My Island Dream

I sit in the beach lounge chair, enjoying the sparkling, crystal blue water of the ocean in front of me. Though the waves were inviting me to dive into them, I opted to sit in the chair. Sunbathing suited me better than swimming in the ocean. The waves gently caress the shores; the breeze whispering in my ears.

“Garçon,” I called out, waiting for the beach staff to trot over.

A stocky male glided over wearing typical beachwear. White polo shirt and shorts to match. “Oui, monsieur?”

He looks familiar, but I dismiss where I have seen him and decide to place my order. “Yeah, I would like one of those fruity drinks with the fancy umbrella. Surely, you know what I mean, right?” I shoot out. He casts a confused look at me before nodding respectfully and walking away.

It was a vacation I needed the most. Thrusted in a dog race of day to day operations, I decided to make an escape from reality for much-needed rest and relaxation. Away from the humdrum of my mundane professional life. No cell phones. No paperwork. Just sunshine and beach. I booked a flight and somehow landed on a remote island. I forget how long I have been here, but I am enjoying the view.

The beach staff returns carrying a tray with a single drink on it. “Monsieur, your drink,” he says with his French accent and places the glass on a table beside me. He turns and flashes a grin. It triggers a memory and I try to place where I have seen him, but my quench for the drink supersedes my desire to recall his identity. I return to the serenity of the ocean.

Minutes later, the identity of the beach boy begins pounding on my mind. I begin thumbing through images in my head, determined to figure out why he is so familiar. The location I have seen him, remains a blur. A literal blur. Like a static infested monitor, I see him fade in and out. His perfect teeth flashing and sporadically a panicked expression. Maybe he is a retired actor. I resign and lean back in the chair. Truthfully, I still ponder while watching the waves. I close my eyes and rely on the rhythmic waves to lull me to sleep.

The world is spinning, flashing lights all around me. My hands are covering my ears in an attempt to block out the disturbing noise that engulfs me. My eyes shoot open as thirst grips my throat. The fruity drink sitting on the table next to me. Calling me. Beads of condensation fall like teardrops down the face of the glass. My hand reaches over and grasps the glass, and my lips kiss the brim. I want to sigh in relief as the liquid pours down my throat, but relief seems absent. Before I realize it, the liquid in the glass has vanished, and I am holding the glass goblet, wondering why my thirst has increased.

“What?” A quizzical expression grips my face. “Garçon!” I scream in anger. The crashing of the waves supply a response on the silent treeless beach. I call for the wait staff again and again, but nature is the only ally that surrounds me.

“Where is everyone?” I shout, desperate for human companionship, fearing I may have been forgotten under the blazing sun above me. A thought lands on the sandy beach, thrusting fear into my stomach. I can’t remember when I came to the beach. Had I been sitting there for hours? The whole day? Why was I the only person on the beach? Where were the other beachgoers, or tourists? Furthermore, where the hell is the beach boy from earlier.

My throat supplies on obvious answer: I need a drink more than ever. The fruity cocktail that evaporated down my throat failed to quench my thirst. When was the last time I had a real drink? I can feel my hydration leaving me. Urine! According to many survival shows, urine could also be used to keep a person hydrated. I decide this may end up becoming an option, on this beach of solitude. I go to rise from the chair, but my legs refuse to obey. The strength has been sapped from them. Panic fills my heart. I need to pee. I need to hydrate. The words repeat like a chorus. Reaching desperately for the glass that held the fruity cocktail, I position it under me. I wait for my bodily fluid to disperse and fill the glass but nothing pours out of me. Impossible! I just drank the cocktail! I wait a few minutes, willing any type of fluid to begin pouring out of me, realizing my life may be at stake. My bladder fails to answer the imminent call and for the first time since I sat on the beach, a deathly thought runs through me: when was the last time I urinated?

Confusion starts to swirl around me, becoming the winds of a forming hurricane. The heat from the sun above beats down, as if gradually rising, baking me on the shore I sit. My head swirls, riding a nightmarish carousal. I close my eyes to regain steadiness, but the visions from my previous dream reemerge and are slightly more visual. Colors spinning, like colored water being sucked down a drain. I hear voices this time. No, not voices, screams. Tears. People are frightened. I feel the pressure placed on my chest, keeping me trapped. And then my eyes reopen.

The chair holds me. The serene ocean that was in front of me has vanished. Evaporated. The table where my glass once stood is replaced by some metallic debris. The glass, itself, is stolen by the sands that surround me. Pain shoots from my legs, calling me to glance down. When I listen, horror strikes my eyes at the realization for the first time. My legs are twisted out of shape and immobile. The beach lounge chair has become an airline cushioned seat, with me still strapped at the waist by the seatbelt. The scorching heat of the sun nibbling away at my skin. A treat it has enjoyed for what feels like hours. I try to scan the sandy area and catch more glimpses of metallic debris. The memories gush back to me.

On my flight to France from Hong Kong, I heard a loud explosion outside my window. Seconds later, the cabin was spinning with everyone strapped in and clutching their heads for survival. The crunching sounds of the plane crashing is the last thing I heard before darkness engulfed me. When I regained consciousness, I was alone; separated from the bulk of the debris and unclear how long I had been trapped in my sandy tomb. With dehydration sucking my soul away, I knew I was hours away from death. I had no voice to scream, even if I had, it would go unheard. The gentle flow of the wind blew only malice. There I was imprisoned. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.