I go back to flicking the wet lighter, trying not to freak out. The storm is really starting to rage, and the moon and stars are gone.
“Is the lighter working?” Hank asks.
“No, I’m just fidgeting.”
“We might need it. Make sure you don’t wear it out.”
I bristle. The upper management at my dad’s firm always treats me like another one of their employees, and Hank’s clearly no exception.
I shove the lighter back in my pocket, where I keep my hand and continue to flick it, because it’s a new lighter and it’s worth the cost of a few flicks to relieve my anxiety.
“Hopefully, we don’t encounter a scenario where we need a flame,” Hank says. The raft lifts up and sinks back down, and when the wind whistles, he has to yell. “But I don’t feel confident about anything right now!”
My heart pounding, I brace against the raft. It takes all my energy, but I force myself to think about my friends, and our apartment, and the art I want to create and the life I want to live.
When I open my eyes, I see Hank clutching the raft in the middle and steadying it in the waves. It doesn’t really matter what I think about him, because right now, I need to survive.
I crawl over to Hank. “Can we link arms or something?” I ask.
He nods. “Good idea.”
It takes a second, but we figure out a way to position ourselves back-to-back. We link one arm at the elbow, and each hold a side of the raft with the other hand, stabilizing the craft.
Ocean water splashes in my face.
“We’ll stay like this!” Hank yells. “Ride out the storm!”
“Okay!” I yell.
It feels like if I let go or lose Hank’s arm, I might fly overboard. But as I position myself carefully, tucked up close against him, I find a stable spot.
The rhythmic storm pours across the ocean. In the distance, I see more lightning, but I have no idea if it’s coming or going.
My brain is reeling. Exhaustion takes hold, and somehow, eventually, I pass out.
