Pear, Anyone?

“Hey, Justin?” Joel asked, his bright smile unstifled by our predicament.

“Yeah, what’s up, bro?” I replied, raising my emaciated arm, shielding my weathered face from the sun as I lay in our lifeboat.

“I have a confession to make.”

I laughed, which turned into a painful coughing fit. My throat burned dry. “Well, if there’s a time to confess, it’s when you’re at death’s door,” I rasped. “But before you confess, let me go first. Remember the leftover McDonald’s you thought Mom ate before we left?”

“Yeah.”

“That was me.”

“I knew it was you, you piece of shit.” Joel’s lively chuckle seemed unaffected by the sinking of our cruise ship. Our lifeboat had been stranded in the middle of the Pacific for 60 days. At least I thought it had been 60 days—maybe more, maybe less.

“Nah, you didn’t know it was me,” I grinned weakly.

“My turn. You know Dad’s pear tree?”

I nodded, my voice nearly gone.

“Well, I picked a couple before we left. Didn’t want to tell you until we really needed them.”

Pissed, I turned. “Are you fucking kidding me, bro?” I saw a pear resting in Joel’s palm.

“If I told you earlier, you’d have eaten it already,” Joel said, grinning.

I looked at him, baffled. “Of course I would, you idiot—we’re dying!”

“Go ahead, grab it. I already ate mine.”

Shocked and a little betrayed, I mustered the strength to snatch the pear and devour it, the pinkish-red juice dribbling down my chin onto the boat floor.

“Oh my God, Dad’s pears are so good,” I sighed. Funny, I’d been dreaming about Dad’s pears for days, remembering when Mom planted a pear tree behind our cabin over his grave. Dad’s cabin—he bought it with savings from working construction—had always been there to rescue us from the chaos of civilization after he died.

“See? Aren’t you glad I made you wait?” Joel asked.

“I guess,” I muttered between bites. “Wait, when did you change?” I asked, noticing the colors of his shirt were different.

“It’s the new me… like it?” Joel sat up, showing off his Hawaiian shirt with a pineapple pattern that he scavenged from floating suitcases after the ship sank.

“You’re a good-looking guy, but those pineapples? Even better.” I mustered a half-hearted grin. My lips were so cracked and chapped that they split painfully. I reached down, scooping up a palmful of seawater to drink.

“Justin, you know you can’t drink ocean water. It’ll kill you.”

“See, that’s your problem—you can’t think about real ocean water, you have to imagine Sonic Drive-In’s Ocean Water,” I retorted, smiling.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel replied, shaking his head.

“Besides, I’m already dead,” I mumbled. “Might as well go out with a wet palate. We don’t have much ti—”

I stopped mid-sentence, my ears perking to faint music playing through the wind and waves.

“Do you hear that, Joel?” I asked, sitting up. “It’s ‘Highway to Hell.’”

“Yeah, more like the North Equatorial Current to Hell,” Joel joked.

“No, idiot, the song. The song is playing. You don’t hear that?” I pressed.

Joel smiled. “Of course I do. It’s Dad’s favorite song. He always listened to AC/DC when he went fishing.”

“Dad?” I asked, perplexed. I managed to lift myself up, my eyes cresting the edge of the lifeboat. Across the choppy ocean, I saw a dark figure on the horizon. I barely made out a small red bass boat. It was my father, fishing as if nothing was amiss.

“That’s not possible,” I said, my hands shaking. I got to my knees, yelling as loud as I could, waving both arms. “Dad! Dad!” But my screams were barely whispers. I wept. “Dad... please. Joel, why aren’t you yelling? Dad can get us.”

Joel just sat there, disappointed. “We’re not supposed to bother Dad on his Saturday morning fishing trips. That’s his time, his peace. Let him be.”

I felt rage building. “Fuck that! We’re dying out here!” I collapsed onto the floor of the lifeboat, lying silently. I was too dehydrated to cry anymore. I just stared into the yellow port side of the boat.

Then I remembered. “Wait, Dad’s been dead for twenty years.”

“That’s still Dad, though,” Joel replied, pointing toward him.

I turned to Joel. “What the fuck does that mean? I must be hallucinating again… it’s the seawater.”

“No, it means you still won’t leave Dad alone, even after he’s dead. You’re always asking him to take you fishing with him. You knew that morning was his time, not yours.”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“The truth hurts, bro.” Joel’s face went cold as he leaned back against the starboard side of the lifeboat. “At least he’s found peace now… away from you.”

I scoffed. “Who are you to judge? When Dad left, you’re the one who asked if we could come along. If he had left ten seconds earlier, he wouldn’t have been at that intersection.”

There was a short pause as we both sat emotionless, gazing into the endless blue. Why did he always blame me?

“Come on, little brother. You were the one crying all night because Dad wanted to go fishing alone. You just couldn’t leave him in peace, could you?”

“I didn’t ask you to tell Dad I was sad. You did that on your own, trying to be the big brother I didn’t need you to be. I could’ve taken care of myself. Besides, I was only nine years old—I was a kid.”

“I know you wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it if I hadn’t asked Dad to take us. You’re the reason Dad was killed.” Joel sat back, glaring at me.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Joel retorted, smiling. “You need me.”

I looked back toward the blue expanse, but my father was gone. I lay back down as I heard more rummaging in the suitcase Joel had pulled into the boat.

“Hey, check it out!”

I glanced over and saw him wearing a white t-shirt with a double-scooped ice cream design, eating another one of Dad’s pears. “What the hell! You have more food?”

“Yeah, we gotta ration them. If you were in charge, you would’ve eaten everything by now.” He lay flat, crunching away, placing another pear in his palm. “Here, take another one, but you’re not getting any more until tomorrow. Hey, we can visit the cabin when we get back.”

I reached over and started feasting on the mushy fruit. “Screw the cabin, I’m moving to the city if we ever get back. I want to be surrounded by people and food and chaos.”

“And this isn’t chaos?” Joel asked.

Funny how being at death’s door can change a person. I remember the isolation of Dad’s favorite place became a touchstone for us—we couldn’t stop talking about that decrepit, piece-of-shit cabin when we weren’t there. We also looked forward to doing all the things Dad had cherished before he passed: hunting, reading, and, most of all, fishing.

Now? I’d been longing for a sea of unfamiliar faces, the banter of yellow cabs vying for position, and the clattering of dishes in small diners—the opposite of isolation, and anything that wasn’t the relentless whooshing of waves or the barking of seagulls.

I heard a boat approaching, but we had heard boats, ships, and other stranded passengers before. Hell, we even thought we saw land a few times. By then, we had reached a point where we couldn’t trust anything we’d seen. 

 ***

The US Coast Guard

Almost ready to call off the 60-day search effort, Petty Officer First Class Foster spotted a lifeboat. “Commander, we’ve got another one,” he radioed.

“Really? We haven’t seen a lifeboat in weeks. Take a look and report back. We’ll be standing by.”

“Roger, sir,” Foster replied.

Foster’s driver, Seaman Parker, fought with the choppy ocean, slowing the engine to a stop. He secured the lifeboat and leaned over to peer inside. He recoiled, stumbling back.

“Jesus Christ!” he gasped.

Foster rushed over to assist, finding a man hunched over, feasting on a severed hand, moaning with pleasure. The inside of the lifeboat was a crimson-red tableau of splatters, speckles, and chunks of rotten flesh. The body—what was left of it—was ravaged, as if devoured by some wild animal. From the shoulders down, there was nothing but bone, slick and gleaming in the sun, the skin and muscle crudely ripped away. Bite marks decorated the entire defiled corpse.

Foster’s breathing hitched, and he covered his mouth and nose to block the stench from entering his nostrils.

“Sir, what are you doing?” Foster asked, his voice faltering.

The man turned, his eyes lifeless and face smeared with blood. As he chewed, he replied, “Pear, anyone?” extending out his hand to share his meal.