To The End
Chapter 3
I looked up as a shadow fell across my face, and saw Gerard sink into the sand beside me.
"How's he doing?" he asked. I sighed, and shrugged.
"I don't know," I replied. "There's no sign of trauma, but he's been out for too long to be ok. He needs a CAT scan or an MRI, but..." I sighed again, and he stressfully ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair.
"How are YOU doing?" he asked then, I merely smiled grimly and shrugged.
"How 'bout you?" I asked, and he smiled back at me.
"The same," Gerard replied. My smiled faded, and I looked him dead in the eye.
"Why haven't we seen any search planes yet?" I asked quietly.
"Maybe they haven't realized what happened yet," he said, but he looked away as he said it, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.
"Bullshit. You know as well as I do that by now, they've seen us fall off radar, and no one has been able to reach the pilots, and they know somethings up."
"Yeah, you're one hundred percent correct," Gerard said, giving me a sad little smile. "It's starting to really worry me." I nodded, and reached out and took his hand again.
"Me too," I whispered.
"How long do you think we can survive on the supplies we have?" he whispered back. I laughed, now.
"Years," I said, and he furrowed his brow. "Look up," I said. The trees overhead were literally covered in coconuts. "If you like piña colada," I sang, and he laughed.
"Well that's a plus. We can set up a whole little Gilligan's Island scenario," he said.
"Yeah, and if you can make a radio out of one of those bad boys, I won't sacrifice you to the Island Gods. Hell, if you can make a computer, I'll perform sexual favors," I laughed.
"You're twisted!"
"Well, yeah," I replied. "You have to be to survive Med school." With my free hand, I reached over, and took Mr. Sleepyhead's wrist, checking for a pulse.It was weak, but it was there. I sighed again. "We're gonna need some sort of shelter."
"You're right. I've been thinking about that. You know how when you open the emergency doors in a plane, that huge rubber chute comes out?" I nodded. "Well, what if we opened the emergency doors? There's one on either side of the cabin, if we could find that chute, we could use that."
"Yeah, and if we found some branches big enough, we could make like a tee-pee or something, and use some of those palm fronds as insulation. What do you think the chances are that someone on that plane had duct tape in their carry on?" I asked, not really serious, and laughing lightly.
"I'd be willing to bet you that both Bob and Frank have at least two rolls."
"Are you fucking serious!" I cried, starting to get excited.
"Yeah, they always have some. Ray might have a roll too, but he might not. Listen, it's getting dark now, I'll get the guys, and we'll go try the emergency doors out. We can use them as a big blanket or something tonight, it looks clear enough. Tomorrow, we'll hunt for some branches or something, and a good place.It'll give us something to do, and take our minds off of all this. Hey, though, we still might see those planes tonight or tomorrow!" I shot him a huge smile, and as Zara approached, dripping wet, he ran off to gather the guys.
"Hey," she said, smiling widely. "Still breathing?"
"Yeah," I nodded, as she grabbed her white towel, and began to dry off. I watched as she pulled out a bright yellow, terry cloth, mini skirt, the exact same shade of the yellow in her bikini, and pulled it on, before adding a hoodie that matched exactly. White flip flops hit her feet, and she soon had her long, straight, blond hair in a pony tail. Then, to my utter amazement, she began to do her make up! "Zara?"
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing? No one's going to see you here."
"Oh, you never know," she replied casually. I sighed, and shrugged.
We sat on either side of Mr. Sleepyhead as the boys worked, and were soon joined by Amanda, Charlotte, and Victoria. We chatted about our lives as we waited.
Amanda Lewis was a lawyer from New York City. She had been born in St. Louis, MO, and was twenty-nine years old. She wore an immaculate tan skirt and blazer, and high gold heels, and carried a gold purse. Amanda was tan, with chin length, blond hair, and a trim body and big boobs. She looked like she could be a trophy wife. She and Zara seemed to get along like a house on fire, talking about the men they had dated, and money.
Charlotte Lawson, however, seemed to be a bit more like me. Carefree and easygoing, she was an aspiring actress working as a waitress in New York. She had been born in Sacramento, CA, and was twenty-seven, like I was, in fact, there was less than three days between our births. She had pale skin, shoulder length, flaming red hair, sparkling green eyes, a wide smile in her oval face, and a thin, athletic build. She even dressed more the way I would, a bright blue tank top over a white tank top, baggy cargo jeans, bright blue ballet flats, and a white hoodie. She had no carry on luggage aside from her purse, and once I learned that she too was a size two, I immediately offered her my extra, simple, black, one piece bathing suit and black and white board shorts as a spare. She accepted, and we smiled at each other, a real, friendly smile.
Victoria Taggart was able to easily move between the two conversations, either a natural peacemaker, or just that easygoing. She was a model, tall and thin, born in Albany twenty eight years ago but now living in the city, and she was absolutely gorgeous. Her skin was white, her shoulder length hair was platinum blond, and her blue eyes were soulful. She looked confident in a loose fitting, white tank top, and a bright blue, jersey skirt with a wide, aqua, jersey tube belt, paired with a white hoodie and white sandals. She had a large, Victoria's Secret carry on bag, though she confessed it only held her blue tank top and sports shorts to sleep in, sunglasses, sun screen, make up, bottled water, and a few books.
The sun was just disappearing over the water when the boys returned, successful in their efforts. They had used a knife from the stewardess' stand to cut the chutes off, and they dragged them, deflated, towards the bonfire, placing them about ten feet away, one on top of the other, for us all to lay on. We began moving our things closer to the fire, Bob and Ray, the largest, carrying Mr. Sleepyhead himself. Soon, I found myself seated with Mr. Sleepyhead on my right, between Zara and I, and Gerard on my left, on a huge, soft rubber bed of sand. I opened the flowered suitcase I had found, and extracted pillows and blankets, distributing one pillow and two blankets to each person, before rifling through my own suitcase, and extracting my black, Boston University hoodie. Soon, everyone was drinking the booze off the beverage cart, with the exception of Gerard and myself, and telling their life stories.
Gerard Way, his brother Mikey, Frank Iero, Ray Toro, and Bob Bryar were in a band, My Chemical Romance. I had actually heard of them before, and heard a few of their songs on the radio, but I hadn't really had time for music in the past seven years. They were on their way to play five shows in Australia, which they supposed now would be canceled. They were all born and raised in Belleville, New Jersey, with the exception of Bob, who was from the Chicago area. Honestly, I love them all immediately, they were all fun and easy going, but deep at the same time, if you know what I mean.
Phil Seager was a bar owner from Hoboken, New Jersey, and he was thirty-five, the oldest of the group. Call it women's intuition or whatever, but the moment I looked at him, I felt uneasy. He was around six feet tall, and muscular, his black hair was short, and his eyes wide and brown, hiding behind over-sized, black framed, glasses. His entire body seemed to be covered in tattoos and piercings, but honestly, that wasn't what made my skin crawl, I mean, Frank was also covered in tattoos and piercings, and yet I felt as comfortable with him as I felt with my own brother. No, it was something about the look in Phil's eyes when he looked at you, hard to describe, but he almost had a Charles Manson-esque look to him. I made a mental note to stay as far away from him as I could.
Eventually, sometime after Zara told everyone about growing up in Conway, NH, and med school and all that, the conversation began to dwindle, as one by one, they all passed out from the amounts of alcohol they had consumed, leaving Gerard and I alone awake, sitting on the bright yellow rubber.
"I didn't hear anything about you," he said eventually.
"Me?" I replied. "Not much to know, really."
"I doubt that," he said with a smile. "For example, how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven," I replied. "Well, I will be on June 15th."
"See, there's a start. And where were you born, and do you have a family?"
"I was born in Kennebunkport, Maine, and my mom and dad still live there. I have one older brother, he lives in Portland, and has a wife and a two year old daughter. Portland, Maine, not Oregon."
"Ok," he said, nodding. "Where did you go to school? And why did you become a doctor?"
"I always wanted to be a doctor, I don't know why. I mean, I guess to save lives, cause I've never really cared all that much about making money. But really, I guess it's just never occurred to me that I could do anything else. I'm very one-track minded, I guess. So I did the undergrad, and studied hard, and did the med school thing at BU, and now I'm a doctor. I've got a great place lined up to start, too, at Beth Israel Deaconess. Well, I had a spot.If they think I'm dead they'll probably give it to someone else."
"So you live in Boston? Are you married, or single, or what?"
"Oh, I'm very single, unless you count Mr. Kitty, but for some reason, I don't think cats count. I hope someone feeds him! And yeah, I have an apartment in-" I was cut off as Mr. Sleepyhead let out a huge cough, spurting blood up into the air. I gasped, and ripped off my hoodie and shorts, quickly extracting my already blood stained clothes and pulling them on like scrubs. I put on my stethoscope, and listened to his chest, which gurgled and sounded wet.
"He's aspirating! Fuck. Zara, wake up!" I shouted, hitting her shoulder. Nothing, no response. "Pull him onto the sand!" I said to Gerard. We dragged him a little away from the others, and rolled him onto his side, a stream of blood pouring out of his nose and mouth onto the sand. "Do you know CPR?" Gerard shook his head. I pulled out one of the cabin air masks, and fitted it over the man's mouth and nose, and tilted his head back. I put the end of the hose in my mouth, and straddled the man's chest, beginning CPR alone. After perhaps five minutes, I was exhausted. "Zara! Wake up, God damn it!" I shouted. Still nothing, she was too drunk. I continued, checking my watch when I breathed, until five more minutes had passed. "Zara! HELP ME!" I screamed, using every last bit of strength I had. Twenty minutes had passed, and I was completely spent. I rolled off him, onto the sand, pulled my knees up to my chest, and cried. After a few minutes, I felt Gerard sink into the sand beside me, and put an arm around my shaking shoulders. "I'll never forgive her for this," I whispered through my tears.
"How's he doing?" he asked. I sighed, and shrugged.
"I don't know," I replied. "There's no sign of trauma, but he's been out for too long to be ok. He needs a CAT scan or an MRI, but..." I sighed again, and he stressfully ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair.
"How are YOU doing?" he asked then, I merely smiled grimly and shrugged.
"How 'bout you?" I asked, and he smiled back at me.
"The same," Gerard replied. My smiled faded, and I looked him dead in the eye.
"Why haven't we seen any search planes yet?" I asked quietly.
"Maybe they haven't realized what happened yet," he said, but he looked away as he said it, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.
"Bullshit. You know as well as I do that by now, they've seen us fall off radar, and no one has been able to reach the pilots, and they know somethings up."
"Yeah, you're one hundred percent correct," Gerard said, giving me a sad little smile. "It's starting to really worry me." I nodded, and reached out and took his hand again.
"Me too," I whispered.
"How long do you think we can survive on the supplies we have?" he whispered back. I laughed, now.
"Years," I said, and he furrowed his brow. "Look up," I said. The trees overhead were literally covered in coconuts. "If you like piña colada," I sang, and he laughed.
"Well that's a plus. We can set up a whole little Gilligan's Island scenario," he said.
"Yeah, and if you can make a radio out of one of those bad boys, I won't sacrifice you to the Island Gods. Hell, if you can make a computer, I'll perform sexual favors," I laughed.
"You're twisted!"
"Well, yeah," I replied. "You have to be to survive Med school." With my free hand, I reached over, and took Mr. Sleepyhead's wrist, checking for a pulse.It was weak, but it was there. I sighed again. "We're gonna need some sort of shelter."
"You're right. I've been thinking about that. You know how when you open the emergency doors in a plane, that huge rubber chute comes out?" I nodded. "Well, what if we opened the emergency doors? There's one on either side of the cabin, if we could find that chute, we could use that."
"Yeah, and if we found some branches big enough, we could make like a tee-pee or something, and use some of those palm fronds as insulation. What do you think the chances are that someone on that plane had duct tape in their carry on?" I asked, not really serious, and laughing lightly.
"I'd be willing to bet you that both Bob and Frank have at least two rolls."
"Are you fucking serious!" I cried, starting to get excited.
"Yeah, they always have some. Ray might have a roll too, but he might not. Listen, it's getting dark now, I'll get the guys, and we'll go try the emergency doors out. We can use them as a big blanket or something tonight, it looks clear enough. Tomorrow, we'll hunt for some branches or something, and a good place.It'll give us something to do, and take our minds off of all this. Hey, though, we still might see those planes tonight or tomorrow!" I shot him a huge smile, and as Zara approached, dripping wet, he ran off to gather the guys.
"Hey," she said, smiling widely. "Still breathing?"
"Yeah," I nodded, as she grabbed her white towel, and began to dry off. I watched as she pulled out a bright yellow, terry cloth, mini skirt, the exact same shade of the yellow in her bikini, and pulled it on, before adding a hoodie that matched exactly. White flip flops hit her feet, and she soon had her long, straight, blond hair in a pony tail. Then, to my utter amazement, she began to do her make up! "Zara?"
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing? No one's going to see you here."
"Oh, you never know," she replied casually. I sighed, and shrugged.
We sat on either side of Mr. Sleepyhead as the boys worked, and were soon joined by Amanda, Charlotte, and Victoria. We chatted about our lives as we waited.
Amanda Lewis was a lawyer from New York City. She had been born in St. Louis, MO, and was twenty-nine years old. She wore an immaculate tan skirt and blazer, and high gold heels, and carried a gold purse. Amanda was tan, with chin length, blond hair, and a trim body and big boobs. She looked like she could be a trophy wife. She and Zara seemed to get along like a house on fire, talking about the men they had dated, and money.
Charlotte Lawson, however, seemed to be a bit more like me. Carefree and easygoing, she was an aspiring actress working as a waitress in New York. She had been born in Sacramento, CA, and was twenty-seven, like I was, in fact, there was less than three days between our births. She had pale skin, shoulder length, flaming red hair, sparkling green eyes, a wide smile in her oval face, and a thin, athletic build. She even dressed more the way I would, a bright blue tank top over a white tank top, baggy cargo jeans, bright blue ballet flats, and a white hoodie. She had no carry on luggage aside from her purse, and once I learned that she too was a size two, I immediately offered her my extra, simple, black, one piece bathing suit and black and white board shorts as a spare. She accepted, and we smiled at each other, a real, friendly smile.
Victoria Taggart was able to easily move between the two conversations, either a natural peacemaker, or just that easygoing. She was a model, tall and thin, born in Albany twenty eight years ago but now living in the city, and she was absolutely gorgeous. Her skin was white, her shoulder length hair was platinum blond, and her blue eyes were soulful. She looked confident in a loose fitting, white tank top, and a bright blue, jersey skirt with a wide, aqua, jersey tube belt, paired with a white hoodie and white sandals. She had a large, Victoria's Secret carry on bag, though she confessed it only held her blue tank top and sports shorts to sleep in, sunglasses, sun screen, make up, bottled water, and a few books.
The sun was just disappearing over the water when the boys returned, successful in their efforts. They had used a knife from the stewardess' stand to cut the chutes off, and they dragged them, deflated, towards the bonfire, placing them about ten feet away, one on top of the other, for us all to lay on. We began moving our things closer to the fire, Bob and Ray, the largest, carrying Mr. Sleepyhead himself. Soon, I found myself seated with Mr. Sleepyhead on my right, between Zara and I, and Gerard on my left, on a huge, soft rubber bed of sand. I opened the flowered suitcase I had found, and extracted pillows and blankets, distributing one pillow and two blankets to each person, before rifling through my own suitcase, and extracting my black, Boston University hoodie. Soon, everyone was drinking the booze off the beverage cart, with the exception of Gerard and myself, and telling their life stories.
Gerard Way, his brother Mikey, Frank Iero, Ray Toro, and Bob Bryar were in a band, My Chemical Romance. I had actually heard of them before, and heard a few of their songs on the radio, but I hadn't really had time for music in the past seven years. They were on their way to play five shows in Australia, which they supposed now would be canceled. They were all born and raised in Belleville, New Jersey, with the exception of Bob, who was from the Chicago area. Honestly, I love them all immediately, they were all fun and easy going, but deep at the same time, if you know what I mean.
Phil Seager was a bar owner from Hoboken, New Jersey, and he was thirty-five, the oldest of the group. Call it women's intuition or whatever, but the moment I looked at him, I felt uneasy. He was around six feet tall, and muscular, his black hair was short, and his eyes wide and brown, hiding behind over-sized, black framed, glasses. His entire body seemed to be covered in tattoos and piercings, but honestly, that wasn't what made my skin crawl, I mean, Frank was also covered in tattoos and piercings, and yet I felt as comfortable with him as I felt with my own brother. No, it was something about the look in Phil's eyes when he looked at you, hard to describe, but he almost had a Charles Manson-esque look to him. I made a mental note to stay as far away from him as I could.
Eventually, sometime after Zara told everyone about growing up in Conway, NH, and med school and all that, the conversation began to dwindle, as one by one, they all passed out from the amounts of alcohol they had consumed, leaving Gerard and I alone awake, sitting on the bright yellow rubber.
"I didn't hear anything about you," he said eventually.
"Me?" I replied. "Not much to know, really."
"I doubt that," he said with a smile. "For example, how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven," I replied. "Well, I will be on June 15th."
"See, there's a start. And where were you born, and do you have a family?"
"I was born in Kennebunkport, Maine, and my mom and dad still live there. I have one older brother, he lives in Portland, and has a wife and a two year old daughter. Portland, Maine, not Oregon."
"Ok," he said, nodding. "Where did you go to school? And why did you become a doctor?"
"I always wanted to be a doctor, I don't know why. I mean, I guess to save lives, cause I've never really cared all that much about making money. But really, I guess it's just never occurred to me that I could do anything else. I'm very one-track minded, I guess. So I did the undergrad, and studied hard, and did the med school thing at BU, and now I'm a doctor. I've got a great place lined up to start, too, at Beth Israel Deaconess. Well, I had a spot.If they think I'm dead they'll probably give it to someone else."
"So you live in Boston? Are you married, or single, or what?"
"Oh, I'm very single, unless you count Mr. Kitty, but for some reason, I don't think cats count. I hope someone feeds him! And yeah, I have an apartment in-" I was cut off as Mr. Sleepyhead let out a huge cough, spurting blood up into the air. I gasped, and ripped off my hoodie and shorts, quickly extracting my already blood stained clothes and pulling them on like scrubs. I put on my stethoscope, and listened to his chest, which gurgled and sounded wet.
"He's aspirating! Fuck. Zara, wake up!" I shouted, hitting her shoulder. Nothing, no response. "Pull him onto the sand!" I said to Gerard. We dragged him a little away from the others, and rolled him onto his side, a stream of blood pouring out of his nose and mouth onto the sand. "Do you know CPR?" Gerard shook his head. I pulled out one of the cabin air masks, and fitted it over the man's mouth and nose, and tilted his head back. I put the end of the hose in my mouth, and straddled the man's chest, beginning CPR alone. After perhaps five minutes, I was exhausted. "Zara! Wake up, God damn it!" I shouted. Still nothing, she was too drunk. I continued, checking my watch when I breathed, until five more minutes had passed. "Zara! HELP ME!" I screamed, using every last bit of strength I had. Twenty minutes had passed, and I was completely spent. I rolled off him, onto the sand, pulled my knees up to my chest, and cried. After a few minutes, I felt Gerard sink into the sand beside me, and put an arm around my shaking shoulders. "I'll never forgive her for this," I whispered through my tears.
10/13/13