We set off down the steady
flowing river, basking in the sunshine, threatening to splash each
other with the cold water. We were all tied together in a triangular
fashion with the floating cooler in the middle. A waterproof radio
sat atop the cooler blasting fun summer music. When Norah Jones'
“Come Away with Me”* came on, we all shouted “Boo!” and I
changed the station to find a more upbeat song. We drifted down the
river, sipping our beers and eventually our loud singing along with
the radio turned into soft hums. The lazy flow of the river, the
calming effects of the beer, and the sunshine therapy soon sucked
away our bubbly energy and we became content to pass the rest of the
trip idly.
Suddenly, the radio
started to fade, causing a stir amongst our idleness. It popped and
whined a bit, then suddenly... Silence. General gripes about having
no more tunes rang out among the three of us, but we soon quieted our
fussing and settled into light conversations about boys, school,
work, and... mostly boys. After a while, though, we drifted back
into silence. The sounds of the woods surrounding the river started
to hit our ears, but something sounded... wrong.
A loud humming became
evident, and we all glanced among ourselves, questioning looks on our
faces. A boat. There was a boat somewhere on the river, and it was
coming closer. This wasn't unusual; boats frequented the river just
as much as tubes. But instead of slowing down just enough to pass
politely, this boat was coming to a stop. The man in the boat was
unfamiliar to all of us. He pulled the boat close to our tubes and
stared at us, his eyes grazing up and down our sun-tanned bodies.
“What is this?” one of
my friends asked. “Our own personal version of Heart of Darkness?”
“You didn't even read
that,” my other friend replied.
“Guys...” I said,
watching as the man in the boat smiled – showing crooked yellow
teeth – and pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of us.
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