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Seagulls pecked around the washed up beach, squeaking out nonsensical noise in search of their meals. Along that sand, sat a shipwrecked boat; wood thrown askew but the inside was turned anew. A young boy, age 6, sits in there, cradling a guitar in his arms. He’s just right in front of the crater in the side of the ship, which provided him an entrance and an exit. It was no bigger than he was. And he was short. 4’0, to be exact. He could fit in it though. And luckily too, this boat was a bit of a walk away from his home, so he always could see it.
The shack that always was puffing smoke out from its cylindrical metal pipe for a chimney. The roof seemed like it could collapse any moment, but the amount of times this young boy climbed to the top of it, looking out to the foggy outline of the mainland across the large body of water, feeling the breeze across his face? It was proof that the roof could handle much more than it let on. More proof being from all the storms that would come this little Isola’s way, and it’d never budge.
The little boy focused back towards the instrument, plucking at a string. It reverberated a high sprung vibration, before settling back down to quiet. He plucked it again, and again, this time fingers moving to the top of the instrument, tuning it as he plucked once again. Something in his head was creating. Laying out an invisible page that only he could read. Something only he could understand. His hands knew where to go to next and soon? Music.
Music which he could only describe as taking that afternoon walk with his Mum. Holding onto her hand and watching the metallic birds that never flapped their wings, fly high in the sky. He never felt like he should be afraid. He never felt afraid. Maybe that's what he’ll name this one? I'm not afraid.
The boy didn't realize his eyes were closed, until the abrupt noise he knew did not come from his guitar, startled him.
“Rein. Mum’s been calling you. This where you’ve been hiding out?” A teenager, 17 years old, with tired yet soft dark eyes that stared into his green ones. Her name is Alain. Alain Badeaux. She had a party hat over her usually messy black hair- the same color as the boy's own. Her attire was a black dress. It was simple yet fit her but she always hated dresses. Rein knew that. He looked back down at his guitar. Back at square one, plucking a string.
The girl sighed, shifting as best she could. The hole couldn't fit how tall she was. And she was only 5’6. She tried her best to make it work, sitting in a more fetal position to look at him, “Rein. C’mon. It’s about to start storming. And you catch colds stupid fast.”
He didn't budge. Plucking away at the string once again. The girl sighed, twice now. It wasn't in defeat, but she certainly wasn't happy, “Is this because of da? Because he's here?”
He didn't stop plucking the guitar, but the rhythm became lower. No. deeper. Alain noticed, and she raised a hand to meet Rein’s shoulder, “He’s not staying long. Ainsley's Dad is almost done fixing up his boat. Chan fheum thu dragg a ghabhail, okay?”
Rein stopped plucking the strings. The world awaited the young boy's response. Anticipation. The seagulls must be watching him. The sea creatures must be poking their heads from the water. The sun must wish the clouds were not so selfish, so it too could listen…Is what Alain wished with all her heart were true.
Yet, nothing escaped his lips. He couldn't even look at her. The guitar was set against the wall, next to the low table he had carried out here months ago, that now had papers scattered on it with dots and drawings. On the wall was another paper he had managed to nudge into the crack to get it stuck in there. On it, the drawing of a poorly made dog, with two badly formed circles on its nose. Glasses. Below the animal,
“Bonnie and his guitar”
Alain pushed backwards, moving to stand up straight as Rein crawled out the hole, sand caking up on his shorts. Alain noticed, and before brushing off the sand on her dress, made sure he was cleaned off himself. As she did so, Rein, looking out towards his house, could see that ugly green boat, pushed up on the boardwalk. Ainsley’s Dad was there, squatting down with something red in his lap, and something glinting repeatedly from his hand.
Ainsley's Dad also agreed that green paint was ugly. He told Rein himself. The young boy thought he’d do himself and Ainsley's Dad a favor, and scratch off with his nail whenever it was in the garage. He can't do that anymore though. He got in trouble and Rein's Da usually was never here.
Alain patted the young boy on the back. Seemed she finished getting sand off herself too, “I’ll race you back.” She was staring off to the house. She wasn't smiling, yet her voice was happy. Her hands were at her sides. Rein never really thought she’d run in a dress, “How about it?”
Rein glanced at her, then forward once again, past his home. He could see the “street” from here. Rows of other individual homes, climbing up a long mountain. None of these homes were or ever would be in the same condition of those more bigger ones Alain would show him in the magazines she had. No. Not at all. This Isola- was forgotten about by almost every part of the world. Tiny and insignificant. That is at least what he overheard adults say. But, how could you forget about a place like this? How could anyone? Isn't that why this place was loved for its music? His greatest memories were in his own music. And in his Mama's, and in the neighbors and in the other kids-
“Rein? You there?” Alain's voice called out, and he was back to the present, “You…ready?” She seemed so uncertain. He could catch her beginning to thumb over her index finger…why did she do this?
He nodded, getting in a ready running stance, hands digging into the ground. She copied him, “3.”
“2.”
“1!”
(This section is in Scottish Gaelic but I don't want to translate the conversation)
“Bel, I already wished him a happy birthday. How many more times do I have to tell him?” A man scratching at his beard, groaned out, rummaging through a bag for something. The room was dimly lit, so he couldn't see all too well and yet, the women behind him could see perfectly fine. She would have smoothed his hair out. Maybe caress him to calm him down. Yet, there she stood, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Rein deserves so much more than just a ‘happy birthday, let me go get Toli because Rosland's boat needs an upgrade’,” She mocked, best as she could. She's not petty. She really isn't.
“The boat needed fixing and I can't stay long! We had cake, I talked to him, but unlike Alain, he never responds,” He began cursing something under his breath, “Fuck, is that really why you’re mad at me?” He whisked around to face Bel, “You think I only came here about my boat?”
Bel…Arabella, craned her head to the side. Sometimes she just wanted to smack Rosland with a book, “You know why he does that. Even if you don't get it, you know why,” She rushed over next to him, “And it certainly does feel like that's the only reason you came here.”
“Arabella, look, what am I even supposed to do with him?” He avoided that last comment entirely, turning back around shutting the bag. It wasn't in there, whatever he was looking for so he suited for something close enough to it, “I take him out to eat, he only eats some of the food. I take him out on the boat, he sits there only looking out at the water, still as a damn rock. I even try to touch him? He’ll move away quick as that. Alain-”
“Stop bringing our daughter into this,” Arabella’s voice grew cold. She grabbed onto the back of his collard shirt, pointing a finger up at him, “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you tried things he enjoys? And you're barely here! Why would he-”
“He's so absent, I would never even understand what-”
“Ma? Da?” Alain’s voice cut through the air, silencing the two adults.
(They're not speaking Scottish anymore)
Arabella let go of Rosland, grazing her fingers into her hair and stepping away, before she breathed out her nose, hands falling behind her back. Rosland began brushing his shirt off, avoiding eye contact with either of them.
“Yes, Alain? Did you find Rein?” Arabella asked, as calmly as she possibly could.
“Yea, he’s..outside. Sitting on the porch. I didn't want him to hear.”
Arabella shot Rosland a look of anger. He didn't meet it, instead focusing on the tool he now began to mess with in his hand. The woman's features calmed when she addressed Alain again, “Sorry, Alain. I’ll-”
“I’ll go talk to him,” Rosland interjected. He slid away from the table, hair blocking his face from sight. Arabella wished that he could just see how even just by features alone, he and Rein looked so, so similar, “Toli, should be done now anyways so, I got to go,” He hefted his bag over his shoulder, “Gonna’ be a problem?”
Arabella knew he was challenging her. Yet, “No. Go enjoy your ride home.” She didn't want to argue in front of Alain. Even if she heard these disputes for a good while of her life.
Rosland took a step towards the door, Alain still stood in front of. He looked down at her, then smiled warmly, bringing her into an embrace. The teenager at first didn't move. She wasn't waiting there for a hug but..out of..normality, her arms wrapped around him.
“Tha gaol agam ort, okay?” Compassion in his voice, before pulling away from the embrace. Alain returned it with a smile, looking away and walking off to her room. He watched her leave, looking at Arabella, “Bye.”
“Just go.”
The door opened and then shut.
Rein was drawing in the sand with a stick, while Toli watched over him. Toli was a big man. Incredibly fit too. He had his moto jacket over his stained white shirt. His jeans had a little bit of motor oil patches stuck to it. He was calling out random things, guessing what it may be that Rein drew. He was cut off short when he heard the door shut.
“Hey, Rosland. Boat's all-”
“I know. Don't worry. Go enjoy your time at home with the kid. ‘Kay? I need to talk to my son.” The words were spat out, and Toli immediately got the drift, yet… didn't feel too keen on the idea of leaving Rosland alone with Rein. The guy wasn't abusive. He just..
“I need to get your boat in the water. Enough time to talk to him.” Toli shifted. Rein looked up at him. He finished the drawing: it was a Rhino. Rein knew Toli’s favorite animal was a Rhino. Made the man smile.
“Sure, sure,” Rosland ushered. Toli gave him a sort of side eye, then made his way over to the ugly green boat. Rosland, though, shook the bag of his shoulder, dropping it down on the ground with a thud and plopped down next to Rein, “What, uh…what’re you drawin’?”
Rein brushed the sand away, starting anew. The stick was beginning to make lines.
Rosland watched. He didn't have the patience, “Did you have a good birthday?”
Rein drew a circle. It actually looked good this time in comparison to the ones on paper. He always felt he could draw better when he didn't hold the pencil right.
“Is it something I did, Rein? Do you really just…”
Rein drew a box in the middle. Two triangles.
“I don't get how to talk to you. I don't get it. It's like everyone else can. Is it cuz’ you don't like me? Is that it? Do you-”
Rein tapped Rosland with the stick. He never had looked up at his Father. He was sitting with his knees hugged to his chest, and his arm was pressed over his mouth. The stick pointed back down at the drawing.
“-! Is that a uh..That a cat? No, a car. It's a car. Yea, a car.” Rosland actually sounded kind of proud of himself for the guess.
Toli, as Rein could see from the corner of his eye, was pushing the boat carefully into the water, “It's a dog, Ross!” He shouted. He always had a good eye.
Rosland sniffled, wiping his nose. Right. Of course. A dog, “Cool. Cool drawing. Well, uh, I'll be leaving now. Okay? I’ll come visit again soon.”
He waited for a reply, but was met with a shrug. Cheeky kid. The man stood up, just as the splash of water erupted from next to them. He immediately grabbed his bag and ran towards Toli, “Hey! Hey!! Easy with my damn boat you-!”
The door behind Rein opened, and out came his mother. She was holding a slice of cake, “You didn't get to have any before you ran off. Could you..come inside please, Stingray?” Rein had a feeling she heard everything that Rein's father said. Just as Rein had heard some of her argument with the man. He knew what an argument was like. He’d had one before with his stuffed animal. It was more..fun than this was.
He stood up, bring his arm back, stick held with a tight grip before-
Woosh!
It flew through the air, spinning, spinning, spinning till- it made a dusty landing. He looked out to it, then out to his Father. Rosland didn't look back at Rein, as the boat began to sputter and take off.
Rein listened to the wind whistle in his ears, then, he followed his Mother inside.