Shy closed his eyes so he could focus on that last image. He liked thinking about all Carmen-related things, including stuff that had nothing to do with her beautiful naked body. But right now, as he sat shivering against the side of the boat, all he wanted to do was think about her curves and her skin and the tattooed words below her belly button. It probably said something deep, he decided. A quote from some philosopher or a saying that he’d understand on the exact same level.
He missed how it felt to be around her. How his stomach would get butterflies when she even walked into a room. He wondered if she was on another boat right now, in some other part of the ocean, slowly dying by herself, the same as he was. And what if she had her eyes closed, too, and she was thinking about him? Could they be together in their thoughts even when their bodies were apart? He held himself for warmth and drifted off wondering about that.
Carmen showed up in Shy’s dream, too.
She was walking up to his towel stand. Smiling. “Come with me,” she said.
“Now?” he asked. “I can’t just leave work.”
“What are you talking about, Shy? It’s your dream, isn’t it? People can do anything they want inside their own dreams.”
The sky suddenly shifted from morning to night. Supervisor Franco was there now, too. He was telling Shy his shift was over, to take a break, go get himself some dinner.
That was when Shy understood. He was somewhere between consciousness and sleep, where you can partly steer the story of your dreams.
He followed Carmen down the stairs, into the Southside Lounge. The butterflies in his stomach flapping like crazy. Because maybe she was bringing him here to confess her love. To explain how she was leaving her lawyer. The guy didn’t understand her. Not the way Shy did. She’d finally realized how empty it was being with someone who never asked how she felt about things, who would never understand how bad it hurt to lose someone to Romero Disease.
But as they sat down at a table, he knew the look on Carmen’s face wasn’t the love-professing kind.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she said. “About me and you, Shy.”
“Me too,” he said, though it was obvious their thinking wasn’t the same.
“I believe the reason it’s so complicated between us is ’cause I’m the only one in a relationship. If we were both committed to other people, we could be way closer as friends. Don’t you think?”
The butterflies in his stomach stopped flapping.
They keeled over and died.
“Look,” Carmen said, “you know I care about you, right?”
“I guess so.”
“Well,” she said, “over the past couple days I’ve gotten to know someone a little better. And I think she’d be perfect for you.”
“A girl?”
“Yes, Shy. A girl.” Carmen turned around and called out: “You can come join us now, Addie.”
Shy looked up, shocked to see Addie approaching their table. She sat down, smiling, and gave him a little wave.
“You don’t even like her,” Shy said to Carmen.
“That’s not true,” she said. “Once you get past that bitchy front she puts up, and you ignore all her snobby tendencies, you’ll discover that Addie’s a pretty decent girl.” Carmen then turned to Addie, said: “And I’m gonna be honest about Shy, too. He can be a little selfish and girl crazy. And he’s into corny shit like hand-holding tests. But he means well.”
“Corny can be cute,” Addie said.
“Mmm, in Shy’s case it’s really not,” Carmen said. “Trust me. But it’s better than him being an asshole, right?”
Shy was starting to get frustrated. This was his dream. Why was he letting other people tell him what to do?
“Look at you two,” Carmen said. “You’re both shivering. You need each other right now.”
Shy looked down at his own arms. Carmen was right. His teeth were even chattering. It was the same for Addie.
“So, what do you guys think?” Carmen said. “Are you brave enough to give it a try?”
Shy rubbed the hell out of his eyes, trying to wake himself up. When he dropped his hands, he found himself sitting across the table from Mr. Henry, who was turning on a power hacksaw. Carmen and Addie had vanished.
“Hold up, man!” Shy shouted over the roar of the saw. “What’re you doing with that thing? And where’d the girls go?”
The oilman ignored his question and started lowering the blade toward his wounded leg, shouting: “I won’t be needing this anymore!”
Blood sprayed everywhere. “Jesus, man!” Shy shouted, shielding his face with his hands, cringing at the awful sound.
After a few seconds the oilman turned off the saw and set it on the table, then he tore off the rest of his leg. “It was just getting in the way,” he said, tossing it onto the floor of the Southside Lounge, where it made a surprising splashing sound.
Mr. Henry hopped around to Shy’s side of the table and sat down, saying: “I came over here to thank you.”
“To thank me?” Shy said. “For what?” His dream was so confusing now he just wanted it to be over. He clenched his eyes closed and rubbed them with his fists again, harder this time. Then he opened them as wide as he could, demanding himself to wake up.
It was still him and the oilman, but they were no longer in the Southside Lounge. They were inside the broken boat, leaning against the side next to each other. Addie across from them, asleep.
“For listening,” the oilman said. “I needed to admit to someone that Angela didn’t want me. It’s like a weight has been lifted.”
Shy’s mind was foggy and slow, but he knew he was no longer dreaming. This was real. He could tell because the oilman’s leg was back on his body, giving off a foul odor.
“You know, I’ve always had a certain belief about women,” Mr. Henry continued, his face filled with pain. “They love to own expensive jewelry. But now I’m starting to believe there’s a second part to that. Something I’d never thought about until I got out here on this boat. Women love expensive jewelry even more when it comes from the right person.”
Shy watched Mr. Henry stare out at the dark ocean, wondering why he was talking about jewelry when he was in such bad shape. Sweat streamed down the guy’s forehead. His teeth were clenched in pain. Shy would be focusing all his attention on staying alive.
“It hurts me to admit this,” Mr. Henry said, turning back to Shy, “but even though I can afford any piece of jewelry, from any store, I’ve never been the right person to give it.”
Shy opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. Henry raised a hand and said: “Now I have an odd sort of request.”
Shy closed his mouth and listened.
“I’d like to hug you, Shy.”
“Hug me?” This was the last thing Shy expected. “What are you even talking about?”
“I’m coming to the end of the line.”
Shy was shaking his head now, saying: “Look, man, I’m sorry about everything that’s happened. But I’m not trying to hug somebody out here—”
The oilman was already leaning over and wrapping his arms around Shy’s shoulders. “I don’t mean anything strange by this,” he mumbled in Shy’s ear. “It’s just a hug. Nothing more.”
“Get off me,” Shy said, trying to push away. But he felt so weak. And Mr. Henry had a tight hold around his back. And it wasn’t like the guy was trying to molest him. He was just doing a stupid hug, like Rodney might. And Shy felt so bad for the man.
The whole thing lasted maybe eight seconds. Then the oilman let go and pushed away from Shy. “Be the right person,” he said. “Gifts are more meaningful when they come from the right person.”