FWOOO
Australia. Whatever my qualms about coming back here, once I saw the start of the gargantuan island, I broke into a smile, dazzled by the continent's beauty, its grace and serenity even with the wilderness it contained.
The same feeling spread over me when I saw my sister. Though she wasn't gargantuan.
"CAMMEEEEE!" the squeal reached across the airport, yanking at my shoulder and spinning me towards her hug.
"Hi, Debbie." I said, tears of reunion forming just a little.
"Hey there, Cam." Jared smiled kindly beside her.
"Hi." I muttered, wiping my short-lived tears away with my sleeve, right before I scrambled out of that Seattle-appropriate sweater.
As we drove back to the small town they now lived in (they'd been in an apartment right in Sydney, last time I was here) we chatted. Mostly Deb. I was tired, content to listen to the much-missed sound of her voice. I delighted in how she hadn't developed an accent, but still managed to use Australian slang constantly.
When we reached the modest but clearly-pricy house, Jared turned to my sister and said, "Honey, why don't you go on inside and lie down. We've got this." He indicated my bags.
"I really need to use the washroom, first, actually, but yeah, Deb, you go put your feet up, we'll handle this." I lied. I stayed in the stainless-steel-flooded bathroom a little longer than was reasonable. Jared was no idiot, he'd brought everything in himself by now, knowing it would be ridiculous to wait for me to show my face.
"I was going to help you." I said, shrugging. I nearly ran to the living room, where my sister was sipping lemonade and flipping through Australian TV channels. She was like a safe-zone in some perverse game of tag. I worried at how much I could count on her, though, to be that constant indicator of 'time-out'. She hadn't been around every minute of my last trip, and she hadn't even been pregnant then.
She was only at, like, three months or something, but she was oh-so-responsible now. She had stopped rock-climbing, stopped surfing, stopped doing anything in the way of housework. That's right, I thought, they have a housekeeper, now.
So, with Debbie somewhat out of commission, I couldn't help but fear that it was only a matter of time before I lost this round of tag. Strangely enough, though, I didn't think that meant I'd be it.
FWOOO
What do I have? What could I possibly use as a bargaining chip? I had a hard time concentrating on these questions, as thoughts starting with a business deal with Sawyer played through my head. Oddly, there were no books involved at all.
A woman had died that morning. Drowned during her morning swim. Mr. Androgynous nearly drowned himself, trying to save her. A side note about Mr. Androgynous: He had a real name. He was Boone. What a weird freaking name. Then again, what kind of name was Sawyer? Oh, I'd gone over that already.
Anyway, yeah, the woman. Joanna. She was dead. I didn't cry, I didn't freak out; I didn't know her. But I did feel guilty over not doing those things. I just frowned when I heard the news, and went back to thinking about Sawyer and trades and my goddamned book about goddamned talking bats.
A lot happened that day. Besides the death, I mean. The water started running out. Nobody told me directly, but I overheard enough. In the morning, Jack brought me a full bottle though I still had a third of one left and others' bottles were entirely empty. Behind his back I gave the new bottle to Hurley.
Jack sort of . . . disappeared a while later. I didn't think much of it, I was just glad that he seemed able to pry his overprotective ass away from me –from all of us, really- for a while. Maybe do some yoga or something there in the jungle. That guy just really needed to chill out.
People started freaking out over water that afternoon. Like, really getting antsy. Well, especially after it got stolen. First everyone thought it was the Koreans, but then of course (following the natural procession) Sawyer was the prime suspect. I cautiously followed Kate when it became clear she was heading to Sawyer's tent.
I nearly swore at her when she tackled him to the ground, pinning him. Jealously, protectiveness, indignance in general, they all coursed through me like an electric charge. He was stronger, of course. Kate acted tough, but really she wasn't very strong or fast or brave or anything. Yeah, I was being hard on her in that moment, letting jealousy turn to spite and take my thoughts over.
Anyway, he was stronger, he rolled her onto her back but remained on top of her. I couldn't hear their words, but I hated the smile on his face. I hated it so damn much. I left, then, not even worrying or caring when Sayid pulled Sawyer off of her. I didn't care if they all beat eachother to a pulp. There was no Jack to walk straight into, this time, and the tears had a chance to get hot and discharge, again like an electric imbalance in my body. Nobody noticed me as I trudged, crying, back to my tent. I let the entrance-flap flop down, sealing me into the hot, dim, quickly-breath-filled enclosure. I turned my head to the balled-up t-shirt I had been using as a pillow, and I cried my eyes out. Not just for Sawyer. Mostly for the loneliness of being on this island. Partly because I was thirsty and I selfishly wished I hadn't given my extra water away to Hurley hours ago, even though he had been thirsty then.
I fell asleep there, more alone than I'd ever felt. Just like when I was a little girl and I'd get sent to my room for some inane, trouble I'd gotten into, and I'd lie there for a while, thinking about how the whole world was against me and nobody loved me. Except that then, I'd always known on some level that when I woke up I'd feel better and my parents wouldn't be mad at me anymore and everything would be fine.
Here, on the island, I didn't know any of these things. I was pretty sure that nobody would be there, right beside me, when I woke up. As it turned out, I was wrong.
I dreamed of food and clean blankets and a 100-yard mattress and linoleum. Some of the things I missed. I later wondered whether I had a smile on my lips during that dream, or whether the tears continued to run down my face. Maybe both. I really wanted a glass of coke.
The door-flap of my tent was moved aside, letting darkness and the sound of the ocean flood in. I was probably sleeping pretty lightly, because I think that's what woke me. But it wasn't the wind that moved my door aside and peeked in at me. It was . . .
"What the fuck?" I sleepily asked.
"Sorry." The word seemed out of place, coming from his unshaven face. He turned to leave.
"No, don't go . . . !" I muttered, half-crying simply because I was half-asleep.
"Why not?" he said quietly
"Stay." Not exactly an answer.
He came and kneeled inside, one of his feet still poking out the doorway. I was so tired . . . but I forced myself to wake up, to sit up. Sawyer was in my tent.
"Why are you here?"
"I just wanted to know why you . . . earlier, today, I saw you over by the treeline near my tent. You just started crying, Thursday. Why? Do you really want the damn book?" he whispered, curiosity burning through the quiet. He also managed to sound defensive, his voice rough and guarded.
"Oh, dear." I actually said, because I was having a hard time believing I was awake.
"Well?"
"Did Kate see me, too?"
"No, she was too busy looking at me." He smirked briefly. I ducked my head, afraid that tears would form again, but they didn't. "Can you just answer my question, Cammy? Why'd you just start crying like that?"
"I miss my family. I'm scared. We're probably all going to die of dehydration. Take your pick."
"You thirsty, Thursday?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He didn't wait for a response, ducking out of the tent gracefully. I nodded to no one. Sawyer returned with a huge bottle of water. It was cold to the touch, which was actually unpleasant because I was freezing in the night air, but I chugged a bit of it greedily. Not that I'd gone thirsty for very long, but the fear of dying of thirst was enough to make me clutch at this bottle like the holy grail.
"Where'd this come from?" I asked.
"I never just get a thank-you, do I?" he mused.
"Thank you, Sawyer." I said seriously. Not just for the water. For being here when I woke up. Even if he was the cause of a good part of my sorrow, he was here, and he was being nice to me. I was so grateful.
"Don't think I didn't catch that lie. You weren't crying because we're on this island. You just suddenly started up when Kate went all pro-wrestler on me."
"What, are you fishing for compliments here, Sawyer? Yeah, you're fucking hot. Big fucking deal. Fuck!" I said, cradling my head in my hands on my knees.
"That's a really weird thing to say." He said. I wanted to tell him to go away, but I couldn't bear it if he did. "Here," he said, seeming like he was starting the conversation all over. "I brought your stuff." He pointed to the purple suitcase just outside the tent. He leaned backwards and fumbled with the clasps before presenting me with a big, baggy sweater and . . .
"Oh my god, that stupid thing." I said, reaching for the stuffed platypus, my silliest souvenir from this last trip to Australia. It was soft and furry. I laid it out as a pillow, but didn't lie down on it yet.
"Thank you. Why are you being so nice, all of a sudden?" I pulled on the sweater as I talked.
"I'm a sucker for tears. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not supposed to have a heart. You just made me feel guilty, today, Cammy. You're just a kid, you deserve a break once in a while. But don't think this is going to become a habit. Starting tomorrow, you get the same treatment as every other shmoe on this island, including the frogurt guy."
That was a lie.
I nodded, wanting desperately to reach out and touch him, somewhere, anywhere.
"Goodnight, Cammy." He said, and was gone.
"Yeah, I'm just a kid." I echoed his words well into the night, or morning, whichever it was. They made me think of that stupid Simple Plan song that had been really popular a few years back.
I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare
I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair
Nobody cares, cause I'm alone and the world is
Having more fun than me
Tonight . . .
I sighed, displeased that my attitude, my life, was starting to resemble the whiny lyrics. But I smeared tears, rare now, away with my platypus and it was okay.
When I looked through my purple suitcase in the morning, my book wasn't in there. Nothing else was missing.