Cristelle Comby - Alone Together

As I yawned and looked over at her, the realisation dawned on me that she was making a net. Blood surged in my veins at the sight, blazing through my entire being swift and fierce. I lunged at her. My idea, my mind screamed at me; loud and furious. My. Idea.

I should have taken a minute to analyse that outburst, sought to understand the insecurities from which it had stemmed. But proud fool that I was, I didn’t. I latched onto the anger, feeling comforted by its familiar stupid simplicity.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I all but screamed and Anne-Marie flinched at the tone. “That was my idea, lassie .”

Turning to face me, the young woman looked gobsmacked as her wild curls bounced back into place. Her round eyes grew larger as she looked up at me, uncomprehending.

Though I knew any shred of understanding between us would be lost in the wind, it was with the same tone and intensity that I added, “Give me that! That’s mine! Keep your stupid spear and do what you’re good at, ya slag!”

Anne-Marie kept staring at me with that same surprised, hurt expression. There was no understanding on why I’d felt disrespected or belittled. Looking back now, of course she didn’t. How could she have? The only thing she ever thought of was what was best for our survival.

And so there I was, fuelled by resentment, unable to see past my own lack of self-confidence and inadequacies, pouring all the coldness I could muster into my stare until she tossed the net my way. Without another word, she got up, grabbed her spear and left.

I didn’t watch her go, didn’t try to stop her and make amends. I looked down at the beginning of a net that had landed at my feet. After a moment of studying its design, it seemed simple enough to continue. And of course, it was anything but.

Try though I might, I couldn’t replicate her resilient knots. Not even after I’d taken a couple of slow, deep breaths to calm my nerves. Not even after the adrenaline had receded enough that my fingers stopped shaking. I kept getting stuck on the basic crafting. Had it been in and then to the right, or had the yarn tip better come in from the back of the loop before tying it to the left? Because I couldn’t remember, I wound up making a mess of what she’d begun. I gave up a couple hours later, tossing the jumbled clutter of wool near the place where Anne-Marie had been sitting.

My fingers ached from all the knot tying I’d been doing—or attempting to do. Even after building our house, my hands still weren’t used to manual work. I longed to dip them into something cold and soothing. Standing up, my stiff joints cracking in protest, I started down the forest path, what I’d come to think of as our ‘Grand Avenue’ to the sea.

On the way to the beach, it struck me how I was alone again. What a strange thought it was too. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this alone. Back in my old life, I’d always been conversing with someone or another, striking business deals, arranging staff meetings, making appointments with clients. Now that there was none of that, I felt unsettled… as if I lacked any purpose to remain on this earth.

While I’d never been one to seek company, I was content, between loud open offices and serviced hotel rooms ensconced in bustling cities, with the anonymous companionship that living amongst a human cesspool provided. A life lived at a frantic pace, powered by the constant fear of being left behind. Rushing from one appointment to the next, from cab to subway to plane, the world growing ever smaller, the pace ever faster.

And now, all I had around me was this path of stamped-upon grass, dead leaves crinkling under my feet and a silence that only solitude could provide. My fingers twitched for something to occupy them. I realised how much I longed for my phone, my laptop, to feel a connection to… something, the adrenaline rush that came with taking on a challenge, an impossible deadline that would somehow have to be met. Yet this island had none of those on offer. It was utterly bereft of the one thing humans couldn’t live without: purpose.

That thought made me stop dead in my tracks and look around once more. It was a peaceful sight, most would say, lacking anything even remotely manic. It was a world of plain and simple facts, no hidden agenda, no politics, no white lies to get you through the day. Just an endless quiet that should have been a balm to the soul, but that felt like a bushel of thorns in my side.

Had there been times in my life where I wished for some place like this? Sure, too many to count. A little bit of space to breathe, a pause button… A little peace and quiet to take stock. But never had I dreamt of such a hard reset. Was this the universe’s way of taunting me, mocking me? By giving me what I had wanted for all these years, not in measured sips but in the most extreme of ways? Was this my own personal hell; tailored to fit me like the business suits I took pride in wearing? If so, maybe there was something to Wilde’s thoughts on the gods’ punishments coming in the form of answered prayers.

I got walking again, thoughts swirling around like a maddening dance in my head. Then I realised that I’d strayed from the path and done the second fool thing of the day: gotten lost.

“ An donas dubh! ” I cursed out loud.

That old Gaelic outburst flowed from the tip of my tongue without me wanting it to, leaving behind a soothing aftertaste that felt reminiscent of younger years and strong scotch. Even to my ears, the vowels had sounded thick, reminding me how my Scottish accent had grown more pronounced ever since we’d crash-landed on this island.

The footpath that we’d been tramping all over back and forth was nowhere to be seen now. No matter how I searched for it on the left or right, it remained hidden from my eyes. I tried retracing my steps to no avail.

“Now you’ve fuckin’ done it, haven’t you, old son?” I said, my worrying increasing with each step. As I kept searching for the path, I found something I hadn’t been expecting… a patch of mushrooms! There they were, nestled under a shrub at the foot of a tree. After weeks of fish and berries, they looked delicious.

Kneeling, I picked two dozen of them, using my shirt to carry them. It brought a smile to my face to think that I would be the one adding to our pantry for once. Thanks to me, surf-and-turf would be on the menu tonight. It pleased me to be able to show Anne-Marie that I could be just as useful as she was. It was time she saw that I had something of value to offer to our team.

Careful not to drop them, I tried making my way back to the crash site, whichever way that was… I had no more idea on that than I did the path I was walking. But I wandered on joyfully just the same. Casually, I ate one of the mushrooms. It tasted bitter and dirty, of course, but it still went down with no hesitation. I was sure it would taste delicious once it’d been cooked. After a while, I ate another one while I kept looking for the way back.

Time dragged on and the skies darkened. I wondered if it was because our midnight sun season was coming to a close that today’s afternoon looked darker than it had the night before. I kept trying to head in the direction of the waves I could hear in the distance. But the trees began to look more and more sinister. They undulated in the wind as if they had a will of their own. Their warped leaves loomed above me, whispering haunting words over the breeze.

Hurrying up the pace, I felt my breath quicken as I looked for the familiar vision of a white tail peeking through green foliage. It was nowhere in sight, making worry and despair creep up in my guts.

A tree root rose out of the ground, catching one of my feet in its grasp. I stumbled and lost my footing. Falling in heap on the forest floor, amidst a sea of discarded mushrooms, I felt branches and roots digging in my sides. It was as if they were trying to trap me, pulling me under to try and bury me in an earthly grave. Pushing up on my knees and elbows, I tried fending them off.