sdandrea1
I was sucked up into this huge vortex and dropped on a deserted island somewhere far, far away. Three weeks later, as I was feasting on pineapples and fish for dinner, this huge tsunami wave came from out of nowhere and swept me out to sea. Fortunately I had enough mind to grab my homemade wooden raft that I'd made since then, held together with straps of pealed bamboo bark. I honestly didn't think it would hold up and that I was a goner.
But it did, for four days anyway. Thankfully the sea was calm, but the bamboo bark (unbeknownst to me) is a delicacy to the palate of the Amberjack species of sharp-toothed fish native to the region. School was apparently in session, and within an hour I was left floating on two pieces of the driftwood that was left. And I would've killed someone for a $.99 bottle of Deer Park water and a Snickers bar. And some sunburn cream. My lips were cracked, my skin was baked and pealing off of me. I was in bad shape. I drifted, literally and figuratively, in and out of sleep until late in the evening. An occasional whale would breach the ocean's surface in the distance and wake me up. They're such majestic creatures, these whales... so big, so beautiful. I thought to myself that they reminded me of my first girlfriend. She was a heavy-set girl with a huge blowhole. I could at least feign a chuckle despite the desperate situation I was in. But it didn't change the reality of hopelessness that surrounded and consumed me.
Nightfall came, and as I gazed up into the magnificence of the light from the moon and the billions upon billions of stars in the sky, I thought about how different things would be back home for my family with me gone. I thought about the birthdays I'd miss, the future grandchildren I'd never get the chance to hold and love. Would my wife remarry? If she did, then she'd be a slut and I'd be better off without her anyway. I thought about my friends, how their lives would be impacted without me around. Who would my regular golf buds pick to replace me on the weekends? Hopefully not that prick Kevin! That guy's a cheating, lying asshat. And he welches on bets!
I thought about all of the people that I came into contact with each day, people who I always took for granted. Like my neighbors. Would they even notice that I was gone? Would they really care even if they knew? What about the table saw I borrowed from my neighbor two doors down? Now Mike's gonna think I'm a thief... What about Duke?! My yorkie! My best bud in the universe? Would he think that I didn't care about him anymore with me not being around, that I'd just up and left him, his best friend? My grave marker would read, "Lost at Sea" and everyone knew that I wasn't in the Navy. Hell, I can't even swim. Everybody would think that I just lost the last functional marble I had, chartered a fishing boat and decided to off myself 1000 miles off the coast of Japan.
My mind was overwhelmed with the inevitability of it all. Dehydrated, isolated, depressed... going through Tex-Mex food and Snickers bar withdraws... how could I feel so cold when it's 100 degrees outside? Why are my hands trembling? Why is my heart racing when I don't even have enough energy to hold onto a piece of driftwood much longer? Tired and sick, sick and tired. I didn't just need help, I needed a miracle. A miracle that only happens if you're Tom Hanks and have this stupid fucking Wilson volleyball that Hollywood decides to make your best friend and do a movie about.
I finally surrendered. I will make peace with the Man above, pray for my family, and then I'll let go of those two pieces of wood that had carried me for the better part of a week. And then I'd allow the sea to gently take me into her womb of darkness and death, and find out for myself if heaven really exists. Or hell, for that matter. My past ain't pretty... I've done some sketchy shit in my life. I mean, all of it was legal, don't get me wrong. But still....
Just as I let go of the wood, I heard a voice in the distance and had this incredible ray of blinding light shining directly into my eyes. "Is that you, Lord?" I cried out. But he couldn't hear me. I mustered all of the energy I had left in my body and shouted again, as loud as I could, "Is that you, Lord?"
Then I heard another voice reply, in what sounded like an Irish accent. "Nha, this is Peter." I shouted back, "You mean the Lord sent you instead, St. Peter?" He seemed distracted by conversation behind him, and I heard him laughing and saying, "This lad tinks I'm a fecking saint! Hold on, we shud be der in turty seconds, laddie."
They threw me a life preserver, and 30 seconds later they were hoisting me onto this huge ship called "Serenity of the Seas." I remember shivering from the cold, them plying me with blankets to increase my body temperature and giving me water. That's as much as I can recall about that miraculous night that apparently God made an exception for, even if I wasn't Tom Hanks with a stupid fucking volleyball.
I woke up two days later in an icu room at a hospital in Miami, and spent the next two weeks in recovery. My wife flew down to pick me up after they discharged me, and I've spent the last three weeks reprioritizing my life and reflecting on how I've lived/squandered my first 49 years. I feel like a new man today, and I don't take that for granted. Sometimes you don't get a second chance.
And that guy Peter - if you're reading this - I'll buy you a drink, on me, if our paths ever cross again. As for me, I'll settle for a $.99 bottle of Deer Park water.
And a Snickers bar, of course.