and moved to Mary Ann. The movie star moved over to where Gilligan now stood on the small card table. The captain had put him up there so he wouldn't have to crane his neck to talk to anyone. "And thank you, Gilligan." She bent down, bringing her face uncomfortably close to the minute first mate.
He shrugged, taking a couple steps back. Ginger had always made him nervous. Now that she was a hundred times bigger than he was he found her that much more intimidating. "It was nuthin'"
"Oh, but it wasn't. If it weren't for you who knows how long we would have been trapped in here." She kissed the tip of her finger and pointed it down toward him.
He scrambled backwards and tripped over a stray pencil. Unable to escape he simply cringed as she tapped him on the head, transferring that kiss from her finger to him.
"You alright Professor?" The Skipper put a steadying hand on the high school teacher's shoulder, keeping the man from wobbling.
He dismissed the assistance with a wave. "I'm alright. Just a bit lightheaded."
Mr. Howell looked from the Professor who had one hand clamped tightly over his upper arm to Gilligan who was gently cradling his wrist. "You know, Professor, if you were Gillian's size you two would make a handsome pair of salt shakers." He chuckled a bit at his own joke. "As for the rest of us…" He massaged the red, chaffed skin around his wrist. "We make a perfect six-piece set. If I had to join a club that required identification bracelets why couldn't they have been gold?"
"Hey, listen!"
"It's the boat. They're leaving!"
Only a few minutes later the Skipper halted at the edge of the water, Gilligan in one hand and the Professor at his heels. The lagoon was empty. Even the waves from the boat's wake were quickly dissipating. "Well, they're gone."
Gilligan took his hat off and waved it above his head. "Yahooo!"
"Good riddance." The Skipper said with a nod and a snort.
"I must say…" Mrs. Howell emerged from the jungle and came up behind them. "I'm not terribly sorry to see them go."
"Maybe they'll change their minds and tell someone about us." Mary Ann said hopefully as she too joined the group.
Mr. Howell laughed. "In the words of the younger set: 'fat chance'!"
The Professor simply stared as the wavelets grew smaller until the lagoon was completely still. He let out a deep sigh, brow furrowed with mixed emotions. On one hand he was very relieved to see such a horrible danger leave. However, along with those two men had gone Gilligan's last hope to ever be normal again and he felt deeply for his young friend.
8:00 PM day 3
"Ow!" Gilligan was back once more on the table in the supply hut. Several candles and a mirror brightened the room, giving it a homey feel despite the darkness outside.
"It wouldn't hurt as much if you would just hold still." The Professor frowned in deep concentration as he held Gilligan's arm, about half as big around as a pencil, between his thumb and forefinger. To even be able to see it properly he had to use his thick magnifying glass.
The instant they had arrived back at camp the Professor's wound had been the first thing attended too. He had insisted on doing most of the tending himself, using a bit of Mr. Howell's champagne as a disinfectant. Once cleaned it looked far less serious. There was clear entry and exit point about two inches apart. The bullet had managed to graze the muscle but, as he had assured the others, there was no extensive or permanent damage besides an obvious scar. As long as he kept it clean and clear of infection he wasn't too worried. After having the area bandaged and exchanging his bloodstained shirt for a clean one he had turned his attention to Gilligan.
The fall had left the boy black and blue with a pulled ligament in his ankle, injuries that were mildly painful but little more. His wrist, however was by now quite swollen and was several shades of red and purple.
Gilligan yelped again, jerking his hand away from the Professor's fingers and held it close to him with a look that clearly said he was done being examined. "It's broken isn't it." It was more a statement than a question.
The Professor sighed, and set his magnifying glass on the table beside him. "With your size it's rather difficult to tell the severity of the injury but I believe you do indeed have a distal radius fracture."
Gilligan's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no! I thought all I had was a broken wrist! Now I have a distal radius fracture!"
"Gilligan, a distal radius fracture is a broken wrist."
"Well, why didn't you just say so?"
"We'll have to make you a cast." He began to stand, rocking the table slightly as he did so. The magnifying glass toppled over the edge and landed in the sand beside his chair. He reached down to pick it up, bumping his arm on the table as he did so. His eyes squinted shut and he took in a sharp breath. A hand went to the bandage near his shoulder. He let out a small grunt that sounded like an even mixture of pain and frustration.
"You alright Professor?"
As the pain subsided he smiled at the expression of intense concern on Gilligan's boyish face. "I'll be alright."
"At least you get a scar out of it." Gilligan said, as if that somehow justified the pain.
The Professor cocked an eyebrow at the comment. "I will indeed."
"So when can you make me big again?"
The abruptness of the question caught the Professor by surprise. "That machine was the lone remedy your situation." He shook his head apologetically. "They took it with them."
"Couldn't you just build another one?"
The Professor felt his throat tighten just a bit at the boy's complete and naive faith in his abilities. He wished he could live up to them. His head shook slowly. "Gilligan…" He sighed, and started again. "Gilligan, I can't lie to you."
Gilligan did not like the grave tone of the man's voice. "Lie to me, Professor! Lie to me!"
He shook his head. "Gilligan, I don't even understand the principal physics involved."
"But you made it work! You made me stop shrinking."
"That was the result of trial and error. Comprehending the control panel is a far cry from reconstructing the internal mechanisms. Making another machine, it's…" He was going to say 'impossible'. He had planned on saying that even if he did understand the underlying physics, which he didn't, both the reduction and renlargement effects were most likely the result of electrical and chemical reactions stemming from the utilization of specific compounds. The likelihood of every one of those components being found on this remote island was inconceivable. But that's not what he said. As he looked into the young man's pleading, nearly panic-stricken face he found himself saying. "I'll try."
9:00 PM day 3
Gilligan lay awake, staring into the vast darkness that surrounded him. The day had been unbelievably stressful…for everyone. After a very quick dinner of diced fruit all seven exhausted castaways eagerly went to bed. But Gilligan couldn't sleep. He picked absently at the dried clay that formed a cast around his left arm, keeping his wrist ridged. The matchbox bed was quite warm and comfortable, softer even than his grandma's feather bed. But he missed his hammock; the way it swayed slightly, rocking him to sleep.
"Skipper?"
The reply was a tired: "Hmm?"
"Am I going to be this small forever?"
There was a long pause before the Skipper replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "The Professor said he'd work on it. He'll think of something."
Gilligan swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "Yeah." He had seen the look on the Professor's face and heard the apology in his voice when he had promised to try and rebuild the machine. The hopelessness had been plain to see. And now, despite the encouraging words he could hear that hopelessness echoed in the sound of the Skipper's voice. The young first mate may have been optimistic and overly naive but even he realized that life as he knew it was at an end. He was going to be tiny and useless for the rest of his days.
Nothing was ever going to be the same. His mind began listing all the things that he would never be able to do again. He would never be able to hunt butterflies with Mary Ann, could never enjoy the thrill of catching a big fish. Caddying for Mr. Howell would be completely out of the question. Even taking an afternoon stroll or exploring the jungle would be fraught with danger. But the worst cut of all involved the position that he cherished more than anything. He was no longer the first mate. Sure the Skipper would never tell him that but it was true nonetheless. All his duties were now impossible and without responsibility the title meant nothing.
Hot liquid settled in the corner of his eyes and his chest tightened. One lone tear slipped down his face as he stifled a sob he didn't want the Skipper to hear.