The Island

They crawled up the beach, like evolution repeating itself. Mark's fingers dug into warmer and warmer sand until it was hot, sun bleached ground diamonds sticking to his hands. They rose on scraped knees and looked at each other. Diane's black hair fell in clumps in front of herlong face and from behind it she grinned, sandy-lipped.

Mark turned rightside up, sitting with his feet still in the water and Diane copied him, as she always did, because he was always right. Far off in the water the rowboat drifted away on a current, bobbing and shifting its feet, not knowing what to do with freedom. Neither did they.

"Ours." Mark patted the sand.

"Ours," she said, then happily, "How far do you think we are from shore?"

"Must be a long ways. We rowed forever. You got blisters?"

"No," she said, inspecting her palms.

"On those pretty hands." Smiling, he squinted towards the sea. "Can't even see it. Must be a long ways." He got to his feet and tried to dust the sand off his legs but they were still wet. "Wanna run?"

"I'll chase you."

He leapt like a startled rabbit, ran along the line where the sea shaded the sand brown. She, already higher up, sprayed sand from her heels. They hadn't gone far before Diane called to him across the spray-misted space.

"Too hard to run in this sand," she said and he ran back to her.

"We're gonna live here forever, just you and me," he said. She, grinning, caught her breath and ran a hand over her gritty mouth before kissing him.

And they could not see the boat anymore. Mark waded, ankle deep in sand up to where dwarf trees and bushes lifted leafless arms, begging for strength under the reflected sun. Past them a field of hairy grass waved and blended into coarse green weeds, which blended into a field of dandelions. He turned back to Diane. "Wanna see Eden?"

They stood in the dandelions.

"You think anybody'll come looking for us?" Diane asked from brown eyes.

"Yeah. I guess they will. We'll hide." He laughed at the joy of wild, dangerous love.

"Where?" A wind curved down over the field and they both turned to see it ripple the hairy grass, then sway the gushes, then the sea.

"Where?" she asked, a little lost but not worried at all.

"We'll find a place. Must be some woods or something. Don't think they'd search the island but they might. We'll find some woods." His face brightened like a child's. "Maybe a cave. How'd you like that? We could hide in a cave."

"Bats?"

"I'll drive them out for you."

"Let's look for one." She waited for him to go. He took her hand and began trotting toward a stand of trees in the distance, at the top of a small hill. As their bare feet it the flower tops, honey bees lifted and hovered. Their feet left a thin mist of moving wings.

At the top of the hill they breathed for a minute, feeling the sun's brilliance catcvhing deep in their lungs, lining their mouths with gold. Diane couldn't keep from laughing, she was too happy.

Mark saw the sign first, and, dropping Diane's hand, walked down the slope to read the opposite side. It said
PRIVATE BEACH NO TRESPASSING
He looked up at Diane who was waiting under the clump of trees, at the hill top, the sun electrifying her hair. Then back at the sign. In small print at the bottom it said Maine State Police.

He called to her softly, giving her a chance not to hear, but she was beside him in a second, and she read the words aloud.

"Maine," she repeated. "But we came from there. This is an island, isn't it?" She watched him and waited for his response.

"Maybe it's too small an island to have its own name. Maybe it's the property of Maine."

"Private beach?" She was not lost now, but she was afraid. She leaned closer to him.

Mark looked around. A few yards away was a patch of dirt which, when he came closer and could see over the dandelions, became a wide road. There was a yellow line painted down the center of it.

They looked at each other.

"But we rowed out from the coast," Diane said. "How could we be back here again?"

"People walk in circles when they're lost in the woods," Mark said. "Maybe we rowed in a circle and landed farther down the beach."

"We aren't lost, are we?"

"No." He thought. "Maybe. I don't know." He turned away from the road.

"Shouldn't we see where it goes?"

"Do you want to?"

The wind blew at his back, towards the sea.

"Is this an island or not?" she pleaded.

Mark held his hand out to her.