The Chicken & The Avocado

This was it. The life-defining decision one cautiously hopes for. For me it was a choice between an avocado and a chicken

On the face of it, the importance of the choice doesn’t leap out at you. It doesn’t seem to be one of those, “ooh! proposal! yes or no?” quandries. It doesn’t have the depth of a decision to sit at the front or back of a bus that is subsequently involved in an accident. It’s not even a “red or blue tie” choice.

On the face of it. However, those who heard about what happened later on can appreciate how apprehensive I was, and how it took me a while to realise the total error of my choice. After all, being marooned on a small island with a girl you only know as “Alice” tends to lend a certain perspective as to what might be considered “important”.

We had only been on the island since last night, having arrived (I assume) at some point during the previous afternoon. The cruise we had been on previously had been largely uneventful. The previous night there had been a party on the deck of the ship, but as the weather had been somewhat inclement, everyone had repaired to the spacious dining room. The tables and chairs had all been removed, and for a time I couldn’t work out where they had been removed to. It wasn’t what you would call a large ship, and I imagine storage space was at a premium.

Whether it was a search for the furniture driven by that curiosity, or the desire for some solitude driven by a crowd that seemed to be heavily weighted at the lighter end of the 18-30 age group, I had wondered on deck into the rain. It wasn’t heavy rain, and much of it intermingled with the salty ocean spray being whipped into the air as the ship powered through the swell.

Some of the aerosol had been stinging my eyes, causing them to water. Looking back, I guess pretending that I had been crying had also been a poor choice, but when this girl had appeared next to me through the mist, her short hair invitingly messed by the wind, holding her high-heeled shoes over the railing, asking me if I was alright... I had decided to play the sensitive, emotional poet card.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m... I’m fine.” I had said, wiping the tears dramatically from one of my eyes.

She had gently rubbed arm. “What are you doing out here?” she had asked.

I had started my spiel, about the raw power of the sea, about feeling alive and yet so alone, and I could tell that she was interested. I decided to come across as the broken individual, in desperate need of fixing emotionally. It’s not a great way to start a long relationship, but that wasn’t exactly why I was on this cruise in the first place. I was disembarking at the next port, and I fancied that even a pity fuck was better than nothing. I had seen the girl a few times, flirting outrageously with anyone who would pay her the attention she craved. It’s a funny thing when two people are deceiving each other about themselves - sometimes their connection is actually more truthful than either would admit.

The rain had become heavier, and had turned from a romantic contrivance into a downright inconvenience, threatening to turn this dalliance into a literally damp squib. I hadn’t wanted to go back inside, as the whole group scene didn’t fit with the persona I had constructed. I had to pretend that I didn’t mind the rain, a task that was becoming increasingly difficult. The ship had started to pitch more, and the noise was causing me to shout my deep and meaningful whispers. I had been genuinely surprised when she suggested we get out of the rain, and rather than leading me back indoors, lead me to a lifeboat. As she had held the canvas top open for me, she showed me a flash of something in her eyes, that I can only describe as incredibly naughty, and I began to wonder if I wasn’t out of my depth with her.

Crouched in the lifeboat, my projected identity started to slip a little. This wasn’t what I had in mind, and my heart started to race with the rapping of the rain on the tarpaulin. I couldn’t think of anything to say, but I’m not sure that words were on the forefront of her mind either, as she started to take her cardigan off. The rain had caused some of her eye- makeup to run, almost seductively, down her cheeks. We moved our heads closer to each other, waiting for the other to make the first definitive move.

As it turned out, we hadn’t needed to worry about that, as a massive swell caused the ship to pitch forward violently, and I head-butted her directly on the bridge of her nose, knocking her out instantly. As the ship climbed out of the swell, I fell back, and struck my head sharply on the side of the lifeboat filling my vision with a galaxy of stars, overcome with stillness, silence and finally oblivion.

When I came to, I was lying next to the boat which was about 30 yards up the beach away from the softly breaking waves. The shadow the boat cast was protecting me from what looked like the late afternoon sun. Of the girl, there was no sign. I don’t remember getting out of the boat, or indeed pulling the boat up the beach, but circumstances don’t lie. Looking into the boat under the torn canvas, I saw a small pool of blood mixing into the seawater that had collected in the footwells. There wasn’t enough blood to worry about the girl, but I desperately tried to remember even the slightest detail about the previous night.

I had examined the boat. One of the rigging harnesses at the bow had splintered and broken, which explained how the lifeboat had become separated from the ship. I had waded down the beach to waist height, to see around a promontory that had sheltered the natural harbour the lifeboat had drifted into. There was no sign of the ship. I didn’t know if it was just the lifeboat that had broken free, or whether the whole ship had gone down, but I reckoned it shouldn’t be long before they realise what had happened, and they sent out word for help.

I went back to the lifeboat, and had been delighted to find a flare gun with a couple of flares, and a first-aid kit. The kit had already been raided for some gauze and taping, but it was difficult to say when this had happened. I decided to fire of one of the flares once it was dark.

Wandering to the top of the shoreline, I found the girl, lying on her side beneath one of the handful of palm trees which populated the boundary where the sandy beach gave way to a field of tall grasses. The sand her face rested on was stained with a surprising amount of blood, but her nose appeared to have been cleaned and taped. I rolled her onto her back, and she suddenly breathed deeply. Squinted her eyes, and I blocked the sun from them with one of my hands. She had taken an age to open them, and when she did, she had looked at me, confused. I didn’t know what to say to her.

“Alice.” she said, and winced.

“Sorry?”

“My name. I’m Alice.” she had explained. “And I am really hungry.”