“I’m pretty sure we were pointed this way,” you say.
But now it’s hard to tell if you’ve kept on the same trajectory. Or if the wind has blown you off course.
“Fran,” says Will. “Compass?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “We’re a little east, but that’s all I can tell.”
For a few moments, you float. And without any scenery around you, it feels like you could be lost at sea. You can still taste the grasshopper, and you hope it’s not the last thing you ever put in your mouth.
“HEY!” yells Diana suddenly. “If someone’s out there, WE NEED HELP! HELLLLP!”
“Diana,” says Fran, “that’s kind of in my ear.”
But it’s no use. Diana screams again:
“WE HAVE NO FOOD! OR SEDATIVES!”
“AND NO SUPPORT ANIMALS,” yells Troy. “I REPEAT. WE HAVE NO SUPPORT ANIMALS!”
There’s no response from the fog or whatever lies beyond it. Just the light slap of the waves. A birdcall or two. You assume Will is going to let Troy have it for his exclamation. He’s certainly made it clear what he thinks of Troy’s emotional support wiener dog. But instead, Will takes a deep breath.
“HEY. MY DAD IS AN ASSHOLE!” he screams. “AND I’VE NEVER LIKED TENNIS.”
He’s breathing heavily behind you. But you don’t turn around. You leave him his moment. In the next boat, Diana and Fran are holding hands, paddles across their laps.
“I’M NOT A SNOWFLAKE,” yells Fran. “THE WORLD IS JUST A SHIT SHOW. THERE’S A DIFFERENCE!”
Diana tips her head back.
“I JUST WANT TO ENJOY NORMAL THINGS!” she adds.
The waves are getting stronger, and you can feel them turning your boat like it’s a spinner on a board game. And though you don’t enjoy the sensation, the slightly seasick feeling is really familiar. It’s essentially how you’ve felt every day since the funeral. Only, when you were in the world, you had no illusion of control. Not even a paddle. You just had to endure it.
“I MISS MY BROTHER!” you yell.
Your eyes are hot, but no one can see them in the fog. No one says anything. You’ve all decided, it seems, that you’re not going to talk about any of this (what is said in the fog, stays in the fog?). You wait for someone else to scream their next lament into the ether, but either everyone is screamed out or they’re stuck thinking about what you said. Up until now, you haven’t so much as mentioned a brother. Finally, you decide to look over at Diana. She meets your eyes, and you think you see a nod before she turns away.
Then, a second or two later, you feel a scrape against the bottom of your boat.
“Yo, what was that?” says Will.
“Probably just a…,” Troy starts.
Then a similar scrape, like claws against the bottom of the other boat, steals the rest of the sentence.
“Jesus!” shouts Fran.
And she’s rewarded with another scratch.
“Are there alligators in the Boundary Waters?” asks Diana.
“Why would you say that?!” asks Troy.
With a juddering crunch, your canoe slams into a rock and pinballs to the side. Then you are barely afloat. Whatever is underneath you is taking over, and when you finally think to put a paddle down, it only goes a foot or so before it hits bottom.
“We’re on land!” you say. “Or near it.”
“It can’t be the shore,” says Fran. “This lake was huge. And we were right in the middle.”
