Matt de la Peña - The Living

“Corny can be cute,” Addie said.

“Mmm, in Shy’s case it’s really not,” Carmen said. “Trust me. But it’s better than him being an asshole, right?”

Shy was starting to get frustrated. This was his dream. Why was he letting other people tell him what to do?

“Look at you two,” Carmen said. “You’re both shivering. You need each other right now.”

Shy looked down at his own arms. Carmen was right. His teeth were even chattering. It was the same for Addie.

“So, what do you guys think?” Carmen said. “Are you brave enough to give it a try?”

Shy rubbed the hell out of his eyes, trying to wake himself up. When he dropped his hands, he found himself sitting across the table from Mr. Henry, who was turning on a power hacksaw. Carmen and Addie had vanished.

“Hold up, man!” Shy shouted over the roar of the saw. “What’re you doing with that thing? And where’d the girls go?”

The oilman ignored his question and started lowering the blade toward his wounded leg, shouting: “I won’t be needing this anymore!”

Blood sprayed everywhere. “Jesus, man!” Shy shouted, shielding his face with his hands, cringing at the awful sound.

After a few seconds the oilman turned off the saw and set it on the table, then he tore off the rest of his leg. “It was just getting in the way,” he said, tossing it onto the floor of the Southside Lounge, where it made a surprising splashing sound.

Mr. Henry hopped around to Shy’s side of the table and sat down, saying: “I came over here to thank you.”

“To thank me?” Shy said. “For what?” His dream was so confusing now he just wanted it to be over. He clenched his eyes closed and rubbed them with his fists again, harder this time. Then he opened them as wide as he could, demanding himself to wake up.

It was still him and the oilman, but they were no longer in the Southside Lounge. They were inside the broken boat, leaning against the side next to each other. Addie across from them, asleep.

“For listening,” the oilman said. “I needed to admit to someone that Angela didn’t want me. It’s like a weight has been lifted.”

Shy’s mind was foggy and slow, but he knew he was no longer dreaming. This was real. He could tell because the oilman’s leg was back on his body, giving off a foul odor.

“You know, I’ve always had a certain belief about women,” Mr. Henry continued, his face filled with pain. “They love to own expensive jewelry. But now I’m starting to believe there’s a second part to that. Something I’d never thought about until I got out here on this boat. Women love expensive jewelry even more when it comes from the right person.”

Shy watched Mr. Henry stare out at the dark ocean, wondering why he was talking about jewelry when he was in such bad shape. Sweat streamed down the guy’s forehead. His teeth were clenched in pain. Shy would be focusing all his attention on staying alive.

“It hurts me to admit this,” Mr. Henry said, turning back to Shy, “but even though I can afford any piece of jewelry, from any store, I’ve never been the right person to give it.”

Shy opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. Henry raised a hand and said: “Now I have an odd sort of request.”

Shy closed his mouth and listened.

“I’d like to hug you, Shy.”

“Hug me?” This was the last thing Shy expected. “What are you even talking about?”

“I’m coming to the end of the line.”

Shy was shaking his head now, saying: “Look, man, I’m sorry about everything that’s happened. But I’m not trying to hug somebody out here—”

The oilman was already leaning over and wrapping his arms around Shy’s shoulders. “I don’t mean anything strange by this,” he mumbled in Shy’s ear. “It’s just a hug. Nothing more.”

“Get off me,” Shy said, trying to push away. But he felt so weak. And Mr. Henry had a tight hold around his back. And it wasn’t like the guy was trying to molest him. He was just doing a stupid hug, like Rodney might. And Shy felt so bad for the man.

The whole thing lasted maybe eight seconds. Then the oilman let go and pushed away from Shy. “Be the right person,” he said. “Gifts are more meaningful when they come from the right person.”

Mr. Henry scooted his way back across the busted-up boat and leaned against his part of the jagged side, massaging his mangled leg.

Shy rubbed his eyes again, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But he was too cold and hungry to think straight.

He sat there for a long while before he realized something important. He was going to die, too. Sure, he’d last longer than Mr. Henry, but how much longer? Would he and Addie survive long enough to find the islands? To be rescued? Would they live long enough to see home again? And what if they no longer had a home to go to? What then?

He glanced across the boat at Addie. Her arms wrapped around her legs, eyes closed. Her whole body shivering in the cold. The oilman’s eyes were closed now, too.

Shy was alone.

He stared up at the glowing moon again, and he listened to the whispering ocean. His thoughts were more staticky than before, but for the first time since the summer started, he felt like he understood the ocean’s whispering. It all came down to this. The darkness. The loneliness. The mystery. The fact that everyone’s days were numbered, and it didn’t matter if you were in premier class or worked in housekeeping. Those were only costumes people wore. And once you stripped them away you saw the truth. This giant ocean and this dark pressing sky. We only have a few minutes, but the unexplainable world is constant and forever marching forward.

Shy felt nauseous from the realization, like he’d been shown something humans weren’t equipped to see.

He pushed off the side and quietly moved across the boat to Addie and sat down next to her, slid his arm around her shoulders so they could share body heat.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

Her chest moving in and out with each breath. But she didn’t say anything. Neither did he. And eventually she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.

Shy woke up the next morning to the sound of his own chattering teeth, and he was surprised to find himself holding Addie. Her eyes were open, too, and he followed her gaze down the boat to where the oilman slept, except the oilman was no longer there, only his empty life jacket.

“What happened?” Shy said, struggling to his feet.

“I don’t know,” Addie said. “I woke up, and he was gone.”

Shy sloshed through the ankle-high water to the life jacket, picked it up, looked over the side of the boat. No sign of Mr. Henry. He remembered the strange conversation from the night before. The hug. He must’ve known all along that he was going to throw himself overboard.

Just like the comb-over man.

When Shy saw how upset Addie was, he dropped the life jacket and made his way back to her, saying: “At least he doesn’t have to suffer anymore. You saw how bad it was getting.”

“I know,” she said, rubbing her temples. “It’s not just him, though. It’s everything. I want to go home.”

“So do I,” he said.

As Addie looked up at him, Shy noticed how much thinner she looked than when they’d first met on the Lido Deck. And her hair was a blond, tangled mess. Her face sunburned and peeling. For the first time since the ship went down, Shy wondered what he looked like, how much his own appearance had changed.

Tears started spilling out of Addie’s eyes and running down her cheeks. She brushed a few off and said: “We’re not gonna make it, are we, Shy?”