Matt de la Peña - The Living

“Shy!” Addie shouted, ducking behind his line of vision.

It looked like the shark was preparing to launch itself right at the boat. But the fish was only a few feet away from the surface now, and Shy continued pulling. There was no way he was going to lose this fish.

At the last second, the shark opened its massive jaw, and Shy’s gaze locked onto the rows of jagged teeth before turning his head, still pulling the fish but also bracing for impact.

The shark crashed right into the side of the boat, nearly tipping it over. Shy fell onto his back, staring at the severed line still wrapped around his shirt-covered hand and wrist. Not only had the shark made off with the fish, it had taken their last hook.

When he looked up again, he saw Addie leaning over the side of the boat, aiming the flare gun at the shark. Shy scrambled to his feet just as she fired, a ball of light shooting down into the water, where it quickly sputtered out and died.

“What are you doing!” he shouted.

But she was already loading the second flare and aiming the gun at the water. Shy got to her just as she was pulling the trigger and all he succeeded in doing was changing the direction of the flare. Instead of slicing though the water, at the shark, it launched overhead, and they both stood there watching it arc through the darkening sky and then fall uselessly onto the ocean’s surface less than fifty yards away.

Addie fell to her knees, sobbing. “I can’t take this anymore!” she shouted. “I just want it to be over!”

“It’s okay,” Shy said, kneeling down beside her. “We’ll figure something out, Addie. I swear.”

But they both knew there was nothing left to figure out. Not without the fish. Or hooks. Or flares. Or strength. With barely any water.

“It’s okay,” he repeated again and again.

Even when he saw that the water was dripping through a crack in his patch job again—because of the impact of the shark. Or when he realized the oar was no longer in the boat, but floating on the surface of the ocean somewhere.

Still.

He repeated these words to Addie.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s okay.”

The dark quickly took over the sky and a nearly full moon rose above them. Shy and Addie were back against the side of the boat again, huddled together in silence. Shy was so weak now it took effort just to breathe. His thoughts were faraway and clouded. All he understood as he stared up at the moon was that they were going to die.

And once he accepted this fact, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Because this was how everything worked. The ocean’s whispering and the earthquakes and the fires and the sinking ship and people diving overboard and dying and new people being born. Some are lucky enough to be given a part to play, but when that part ends the world doesn’t end, too, it goes on spinning just like before.

Shy reached into his pocket to feel the oilman’s ring, and it told him what he had to do.

He struggled to his feet, sloshed to the other end of the boat and grabbed the water jug. He held it up in front of the moonlight, saw the little bit that was left, then he went back to Addie and uncapped it.

He held it out to her, meaning that they were going to finish it and be done, and she seemed to understand.

Before putting the bottle to her lips, though, she reached out for his hand, linked her fingers in his—not a test but the real thing.

She took a sip and handed it back to Shy, who drank, too. They did this twice and then the water was gone.

He dropped the empty jug near their feet and continued holding her hand as they closed their eyes on the night, and Shy sat there wondering what he’d see next, if anything.

Time marched past him holding out a trayful of memories. Sprinkling food flakes into the bubbling fish tank in his and Miguel’s dirty room. The alley behind his building where he’d sit alone on an overturned plastic bucket to think. Pulling books from his locker while Maria went off about some girl who had pissed her off. And he was finally able to remember the faces of his family again, even his dad.

Then he thought back to a basketball game from two years ago. One that had come down to the final seconds. They threw him the ball and he raced down the court, dribbled around a screen, and launched a long jumper over the outstretched hands of two defenders. Time slowed as the ball arced through the air—everyone’s eyes stuck on its game-deciding path. The refs looking up, whistles hanging from their mouths. The players on both benches on their feet. The coaches holding them back.

When the ball found the bottom of the net the entire gym erupted—everyone on his team jumping up and down and hugging him and shouting his name. It was the first and only time he’d ever nailed a game-winning shot. After a few seconds, he separated himself from the celebration to search the stands for his mom. Spotted her high in the bleachers, off by herself, waving her arms around and looking so proud of him.

Maybe this was the moment, Shy thought as his mind hovered high above the boat, in this other time and place. Maybe this was his reason for being here. Some people probably wanted to look back at the end and feel like they’d left some kind of legacy in the world. Like having kids. Or making a movie. Or inventing something that made lots of money. Or they wanted to feel like they’d done something heroic. But Shy decided he was happy knowing he’d made his mom feel proud.

Shy’s eyes were still closed, his thoughts switching back to the sensation of the cold ocean water creeping up his legs, into his lap, when he felt Addie’s breath against his ear. “Just so you know,” she whispered, “I think I was going to love you, Shy.” He tried to turn his head to look at her, but she stopped him with her hands. “Please don’t say anything back.”

He didn’t, but his heart quietly swelled inside his chest. Because of her words. And the feel of her fingers linked in his. And because he now understood how lucky he was to have experienced a life in this world. He could never use a bullet on himself. Or Addie. The world would have to take them the old-fashioned way if that was what it wanted. And as his mind continued drifting away from his body, he had one final realization. The world itself was alive, too. It swirled around you and sped past your eyes and ears, so fast you could never see it, but slow at the same time, like a tree growing taller in a park. And all the sounds you heard—the wind whipping past your ears and the ocean’s whispering and the trickle of whitecaps against your boat—that was the earth’s blood pumping through imperceptible veins, and some of those veins were nothing more than people like Shy or Carmen or Addie.

And when the end came it smelled like morning dew and brine and everything around you morphed into a man, and that man shined a flashlight in your eyes and kneeled down beside you to pet your hair, and he said: You’re gonna be okay, young fella. Now come on.

And he lifted you into his arms and carried you like a child into a hidden cave, where you would grow back into the earth’s rich soil from which you came and where you would forever belong.

Shy cracked open his eyes.

He found Shoeshine hovering over him, moving a syringe toward his right shoulder.

He flipped himself over and tried to push away, but Shoeshine was surprisingly strong. “Easy now,” the man told Shy, pulling the needle away. “Just a few vitamins you’re gonna need on the island. Trust me.”

“What vitamins?” Shy’s eyes darted around, taking everything in. It didn’t make any sense. He’d come to the end. Yet here he was looking around a familiar-looking boat cabin. Alive. The oilman’s ring still safe inside his pocket. Over Shoeshine’s shoulder, Shy saw Addie standing against the wall, rubbing her arm.