Page 38 of Wild for You
“Ok, then, well … have fun,” I call out and then get back to work on another bamboo shoot. I don’t know what crawled up her ass, but at least she’s offering to help.
But I may have a sneaking suspicion … Only time will tell.
Gwen and I spend most of the afternoon on our separate tasks, staying as far away from one another as possible, which isn’t hard since we’re the only two people on this island. To my surprise, she’s managed to move most of the bamboo to the beach, though it took her five times as many trips because she can only carry two shoots at a time. I grab the last ten logs and make my way to the beach, dropping them into the pile with the others. I may need to collect more once I start building, but this will be enough to start a solid base.
“Nice work. Someone must’ve had their Wheaties this morning.” I come up behind her, admiring the pile of neatly tied ropes.
She squints her eyes, staring daggers at me, and returns to her braiding.
“You know, if you pull a little tighter like this,” I show her, “the rope will be stronger—”
“I think I can manage to braid a rope. Why don’t you worry about your task and let me worry about mine?”
And … I guess we’re back to her wanting to kill me. Perfect timing.
I hold my hands up in surrender and slowly back away. “Alright, alright. I’ll just leave you to it, then. Let me know if you need me for anything. I’ll just be over here minding my business, and not having pleasant coworking conversations with the only other person around,” I tease.
* * *
I’ve managedto tie the base of the boat together with the bamboo and rope we gathered today, but I’ll need to add another layer tomorrow. I haven’t seen Gwen since she stormed off earlier, but I figure I’ll grab some footage of the raft as I build it so the viewers can see it come together.
I walk back to the campsite to get my camera, and when I get back to the beach, I see Gwen fighting with a long bamboo shoot, trying to draw something in the sand.
I turn my head to the side, trying to make out the giant spaced-out letters. She’s wearing a red bikini top today with a pair of my shorts and a survival blanket tied around her waist.
HELP WE ARE STRANDED
I have to walk several feet to get the entire message, and she’s finishing up the last D when I reach her. “What the hell are you wearing? Aren’t you hot in that?” I gesture to the metallic sheet tied around her middle.
“Do you think I’d be wearing it … if Iwerehot?” she snaps.
Ok, so I can see she’s still got her panties in a wad. I really wish I knew what I said yesterday to cause the attitude.
“You know you could’ve saved yourself some time and just spelled out SOS, right?”
“I just wanted to make sure they knew our circumstances,” she snaps. “It’s better than your stupid boat idea.”
“The boat idea is literally the only thing we have going for us.” I’m starting to get annoyed because I need her on board for this plan to work. I can’t leave her here alone if she’s not prepared to take care of herself. “The chances of a plane flying close enough to see this message is so minimal that I’m better off doing the back-stroke to Costa Rica than waiting on someone to find us.”
“Well, at least I’m trying!” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Yeah, good job writing a message on the shoreline. The tide will wash it away within five hours.”
I strap the camera to my chest, turn it on, and make my way to the boat, explaining how I made the raft and my plans for the rest of it. “Hey, Gwen, come here real quick.”
To my surprise, she listens and hesitantly walks toward me, making sure to stay out of the camera’s view. I reach up and tug the emergency blanket free from her waist, and she covers herself with a gasp as if I’ve stripped her bare.
“What the hell! I was wearing that!” she shrieks.
“And I needed it. Thanks, by the way. I wouldn’t have even thought to use this as a sail if you hadn’t been strutting around in it like a tin-foil runway model,” I add, laughing at my joke. I can totally see Gwen as an emo/scene girl in high school.
“What did you look like in high school, Gwenny?” I ask her on camera. She’s crouching now, hiding behind my backpack.
“Wouldn’t you like to know!”
“Yeah, I would. That’s why I asked.” I poke her playfully, and she waivers in her squat. “I played soccer in high school. College, too, actually. I got a full-ride playing striker.” I offer even though she didn’t ask, and I waggle my eyebrows as I spin the camera to face me. The viewers love shit like this, getting to know the real me, and I like to sprinkle it in whenever I get the chance.
I just wish Gwen would give me a little more. I’m dying to know what she’s hiding underneath her hardened exterior. She may not realize it yet, but I will get her to open up to me if it’s the last thing I do.
