Well, neither Mike nor I won the Monday Magazine Summer Fiction contest that we entered last month so, as promised, I am printing it here for your amusement/annoyance. Mike also posted his entry over on his blog. Or you can go read the winning entries instead. (Oddly there were only 34 entries which seems low, especially for a city full of writers like Victoria, and it means ThoseDeWolfes made up almost 6% of the entries. Tee hee.)
…
Handyman Special
In hindsight, stealing that canoe was a bad plan.
Mid-April was not exactly open-ocean canoe weather but I was really angry at my mother and wanted to get out of the house. Choice words were exchanged as I grabbed my bag and slammed the door on my way out. I was still angry a few blocks later when I hopped a bus bound for Sidney. I figured I’d just stay with one of my friends out there. I reached into my bag for my cell and nearly screamed. It was still on my dresser being charged.
Without my phone I couldn’t remember my friend’s number so I grabbed a coffee and wandered to the water. I wondered what was on all those little islands off the shore and that’s when I saw the canoe. It was still light and it didn’t seem like the island was that far away so I hopped in and started paddling. I was doing fine until a wave hit that turned the canoe. I couldn’t turn it over again so I swam to the nearest island.
Now I’ve been here a couple of weeks. It’s wet, cold and half of the island disappears every time the tide comes in. I can’t believe my mother hasn’t been looking for me. I can’t believe none of the boaters around here bothered to figure out why I was waving madly at them. Idiots.
I had a bottle of water in my bag but that’s long gone. I tore one of the front pages out of the book I was reading — some crappy romance novel I got from the library. I was going to have to pay for the damage anyway so screw it, they could do without one page. I found a pencil in the bottom of my bag and scratched out the following:
“HELP ME. I am stranded on a stupid island near Sidney. I don’t know which one it is. Also, my Mom is an jerk so don’t phone her for help.”
I signed it, rolled it up and stuffed it in the bottle. I threw in a couple of rocks to weigh it down then hurled it out as far as I could. Two days later it washed up on the island again. I screamed and stomped off to the other side of the island where I threw it in the water a second time. I stomped back toward my makeshift shelter and nearly tripped over a generator, a huge toolbox and other stuff that hadn’t been there earlier.
I looked up and there was some old guy in weird brown overalls and a tool belt. He was looking at my shelter.
“This is all wrong. I mean, there’s no insulation… and where’s the vapor barrier? It’s just asking for trouble with mold and flooding later on.”
“You better be here to rescue me.” I said. He turned around and greeted me with a big smile.
“Oh, hey! Nice to meet you,” he extended his hand, “I’m Mike Holmes.”
I didn’t take his hand.
“Whatever. Where’s your boat?”
“Oh, I don’t have a boat. Some of my crew from the Holmes Foundation just dropped me and my supplies off. I was going to build a couple of cabins here,” he paused, “I didn’t think there was anyone else on this island.”
I rolled my eyes, “Did you at least bring some food? I’m starving.”
“No, sorry. I was planning to forage. You could help me weave a traditional Micronesian crab trap from some tree branches, though.”
This guy was unbelievably perky and positive. I looked at him with disbelief and disgust then I spun on my heels. I grabbed my bag and pulled out some tunes. Thank god the saltwater hadn’t killed the crappy hand-me-down portable CD player I’d shoved in my bag or the spare batteries. Too bad the only CD I had was Lady Gaga.
The dude left me alone for a while but after the third replay of “Poker Face” I decided I might as well help out.
He stopped whistling as I approached. “Oh hey! Feeling better? I was just kidding about the food you know. Go open the big sack next to my toolbox,” he pointed, “Help yourself.”
I ran to the bag, grabbed a hoagie and inhaled it while I sat there staring out at the stupid boaters cruising past. I waved at one couple. They waved back. Idiots.
I walked back over to his worksite. While I’d been sulking, Mike had built the frames for the first foundation and was marking out the second.
“Ready to help now?” he asked. I shrugged.
“Great! OK, can you find me a whole bunch of big rocks? Softball size or bigger would be great. Then just lug em all back here, OK?”
“Sure,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was stuck here with such a keener.
I wandered off toward the far side of the island which was rockier. I got sidetracked watching ferries pass and realized I’d been gone a while. I grabbed a couple of rocks and wandered back.
Mike had poured the first foundation and was almost finished building the next form when I returned. I dropped the rocks next to where he was working. He looked down at them and back up at me. He was frowning a little.
“What?” I said, folding my arms.
“That’s it? Just the two rocks?” he asked. When my expression didn’t change, he stood up. He looked down at me with that stern preachy look I’d seen from my teachers and said, “You understand that I need a lot of rocks, right? This isn’t going to cut it. I need you to go back and get more rocks.”
“Yeah,” I said, “That’s not going to happen.”
He looked at me and folded his arms, too, waiting for me to change my mind. I wasn’t about to. When he realized that the standoff was not going to end in his favor, he sighed. He unfolded his arms and rubbed one hand over his eyes.
“OK,” he said, “Look. This just isn’t going to work. Why don’t you gather up your stuff and I’ll call the crew to come pick you up.”
“CALL?” I yelled, “You had a cellphone the whole time?”
“Well, sure,” he said, “I mean, what if I — God forbid — cut my hand off or something? Safety first, right?”
I screamed and threw my hands up in the air. I picked up one of the rocks and lobbed it into the middle of the wet foundation. PLOP.
I heard him mutter, “Awww, there was no call for that….” as he fished the rock out with a 2×4.
An hour later, a small boat pulled up to collect me and Mike once again offered his hand. This time I shook it. “Well, it was nice to meet you,” he said.
I rolled my eyes again, “Likewise,” I said, hoping he caught the sarcasm. What a dork.
I couldn’t wait to tell my friends.
I liked the third prize story because the game of Go featured in it (and there was a picture of stones and a board). That was about it, though.