The Nightingale

“It’s almost time,” the old man said. “All families should arrive at the dock precisely at 6pm.”

The boy hurried into his house. His parents were getting his little sister dressed in her finest clothes.

“Where’s my tie?” asked the father, opening every draw in the room.

“It’s in your side table” the mother called out, while buttoning up the back of his sister’s pink dress.

“Ah found it! This will finally be our year to get to the Island, it’s getting too crowded here.”

“I want to ride the Nightingale!” the little sister sang, twirling around in the mirror, watching the flow of her dress go up and down.

The boy stood and watched. Was he the only one who wanted to stay? Sure, it was crowded, but he liked that aspect of town. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing a familiar face, he knew everyone in town by name.

“When you get older you won’t like that anymore, trust me” the father would say.

He went to wait for them outside. The boy sat on the floor and looked around. He saw the leftover chalk from the hopscotch he had drawn. The old swing was still attached to the biggest tree in the yard where his sister would go for hours on weekends, soaring towards the sky.

“Higher, higher!” she would scream, “I want to go to the moon!”

The mother and father started out the door, holding his sister’s hand.

“Let’s go” Father said adjusting his tie. The boy slowly walked behind them, memorizing the landscape of the house, the cobblestone walkway that would lead to the down town area, where he spent many days with friends laughing and playing. He didn’t want to leave, he prayed they wouldn’t be picked.

The father turned to look at him and frowned. “What’s taking you so long? This could be our year; I’ve waited for this for 30 long years.”

The boy hurried and saw the crowd in the middle of the town square. There were more people than he remembered. Food was getting more difficult to get and they all dreamed of going on the Nightingale and sailing to the new island. No one had seen the Nightingale before. Those who sailed it, were unable to return-not that they wanted to anyhow. The boy had heard the tales ever since he was a baby. He heard stories of the Island’s beautiful trees and the abundance of food. The boy couldn’t remember a time where food wasn’t rationed. The stories were told all over town of the lucky ones who were chosen to go.

The old man had been organizing The Draw for 50 years and each year he pushed down the anxiety that rose up in his chest starting from the night before. He looked at his watch, 3 more minutes until 6. He heard the excited chatter going through the crowd, guesses on who would be picked this year along with ideas of what it would be like.

“The first thing I’m going to do is take a big bite from an apple, I hear they have the biggest and juiciest apples anyone has ever seen.”

“I’m going to find my new home and finally get a good night’s sleep.”

Their town didn’t have the resources for much. Supplies went around to everyone so sometimes half the windows would have glass on them and the others would have pieces of blankets closing off the hole as best they can. They say the Island was so big that each new family got a newly furnished home, some even say a heater came with it. Here there was no such thing, family slept together during the winter months, trying to get as close as possible to keep the heat in.

But the boy didn’t mind these issues. He liked being able to feel the wind at night and see the stars from the ripped piece of blanket covering the window. He liked cuddling up to his sister and singing her lullabies to help keep her mind off of the cold.

“Is everyone here? We are about to start choosing numbers. I will call you by alphabetical order.” The old man took out the town list and slowly started with the A’s. As families came up to choose, the boy looked at his parents who were eagerly awaiting their turn, his sister spinning in her pink dress singing, “Nightingale, Nightingale, I wanna ride the Nightingale.”

Finally, they came to the V’s, and when the boy heard their name, he felt a chill down his spine. The father proudly walked forward and put his hand in the box. He rummaged around feeling for the perfect piece of paper, as if would make any difference. He slowly pulled his hand out and walked back to the family as the old man continued through the last names.

“83,” the father whispered to the family, “that seems like a winner to me”

“Oh yes,’ the mother replied smiling “definitely a good number”

Finally, the Draw was over. The old man sat back down and looked at the crowd. 100 families but by tonight there would be 99.

“Calm down everyone, it’s time. “

The silence was powerful. Everyone there had dreams and hopes and only one would be fulfilled; the rest would be crushed by one number.

The old man picked up another box out from under his chair. He put his hand in and waited a moment. He took a deep breathe and pulled out a small piece of fold paper. As he opened it, the crowd began to murmur to each other and one woman even had tears down her cheeks.

“83” the old man read “it’s number 83”

The boy froze. This couldn’t be happening.

“It’s us!” the father exclaimed “It’s us!”

The mother wept with joy and the crowd gave the obligatory applause as most waited to go home before they shed their tears.

“All right” the old man said, “you have 30 minutes to pack whatever items fit in one duffel bag per person.”

The boy watched the father pick up his little sister and race back to the house, their mom running behind laughing and skipping excitedly. He trailed behind, watching the sky get dark, being unable to memorize the landscape of town, realizing he could never come back. People picked for the Island never came back for fear of getting stuck once again in this place.

At home was chaos, a mixture of laughter, tears, excitement. Clothes scattered throughout the house. A house that would get knocked down, the wood and glass to be put into the collection of resources.

“Go pack whatever you think is essential” the father said, throwing a bag at the boy.

He looked around. He couldn’t pack his memories. He couldn’t pack the sticks used to draw in the dirt to play hopscotch or four square. He couldn’t pack his friends with him. He threw in some clothes and put on his necklace, the one his sister had made him, with a piece of string and a rock that looked like the shape of a crescent moon. Anytime his arm got tired from pushing her on the swing, she would tell him “I already gave you a piece of the moon, you have to keep pushing so I can get one!” How could he stop then?

He threw his bag on the grass and sat on the swing fingering his necklace. He closed his eyes and pushed his legs off the ground as hard as he could, willing himself to get to the moon.

‘It’s time!” the father came out with three other bags and the mother came out with his sister.

“How about one more push to the moon, what do you say?” the boy reached his arms out towards his sister.

His sister jumped out of the mother’s arms and ran towards the swing. The boy memorized the motion of her on the swing, the way her curls bounded back and forth, the sound of her giggles that were suddenly interrupted by the father’s impatience.

“Enough.” he said as the boy refused to meet his gaze.

The mother and sister watched in silence. The father sternly looked at the boy,

“We’re leaving whether you like it or not.”

They started down the path, the town all lined up, waiting to send them off. He watched his mother embrace her friends, but the boy himself couldn’t stand to look at the crowd, he watched his feet force their way towards the boat. There she was, the Nightingale, full of splendor, the only beautiful thing the town had to offer. As they boarded, the old man showed them to their room for the night. They followed him down tiny stairs and saw a room the size of his whole house.

“Here is where you will sleep this evening, we should be there early in the morning. The trip can be rocky so I will bring you all something to drink to ease your stomachs before bed.” He walked back up the creaky stairs, closing the door behind him. He stopped at the top of the staircase and sighed.

“Get the drinks” he ordered his partner who silently nodded and left.

The boy sat on the bed, bouncing up and down on the small mattress. His sister was jumping from bed to bed as the father and mother continued to gaze in awe at the room. Running water, a small shower, more than one comfortable bed to sleep in.

“Our life begins tonight” the father announced, putting his arms around the mother and smiling, resting his chin on her head. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the ocean sway her body back and forth. The boy looked out the small glass window and could see his home getting smaller and smaller. He urged himself not to cry, maybe this would be for the best. Afterall, what did he know of adult things? The whole town couldn’t be wrong to want to leave.

There was a knock on the door and the old man pushed through.

“Here are your drinks for this evening. We advise you to drink it all in order to be well-rested for tomorrow.”

The boy looked at the milky substance in the glass. He watched the father and mother take there’s with pride, toasting as if it were a glass of champagne, to their new life. The mother helped the little sister with hers while the boy wearily looked into the glass. He noticed the old man looking at him and felt unsettled with his gaze.

“Believe me, you want to drink it all.” With that the man turned and left them.

The father and mother watched him and waited. Slowly he put the glass to his lips and started swallowing. Not bad, didn’t taste like much. As he went to finish up what was left his little sister was attempting her jump from bed to bed and knocked into him which caused the remaining water to spill.

“Hey!” he cried, as she fell banging her leg and shrieking out in pain. The mother quickly grabbed her and tried to calm her down.

“Well I hope you drank enough, if not, you can always go up to the top deck if you need to get sick if you know what I mean”.

The boy sighed, wiping off the water with a towel from the bathroom.

A while later, after everyone had settled. The old man came in with dinner that they had never seen. A fully roasted chicken and potatoes with mixed greens. They all gasped in shock as this type of food was not found often in town as poultry was scarce. The old man liked this part, watching the enjoyment that came with the trip on the Nightingale.

“Eat up, there will be a lot more of that when we arrive” he explained.

That night the family ate in silence because their mouths were never free to talk, even his little sister’s. After the meal everyone was exhausted and got into bed.

“Sweet dreams,” his mother whispered as she kissed him on his head, “tomorrow will be wonderful”.

She did the same to his little sister who quickly fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. He could hear the father already snoring away as his mom tucked in quietly beside him.

Some time later the boy groggily woke up to the sound of movement. He looked around and saw his parents and sister were gone. He crept out of bed and started up the stairs toward the voices. He opened the door and saw the old man with his partner, wrapping something up in a blanket.

“I’ll get the other kid” his partner said

As the man moved toward the door, the boy had a clear view of blanket. In it lay his family. He gasped as he saw the bodies of his mother, father and little sister. The old man and partner sharply turned and saw the boy. The old man never had this happen in 40 years. He took his glasses off and wiped them with his shirt. The wind was picking up now and in the dark of the night the ocean looked black. The waves were getting rough, hitting the boat hard, splattering droplets on the boy’s face. He stood, his arms wrapped around himself, shivering from fear and cold.

“Son, I’m sorry you had to see this.” The old man sat down on a wooden crate next to the boy.

“The town, it’s just too crowded, every year we run lower and lower on resources. The only way is to, well, depopulate, you need to understand.” The boy was trying to understand what was going on but couldn’t. The old man took a deep breath,

“You should have been in a deep sleep; everyone can’t wait to fall asleep and get to the island but you, you should have drunk it all.”

The old man nodded at his partner who finished wrapping the mother and father and little sister up. He saw his sister’s face for the last time, looking peaceful as ever. Instead of his last memory of her twirling in her pink dress, it was replaced by her limp body laying on the cold wooden floor, hair blowing all over her sweet face from the wind.

The partner picked up the mother first and uneasily looked at the old man.

“Son, you may want to look away.”

But he couldn’t. The partner threw the mother overboard. The father was next. Lastly it was his little sister.

The boy was frozen, he couldn’t move and couldn’t think. The old man put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Think of it this way, their last moments were of joy and hope. They were filled with wonderful dreams and happiness. They were knocked out and won’t feel anything.”

When it was done the boy felt tears coming down his face. He knew they shouldn’t have wanted to go so badly. Look where it got them, they were wrong, the whole town is wrong. He looked at the old man wondering what happened next.

“We can’t bring you back to town, we can’t risk them finding out.” He stood up and went to the small kitchen and came back with the foggy drink.

“This time drink it all.”

The boy fingered his necklace, the one with the stone his little sister gave him as silent tears slid down his cheeks. He reached out and took the drink. This time he swallowed every last drop.