A short story I attempted and abandoned in early 2011, my last year of high school. I had it on my dad's flash drive that I took to school and lost, so I don't know how it ended up on my family's backup hard drive, but I'm grateful. And I'm sorry for losing the flash drive.
Skin Deep
By C. Randall Nicholson
Janice Jones’ favorite part of her morning routine was at the end of it, admiring herself and her handiwork in the mirror from every possible angle. Sometimes, as she put on her makeup or fussed with her hair, she could hardly stand still, so charged was she with excitement at the prospect of seeing the end result. And who could blame her? Without makeup or hairstyling she was already gorgeous beyond description. Her perfectly sculpted face with its petite little nose, dimples and heart-wrenching blue eyes, topped by the most cooperative silky blonde hair on Earth and topping a body that movie stars killed themselves aspiring to, all added up to the very picture of perfection. Out of six and a half billion people, she was one of a kind, and she knew it, and she loved it.
Though most high school seniors were bored to tears waiting for their chance to get out, Janice relished every moment she spent in school, where she had a captive audience – as if they needed to be held captive. When others were allowed to bask in her glory they not only reaffirmed what hardly needed reaffirming, but also made her feel she was doing a service to the world. How often, after all, did someone like her come along? It would be a crime to keep her beauty hidden away for even a moment more than necessary.
And so this particular morning was much like any other. Janice was even more pleased than usual to discover that it had warmed up considerably since yesterday, because she had gotten tired of being cold. Not that she ever complained, of course, because sacrifices had to be made when choosing clothing that would best accentuate her natural beauty. Everyone had annoyances in life and she knew she was no exception. Still, it was nice for that to be over for now, at least until the next frost.
She did her morning routine, pausing to admire herself in the mirror a couple minutes longer than usual, and headed out the door. Today was going to be a good day. She could feel it.
Once at school she began strutting down the hallway as usual, giving everyone a chance to admire her before the bell rang. Her friends greeted her warmly and rushed to keep up with her magnanimous strides.
“Hey Janice,” said What’s-her-name. “Looking hot.”
“Thanks, I know it,” said Janice smugly.
“I dig the sandals,” said What’s-her-face.
“Me too,” said Janice. “That’s why I bought them.”
“Hi Janice,” said a timid male voice.
She glanced sideways, not breaking stride. In her peripheral vision she saw a very familiar lanky, dorky guy. He was familiar because he said hi to her every day. She kept walking.
***
Janice Jones was very pleased with herself as she walked home. It had been a good day as she suspected; everyone had paid even more attention to her than usual. Now she felt the gazes of drivers lingering on her as they zipped past. But she did not turn to acknowledge them; that would undoubtedly be too distracting and cause accidents. And they would not be able to ponder the beauty they had witnessed once they were dead, though if they were merely hospitalized it would be a great morale boost.
Something else caught her eye, though. Off to her right, on the old bridge leading to the shadier side of the city, someone was clinging to the outside of the railing, staring down into the river which was swollen with melting ice. As she got closer, she saw that it was the dorky guy who said hi to her every day. Her heart sank. Witnessing a suicide would put a damper on what had otherwise been an awesome day. But surely there was no better way to prevent that than to see her, to see what was worth living for. She turned onto the bridge and approached him.
“Hi,” she said. “Whatcha doin’?”
He didn’t look up. “Hi, Janice,” he said. “I’m going to jump into the river. Just got to gather my courage first.”
“I can see that,” she snapped, then caught herself. In a gentler tone she asked, “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because I’m going to drown myself.”
“No kidding! But why?”
“Because the current is –”
“Why,” she said, trying to stay calm, “do you want to die?”
“Because you treat me like dirt,” he said, still not looking at her. His voice held no reproach, only matter-of-factness. “Every day, when I see you, it’s inferiority complex city. I am reminded of what a miserable nothing I am and that I’ll never be anything more. And when the reminder is gone, that fact will remain. I can’t face another day of my pathetic meaningless existence.”
“Oh – er – what’s your name?”
“James.”
“Oh, James,” she gushed sympathetically. Her heart went out to him, it really did. She climbed over the railing and stood next to him but immediately wished she hadn’t. Her arms tired within seconds and it was a long way down. Still, she bore it and continued. “You poor thing. You just don’t understand, do you?”
Finally he looked at her, but his face did not light up at seeing hers. How could that be?
“There’s some things in this world,” she said, “some things in life, that are just a certain way. Some people are born into one situation, and some to another, and some to another. It’s just the way things are. You mustn’t take it personally! You know, I was just watching this BBC special about dinosaurs, and there was this one flying reptile that never got a mate because his wings weren’t colorful enough or something. Now do you suppose he took it personally? Do you suppose he thought he was worthless, and killed himself?”
“I suppose,” said James slowly, “that the question is moot, as you are referring to a dramatization of events and animal behaviors which may or may not have ever occurred.”
“But it’s the principle of the thing!” she insisted. “Look, er – ah – James, be like that flying reptile, whether he was real or not. Make the most of your lot in life and don’t presume that it’s any fault of your own.”
James turned away and pondered this wisdom for a moment. Janice wished he would ponder a bit faster, because her arms were getting really sore by now and her legs were numb, but she knew that rushing the process could be disastrous. Finally his face lit up. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Thanks, Janice. I don’t know what came over me.” He shimmied back over to the right side of the railing and extended a hand.
“No, no,” she said, “I can handle it myself. I’m quite capable.”
James pulled back his hand and shrugged.
“Well, good-bye, James, see you tomorrow,” she said.
James nodded. “See you,” he said, but he did not leave.
“Good-bye, James,” she said in a more emphatic tone. He got the hint and left.
With that taken care of, Janice focused on the task at hand. Carefully she removed her left foot from its perch and, in as slow and gradual an arc as possible, swung it around her right and dug in with her toe instead of heel. Then, feeling a bit more confident, she repeated the process with her other foot. Now she was facing the bridge and could take her time climbing back onto it. She breathed a sigh of relief.
And her left foot slipped.
As her knee bounced off the metal railing, she instinctively went to rub it with her left hand, and then her remaining foot slipped as well, and then she was hanging by one hand for a few long, interminable seconds. As her fingers screamed in pain, weakening faster than she could bring her other hand back up to regain its grip, the thought crossed her mind that she was about to die.
Then she was horizontal, arms outstretched in a useless final gesture of terror-born instinct, as the merciless cold air rushed past her.
***
It may have been the smell that brought Janice back to her senses. In any case, it was the first thing she recognized. To be precise, it was a mixture of smells, none of them particularly pleasant and most of them quite the opposite. She nearly threw up in her mouth as they threatened to overwhelm her, but managed to hold it in.
Then she noticed the textures, the sliminess and greasiness and coarseness and chunkiness and a variety of other things that she was partially submerged in. She decided she didn’t feel inclined to open her eyes, but realized she didn’t have much choice unless she planned on staying here forever. She opened them.
And threw up.
She was laying in a mound of compost; of cottage cheese and tuna fish and half-eaten burgers and things she could not even begin, nor did she wish, to identify. And the mound of compost was only part of a small mountain of refuse beyond which she could see nothing but water stretching to the horizon on either side. With a start, she propped up her elbows and gasped as a wave of pain shot through her body. Worse than that however was the fear and confusion at having no idea where she was or what was going on. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone? Is this purgatory?”
“Seems like it some days,” said a gravelly voice from behind her somewhere. “Wait – what in the – ?”
She heard footsteps approach and turned around. Coming towards her was a scruffy-looking middle-aged guy with three days of stubble and clothes that he appeared to have been wearing for years. He wore a pair of snowshoes to walk across the garbage, but one was broken and flopped like a beached trout.
“Oh, it's you,” he said to her.
“'Oh, it's you?' What's that supposed to mean? Where am I? Why didn't I go to heaven?”
“You think you're dead, eh?” he said. “I did too. I thought you were a corpse so I left you alone.”
Janice shuddered. “A corpse in the compost,” she said. “How horribly undignified. Especially for someone like me.”
“Look sister, when I die you can chop my body into little bits and pave a road with them for all I care,” the man said. “I won't have much use for it myself, now will I?”
“I suppose not.” There was a subject she didn't like to think about. “So, am I on a garbage scow or something?”
“Bingo,” said the man, and gestured out to sea where they could see the little boat pulling them along. He turned back to her. “Let me guess,” he said, “you jumped off a bridge, didn't you? What is wrong with you kids? I never felt the urge to jump off a bridge when I was your age.”
“It was an accident,” she protested. “I was only –” A horrible thought came to her. “I didn't know garbage scows even went out to sea! How far are we from Smoresburg?”
The man furrowed his brow and scratched his chin. “Oh, about a hundred miles by now, I'd say,” he said.
She nearly choked. “A hundred miles!? I have to get back! You have to take me back!”
“Sorry, sister, no can do,” said the man with a shrug. “This ride makes no stops and no detours.”
“Well what are you doing anyway, are you going to dump all this crap out where the poor little sea animals can choke on it and die or something?”
“No, I'm dumping it on land, thank you very much. Just not anywhere near Smoresburg.”
“Where, then?”
“A little town called Puerto Cabezas.”
“And where is that?”
“Nicaragua.”
Janice shook her head, unable to believe her ears. “This isn't happening. You aren't seriously going to make me stay on this stinking heap all the way to a little dirt patch in Central freaking America. Are you out of your mind!?”
The man, tiring of this conversation, started walking away.
“If you don't take me back,” she called after him, “I'll have you charged with kidnapping!”
The man stopped and let out a sigh of exasperation that lasted nearly thirty seconds.
Janice smiled triumphantly to herself. “Unless,” she continued, “you could bring yourself to throw a gorgeous young girl overboard...”
The man faced her and threw out his palms. “Look, sister, I'll lay it out for you,” he said. “It's not that I won't turn around, it's that I can't. C-A-N-apostraphe-T can't. For reasons that do not concern you. So, if you would be so kind as to just cooperate until all this is over, I'll make it worth your while. Monetarily speaking.”
She started to protest, but caught herself. Money, of course, could buy makeup and hair products, which she went through like a politician went through lies and excuses. One thing she had learned was to never pass up an opportunity without scoping it out. “How much you talking?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Depends,” he said. “Definitely a lot, but it depends on the market for garbage right now.”
What the heck? She wasn't dead and had found herself in a rather unique situation that would probably never come along again. Besides, she couldn't win an argument with a guy who just walked away. “Deal,” she said. “But do we have to stay here, with the actual garbage?”
“Nah,” said the man. “I was just rooting around for anything of interest out here. I'm heading back to the boat.” He approached her and held out a hand. She gladly took it and pulled herself up, wincing as she sank past her ankles into the compost. “You're lucky to have landed in this particular spot,” he continued. “There's car parts over in that corner.”
“Right, lucky,” she muttered. She looked over the moldy rotting food and wrinkled her nose. “Jeez, how do you put up with the smell?”
“I'm used to it,” he said with a shrug. “My own daughter used even more perfume than you.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued speaking. “Look, we haven't been formally introduced, and we might as well be since you're going to be with me to Nicaragua and back. The name is Mac McConnell.” He offered her his hand again.
“Janice Jones,” she said, shaking it. Because her hands were already disgustingly filthy her normal qualms were evaporated. “Hey, how about that? Both of our names have alliteration. And my middle name is Joyce.”
“Mine's Wesley,” said Mac with evident distaste. He cleared his throat. “Okay, let's get to the boat. You'll have to hand-over hand on the cable there, but as you can see it isn't far.”
Too far for her liking, but she wasn't staying with this garbage another minute. She waded over to the cable, gave it a tug, and started climbing. Though she was sore all over from her landing, she knew she could make it. It wasn't far at all.
“I'll try to get you if you fall in,” said Mac, “but there are probably sharks following us, on account of things falling off the scow.” He started after her.
“Sharks, great,” she said, glancing down and immediately wishing she hadn't. The sea foamed and churned beneath her and, though it was much closer than the river had been, all she could think about was its sheer depth. She threw caution to the wind and hurried the last few feet, jumping onto the deck of the little boat with more than a touch of relief.
The relief was short-lived. Looking around, she saw that the boat itself was a good candidate for the garbage scow. It certainly fit Mac, though. It was like something out of a movie; like Han Solo with his Millennium Falcon, the cocky smuggler and the piece of junk that were both more than met the eye. But this was real life, she thought bitterly, and she would consider it a miracle if the rusty heap didn't disintegrate before they reached Florida.
Mac jumped onto the deck behind her. “Nice going, sister,” he said. “All right, food is in there.” He jerked his thumb towards the cabin area. “Go easy on it because we travel light. You can have my bunk, which is in that same area but below deck.”
She nodded her understanding.
“I'll sleep out here, thank you for asking,” he mumbled. “Anything else – oh yeah. Bathroom's right there.” He jerked his thumb at the ocean. “I can get you a harness if you want.”
“Are you serious?” She shook her head. “All right, I can wait to – er, what you're thinking – but as far as an actual bath is concerned, well, one of those would be really nice right now, seeing as I'm all covered in your livelihood.” She gestured at her ruined clothes and hair.
Mac grinned. “What is this thing, this 'bath' of which you speak?”
“Well, I usually take showers, but –”
“Speak English, sister,” he said. “Have you taken a look at me?” He shrugged. “All right, I'm not making any promises, but I might have a bucket somewhere. Hold on.” He vanished into his cabin.
Janice stared after him. Yes, I have taken a look at you, she thought. But have you taken a look at me? She understood, of course, that unless he was a child molester, he wouldn't show much reaction to her stunning good looks. But there had to be something, some spark in the eye, some edge to the mannerisms that betrayed his inner thoughts. Yet he had spoken to her like any ordinary person. Other than that, he didn't act gay, but apparently he had to be.
She looked out at the mountain of garbage trailing behind them. It already seemed a world removed from hers, from her home, her school, her mall, and all the other places where people admired her. Now here she was, headed for some place in practically another hemisphere with all her beautifying efforts of the day well and truly canceled out. Sure, she was still gorgeous, but the smell would dissuade all those Nicaraguans from getting close enough to properly appreciate it. Ah, woe! Never again would she trust one of those feelings that told her she was going to have a good day.
“Well, here you go,” said Mac, returning with a rusty and dented bucket. “There's a little hole in it, but if you're fast it shouldn't be a problem. Just a moment, now –” He picked up a tattered coil of rope from off the deck and began tying it around the handle. “Just a moment – the rabbit goes around the tree, and into the hole –”
The first mate suddenly appeared, a tall, deathly skinny man with hollowed cheeks. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth and he nearly dropped it in his surprise. “Jeez, Mac,” he said, “what're you trying to do, get us arrested?”
“I told you, she came here. She jumped off a bridge.”
“I fell,” she corrected.
“Same end result. Now quit distracting me. The fox chases the rabbit –”
“But come on, Mac, we can't have her loafing around on deck when we get into port,” insisted the first mate. “Even the Nickies will get suspicious when they see this beat-up excuse for a boat, with a couple of old dumpy guys, and this underage bombshell here. 'Specially if you're getting her cleaned up first.”
Hearing the bombshell bit, Janice glanced at Mac triumphantly to catch his reaction. He was intently focused on the rope, though, and didn't look at either of them. “She's getting herself cleaned up,” he insisted. “Look, can we discuss this later? I'm trying to concentrate. The hunter's dogs track the fox –”
“It ain't that I don't like you, kid, understand,” said the first mate to Janice. “And of course we can't take you back where you came from right now. But your being here sure makes things difficult for us. And Mac here didn't consult with me before offering you a share of our profits.”
“I was under pressure,” said Mac. “She has the prejudice of law on her side.”
“Yeah, mebbe,” said the first mate, “but you don't have to let on that it worries you none.” He looked into Janice's eyes, and she stepped back a little. “You know what I would've said, if'n it had been me what found you out on the scow?”
She shook her head.
“Hey there, get out of my trash, you,” he said, stabbing a finger an inch from her face. “We don't take free passengers here.” He gawked. “What's that? Take you back? Are you joking? No way. Oh, you'll accuse me of kidnapping, will you? That'll be the smallest detail on my record. Yes, as a matter of fact I could bring myself to throw you overboard, and so help me I'm going to if you don't stay still and stay quiet!” His face turned red and his finger shook with rage.
Janice stepped back a little more.
“Anyway,” he said, dropping his arm, “that's what I rather would've done than waste my money to make you cooperate. Name's Lance Fregoe, by the way.” He held out his hand. Janice hesitantly shook it. “And I already know your name, Jenny,” he said.
“Good show,” said Mac, finally looking at them both. “You've completely thrown me off. What happens after the hunter is hit by a falling tree limb?”
“Give me that,” snapped Lance, snatching the rope away. “Jeez, this will take hours to undo. Can't you remember anything I told you? Oh yeah, and Jenny,” he said as he began pulling at the discombobulated knot, “Mac here tells me you're using his bunk. That's his business, but listen, if you snore, talk in your sleep, or breathe too loud, I'm sending you to sleep with the fishes. Understand?”
“Aye-aye, sir,” said Janice, and headed for the other side of the boat.
***
The rest of the trip was not altogether unpleasant. True, Janice never ended up getting to shower, because she decided the seawater was far too cold to bother with. When they made land, she figured, better opportunities would come up, if only marginally. She had anticipated Lance being a sketchball for the duration of the journey, but he wasn't so bad once she got past the initial weirdness, although his cigarettes were a nuisance. The matter of bunks never became an issue because they wiled away the entire night playing cards.
Around noon the next day Puerto Cabezas came into sight, and suddenly Mac and Lance were all business. They rushed around the boat, tidying things up the best they could, which wasn't much at all. On his third time back and forth Lance stopped and scowled at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Mac!” he hollered. “Time to get rid of the girl!”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Hey,” she said, “by get rid of, do you mean –”
“Out of sight,” said Mac, coming to her side. “Lance is right, it won't look good for a good-looking young girl like you to be found in our sort of company.”
“They call your type jailbait for a reason,” said Lance, flicking his cigarette at her accusingly.
Janice ignored him and blinked at Mac in pleased surprise. But then, it wasn't really that surprising. “Good-looking? You think I'm good looking?”
“What's obvious hardly needs explaining,” said Mac, sounding preoccupied. “Don't make this awkward, okay? I got a wife at home. Now come on, we've got to think of something.”
“Can't I just stay in the cabin when we check in?” she wondered.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Lance. “There's a lot of unrest around here the last few weeks, and talk of a revolution. The Nickies are jumping at their own shadows. They might search the whole boat.”
“Please, could you stop calling them that? It sounds almost racist.”
“Whose boat is this anyway, kid?”
Mac snapped his fingers. “Hide in the garbage,” he said. “I mean, in the garbage. They won't want to look there.”
“I can't for the life of me imagine why!” Janice snapped. “Are you seriously –”
“Kid, just do it,” said Lance. “We're paying you good money to cooperate, and we didn't put up with you all this way just so you could blow everything now. Get in there.” His eyes convinced her not to argue.
With resignation she plodded over to the cable connected to the garbage scow. The smell was already more intense at this proximity. She shuddered, remembering how bad it had been just to lay in that compost for a few minutes. She would pick an area of less organic matter this time. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so comfortable, but at least she wouldn't suffocate as quickly.
“Hurry,” said Mac. “We'll be docking in a few minutes.”
“And once you're under there, don't move,” said Lance, “unless you want some trigger-happy Nicky to give you lead poisoning.”
“Lead poisoning,” mumbled Janice, “that’s a good one. Wonder how many types of poisoning I’ll get from your collection here.” But she shimmied over the cable to the scow, the continued soreness of her body overridden by a preoccupation with what she was about to have to do. Casting back a last baleful look at Mac and Lance, she held her breath and burrowed into the trash.
It was even less comfortable than she had imagined, with edges and corners pressing into nearly every inch of her, and the decrease of odor hardly seemed significant enough to warrant this spot as opposed to the compost. Still, there was nothing for it but to make the most of things. She tried to detach her mind from the present and find a happy place, one where she was still fabulously preened and strutting her stuff for the world to admire. She imagined she was in the hallways of her school once again, followed by gazes of envy and longing as she headed to her next class. And then that dorky guy – James – he was saying hi to her again, and she turned and punched him in the teeth, screaming at him for getting her into this situation –
“Psst! Janice!” hissed a voice. “It’s all clear! You can come out now!”
What? Oh, yeah. She brushed the trash from over her face and took a huge gulp of fresh air – well, not exactly fresh air, but fresh compared to what she had been breathing for the last – how long? The sky was black and scattered throughout with twinkling points of light, and for a moment she forgot her circumstances and was overwhelmed by their simple beauty. At home in Smoresburg, she had never seen more than two stars on any given night.
“Sorry we had to put you through that, sister,” Mac was saying. He stood atop the trash again, wearing his snowshoes. “I know it wasn’t fun, but you can stop in town for a quick shower before we leave.”
“I was asleep,” she said. “I don’t know how I managed to sleep…”
“Something about that Central American air,” he said. “Permeates even the most pungent aromas of filth and knocks you out like a rock.” He extended a hand and pulled her out of the garbage for a second time, though with considerably more effort than before. “It’s safe now,” he continued. “We’ve made sure the authorities turn a blind eye to us for the next hour.”
She glanced about warily. “You’re sure of that?”
“Positive. We’ve done it plenty of –”
“Mac! We’ve got company!” yelled Lance from somewhere.
A pair of headlight beams was cutting across the water towards them at great speed. “Wait for it…” Mac said under his breath. A couple hundred feet away, the beams came to a stop and flickered off, then on, then off and on again twice more. “Bingo,” said Mac. A flashlight beam suddenly appeared from where Lance was apparently standing and repeated the pattern. “All right,” said Mac, “start digging.” He picked up a pair of shovels from the mound of trash and handed one to Janice.
“For what?” she demanded.
“Truffles,” said Lance, who had come up next to her without her noticing and now made her jump out of her skin. The eerie speck of burning red from his cigarette cast a sickly glow under his eyes. He, too, was wearing snowshoes and digging with a shovel, tossing the loads of refuse aside to the back of the scow. “We’re looking for truffles,” he repeated, “so make like a pig and sniff ‘em out.”
The approaching boat had come alongside them now, and a silhouetted figure climbed aboard. “Hey there amigos,” he called in a thick Hispanic accent. “You got the stuff?”
“You bet your sombrero we do,” said Mac, bending down to where he had been digging. He pulled out a metal box. The figure walked over to them and they saw that he was a short, stubby old man with a stereotypical long mustache. He snatched the box away, eagerly pried it open and began rifling through its contents.
“He likes truffles,” Lance explained to Janice.
But she was having none of it, and she could not believe what was going on in front of her. “Drug runners!” she said, wondering as she did if she was still dreaming. “You guys are drug runners! This explains everything – why you brought the scow so far, why you couldn’t go back, and why you offered me lots of money to cooperate! I should have seen this coming a mile away.”
“Yeah, you really should have,” Mac agreed.
The Nicaraguan looked up at Janice, and a very unpleasant look came into his eyes. “How much for the gringita?”
"A thousand córdobas," said Lance without missing a beat.
“Hey!” she shrieked.
“Simmer down, kid, I was joking.”
“I wasn't,” said the Nicaraguan.
“Well, it was in very poor taste,” said Janice.
“You don't know the half of it,” said Mac. “That's only about forty-five US dollars.”
“Please, people, let us come to an arrangement,” said the Nicaraguan. “All I need is a woman to make for me the sandwiches.”
“You know what you can do with your sandwiches?” said Janice. “You can –”
Several bursts of machine gun and rifle fire rang out through the night. The three men dove to flatten themselves out and Lance pulled Janice down with him. Though grateful for the assistance she quickly wormed away from his breath.
“Get in the water, Janice!” Mac ordered.
The continued sounds of gunfire persuaded her not to argue. She crawled to the edge of the scow and jumped. The water hit her like an electric shock, colder and wetter than she had anticipated, and she struggled for a moment to catch her breath.
The harbor was lit up now and military boats were cruising in every direction, but none of them paid the slightest attention to Mac and Lance. “Well, this complicates things a bit,” said Mac. To Janice he yelled, “Stay there! It's probably the safest place!”
[The story was going to continue with Janice fleeing into the rainforest and being captured by a tribe of natives who were so awed by her physical perfection, they wanted to sacrifice her and cleanse herself in her blood. She escaped from them and went to the authorities for help, but they refused to do anything because they prided themselves on religious liberty. And that's as far as I got in my brainstorming.]
Though most high school seniors were bored to tears waiting for their chance to get out, Janice relished every moment she spent in school, where she had a captive audience – as if they needed to be held captive. When others were allowed to bask in her glory they not only reaffirmed what hardly needed reaffirming, but also made her feel she was doing a service to the world. How often, after all, did someone like her come along? It would be a crime to keep her beauty hidden away for even a moment more than necessary.
And so this particular morning was much like any other. Janice was even more pleased than usual to discover that it had warmed up considerably since yesterday, because she had gotten tired of being cold. Not that she ever complained, of course, because sacrifices had to be made when choosing clothing that would best accentuate her natural beauty. Everyone had annoyances in life and she knew she was no exception. Still, it was nice for that to be over for now, at least until the next frost.
She did her morning routine, pausing to admire herself in the mirror a couple minutes longer than usual, and headed out the door. Today was going to be a good day. She could feel it.
Once at school she began strutting down the hallway as usual, giving everyone a chance to admire her before the bell rang. Her friends greeted her warmly and rushed to keep up with her magnanimous strides.
“Hey Janice,” said What’s-her-name. “Looking hot.”
“Thanks, I know it,” said Janice smugly.
“I dig the sandals,” said What’s-her-face.
“Me too,” said Janice. “That’s why I bought them.”
“Hi Janice,” said a timid male voice.
She glanced sideways, not breaking stride. In her peripheral vision she saw a very familiar lanky, dorky guy. He was familiar because he said hi to her every day. She kept walking.
***
Janice Jones was very pleased with herself as she walked home. It had been a good day as she suspected; everyone had paid even more attention to her than usual. Now she felt the gazes of drivers lingering on her as they zipped past. But she did not turn to acknowledge them; that would undoubtedly be too distracting and cause accidents. And they would not be able to ponder the beauty they had witnessed once they were dead, though if they were merely hospitalized it would be a great morale boost.
Something else caught her eye, though. Off to her right, on the old bridge leading to the shadier side of the city, someone was clinging to the outside of the railing, staring down into the river which was swollen with melting ice. As she got closer, she saw that it was the dorky guy who said hi to her every day. Her heart sank. Witnessing a suicide would put a damper on what had otherwise been an awesome day. But surely there was no better way to prevent that than to see her, to see what was worth living for. She turned onto the bridge and approached him.
“Hi,” she said. “Whatcha doin’?”
He didn’t look up. “Hi, Janice,” he said. “I’m going to jump into the river. Just got to gather my courage first.”
“I can see that,” she snapped, then caught herself. In a gentler tone she asked, “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because I’m going to drown myself.”
“No kidding! But why?”
“Because the current is –”
“Why,” she said, trying to stay calm, “do you want to die?”
“Because you treat me like dirt,” he said, still not looking at her. His voice held no reproach, only matter-of-factness. “Every day, when I see you, it’s inferiority complex city. I am reminded of what a miserable nothing I am and that I’ll never be anything more. And when the reminder is gone, that fact will remain. I can’t face another day of my pathetic meaningless existence.”
“Oh – er – what’s your name?”
“James.”
“Oh, James,” she gushed sympathetically. Her heart went out to him, it really did. She climbed over the railing and stood next to him but immediately wished she hadn’t. Her arms tired within seconds and it was a long way down. Still, she bore it and continued. “You poor thing. You just don’t understand, do you?”
Finally he looked at her, but his face did not light up at seeing hers. How could that be?
“There’s some things in this world,” she said, “some things in life, that are just a certain way. Some people are born into one situation, and some to another, and some to another. It’s just the way things are. You mustn’t take it personally! You know, I was just watching this BBC special about dinosaurs, and there was this one flying reptile that never got a mate because his wings weren’t colorful enough or something. Now do you suppose he took it personally? Do you suppose he thought he was worthless, and killed himself?”
“I suppose,” said James slowly, “that the question is moot, as you are referring to a dramatization of events and animal behaviors which may or may not have ever occurred.”
“But it’s the principle of the thing!” she insisted. “Look, er – ah – James, be like that flying reptile, whether he was real or not. Make the most of your lot in life and don’t presume that it’s any fault of your own.”
James turned away and pondered this wisdom for a moment. Janice wished he would ponder a bit faster, because her arms were getting really sore by now and her legs were numb, but she knew that rushing the process could be disastrous. Finally his face lit up. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Thanks, Janice. I don’t know what came over me.” He shimmied back over to the right side of the railing and extended a hand.
“No, no,” she said, “I can handle it myself. I’m quite capable.”
James pulled back his hand and shrugged.
“Well, good-bye, James, see you tomorrow,” she said.
James nodded. “See you,” he said, but he did not leave.
“Good-bye, James,” she said in a more emphatic tone. He got the hint and left.
With that taken care of, Janice focused on the task at hand. Carefully she removed her left foot from its perch and, in as slow and gradual an arc as possible, swung it around her right and dug in with her toe instead of heel. Then, feeling a bit more confident, she repeated the process with her other foot. Now she was facing the bridge and could take her time climbing back onto it. She breathed a sigh of relief.
And her left foot slipped.
As her knee bounced off the metal railing, she instinctively went to rub it with her left hand, and then her remaining foot slipped as well, and then she was hanging by one hand for a few long, interminable seconds. As her fingers screamed in pain, weakening faster than she could bring her other hand back up to regain its grip, the thought crossed her mind that she was about to die.
Then she was horizontal, arms outstretched in a useless final gesture of terror-born instinct, as the merciless cold air rushed past her.
***
It may have been the smell that brought Janice back to her senses. In any case, it was the first thing she recognized. To be precise, it was a mixture of smells, none of them particularly pleasant and most of them quite the opposite. She nearly threw up in her mouth as they threatened to overwhelm her, but managed to hold it in.
Then she noticed the textures, the sliminess and greasiness and coarseness and chunkiness and a variety of other things that she was partially submerged in. She decided she didn’t feel inclined to open her eyes, but realized she didn’t have much choice unless she planned on staying here forever. She opened them.
And threw up.
She was laying in a mound of compost; of cottage cheese and tuna fish and half-eaten burgers and things she could not even begin, nor did she wish, to identify. And the mound of compost was only part of a small mountain of refuse beyond which she could see nothing but water stretching to the horizon on either side. With a start, she propped up her elbows and gasped as a wave of pain shot through her body. Worse than that however was the fear and confusion at having no idea where she was or what was going on. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone? Is this purgatory?”
“Seems like it some days,” said a gravelly voice from behind her somewhere. “Wait – what in the – ?”
She heard footsteps approach and turned around. Coming towards her was a scruffy-looking middle-aged guy with three days of stubble and clothes that he appeared to have been wearing for years. He wore a pair of snowshoes to walk across the garbage, but one was broken and flopped like a beached trout.
“Oh, it's you,” he said to her.
“'Oh, it's you?' What's that supposed to mean? Where am I? Why didn't I go to heaven?”
“You think you're dead, eh?” he said. “I did too. I thought you were a corpse so I left you alone.”
Janice shuddered. “A corpse in the compost,” she said. “How horribly undignified. Especially for someone like me.”
“Look sister, when I die you can chop my body into little bits and pave a road with them for all I care,” the man said. “I won't have much use for it myself, now will I?”
“I suppose not.” There was a subject she didn't like to think about. “So, am I on a garbage scow or something?”
“Bingo,” said the man, and gestured out to sea where they could see the little boat pulling them along. He turned back to her. “Let me guess,” he said, “you jumped off a bridge, didn't you? What is wrong with you kids? I never felt the urge to jump off a bridge when I was your age.”
“It was an accident,” she protested. “I was only –” A horrible thought came to her. “I didn't know garbage scows even went out to sea! How far are we from Smoresburg?”
The man furrowed his brow and scratched his chin. “Oh, about a hundred miles by now, I'd say,” he said.
She nearly choked. “A hundred miles!? I have to get back! You have to take me back!”
“Sorry, sister, no can do,” said the man with a shrug. “This ride makes no stops and no detours.”
“Well what are you doing anyway, are you going to dump all this crap out where the poor little sea animals can choke on it and die or something?”
“No, I'm dumping it on land, thank you very much. Just not anywhere near Smoresburg.”
“Where, then?”
“A little town called Puerto Cabezas.”
“And where is that?”
“Nicaragua.”
Janice shook her head, unable to believe her ears. “This isn't happening. You aren't seriously going to make me stay on this stinking heap all the way to a little dirt patch in Central freaking America. Are you out of your mind!?”
The man, tiring of this conversation, started walking away.
“If you don't take me back,” she called after him, “I'll have you charged with kidnapping!”
The man stopped and let out a sigh of exasperation that lasted nearly thirty seconds.
Janice smiled triumphantly to herself. “Unless,” she continued, “you could bring yourself to throw a gorgeous young girl overboard...”
The man faced her and threw out his palms. “Look, sister, I'll lay it out for you,” he said. “It's not that I won't turn around, it's that I can't. C-A-N-apostraphe-T can't. For reasons that do not concern you. So, if you would be so kind as to just cooperate until all this is over, I'll make it worth your while. Monetarily speaking.”
She started to protest, but caught herself. Money, of course, could buy makeup and hair products, which she went through like a politician went through lies and excuses. One thing she had learned was to never pass up an opportunity without scoping it out. “How much you talking?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Depends,” he said. “Definitely a lot, but it depends on the market for garbage right now.”
What the heck? She wasn't dead and had found herself in a rather unique situation that would probably never come along again. Besides, she couldn't win an argument with a guy who just walked away. “Deal,” she said. “But do we have to stay here, with the actual garbage?”
“Nah,” said the man. “I was just rooting around for anything of interest out here. I'm heading back to the boat.” He approached her and held out a hand. She gladly took it and pulled herself up, wincing as she sank past her ankles into the compost. “You're lucky to have landed in this particular spot,” he continued. “There's car parts over in that corner.”
“Right, lucky,” she muttered. She looked over the moldy rotting food and wrinkled her nose. “Jeez, how do you put up with the smell?”
“I'm used to it,” he said with a shrug. “My own daughter used even more perfume than you.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued speaking. “Look, we haven't been formally introduced, and we might as well be since you're going to be with me to Nicaragua and back. The name is Mac McConnell.” He offered her his hand again.
“Janice Jones,” she said, shaking it. Because her hands were already disgustingly filthy her normal qualms were evaporated. “Hey, how about that? Both of our names have alliteration. And my middle name is Joyce.”
“Mine's Wesley,” said Mac with evident distaste. He cleared his throat. “Okay, let's get to the boat. You'll have to hand-over hand on the cable there, but as you can see it isn't far.”
Too far for her liking, but she wasn't staying with this garbage another minute. She waded over to the cable, gave it a tug, and started climbing. Though she was sore all over from her landing, she knew she could make it. It wasn't far at all.
“I'll try to get you if you fall in,” said Mac, “but there are probably sharks following us, on account of things falling off the scow.” He started after her.
“Sharks, great,” she said, glancing down and immediately wishing she hadn't. The sea foamed and churned beneath her and, though it was much closer than the river had been, all she could think about was its sheer depth. She threw caution to the wind and hurried the last few feet, jumping onto the deck of the little boat with more than a touch of relief.
The relief was short-lived. Looking around, she saw that the boat itself was a good candidate for the garbage scow. It certainly fit Mac, though. It was like something out of a movie; like Han Solo with his Millennium Falcon, the cocky smuggler and the piece of junk that were both more than met the eye. But this was real life, she thought bitterly, and she would consider it a miracle if the rusty heap didn't disintegrate before they reached Florida.
Mac jumped onto the deck behind her. “Nice going, sister,” he said. “All right, food is in there.” He jerked his thumb towards the cabin area. “Go easy on it because we travel light. You can have my bunk, which is in that same area but below deck.”
She nodded her understanding.
“I'll sleep out here, thank you for asking,” he mumbled. “Anything else – oh yeah. Bathroom's right there.” He jerked his thumb at the ocean. “I can get you a harness if you want.”
“Are you serious?” She shook her head. “All right, I can wait to – er, what you're thinking – but as far as an actual bath is concerned, well, one of those would be really nice right now, seeing as I'm all covered in your livelihood.” She gestured at her ruined clothes and hair.
Mac grinned. “What is this thing, this 'bath' of which you speak?”
“Well, I usually take showers, but –”
“Speak English, sister,” he said. “Have you taken a look at me?” He shrugged. “All right, I'm not making any promises, but I might have a bucket somewhere. Hold on.” He vanished into his cabin.
Janice stared after him. Yes, I have taken a look at you, she thought. But have you taken a look at me? She understood, of course, that unless he was a child molester, he wouldn't show much reaction to her stunning good looks. But there had to be something, some spark in the eye, some edge to the mannerisms that betrayed his inner thoughts. Yet he had spoken to her like any ordinary person. Other than that, he didn't act gay, but apparently he had to be.
She looked out at the mountain of garbage trailing behind them. It already seemed a world removed from hers, from her home, her school, her mall, and all the other places where people admired her. Now here she was, headed for some place in practically another hemisphere with all her beautifying efforts of the day well and truly canceled out. Sure, she was still gorgeous, but the smell would dissuade all those Nicaraguans from getting close enough to properly appreciate it. Ah, woe! Never again would she trust one of those feelings that told her she was going to have a good day.
“Well, here you go,” said Mac, returning with a rusty and dented bucket. “There's a little hole in it, but if you're fast it shouldn't be a problem. Just a moment, now –” He picked up a tattered coil of rope from off the deck and began tying it around the handle. “Just a moment – the rabbit goes around the tree, and into the hole –”
The first mate suddenly appeared, a tall, deathly skinny man with hollowed cheeks. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth and he nearly dropped it in his surprise. “Jeez, Mac,” he said, “what're you trying to do, get us arrested?”
“I told you, she came here. She jumped off a bridge.”
“I fell,” she corrected.
“Same end result. Now quit distracting me. The fox chases the rabbit –”
“But come on, Mac, we can't have her loafing around on deck when we get into port,” insisted the first mate. “Even the Nickies will get suspicious when they see this beat-up excuse for a boat, with a couple of old dumpy guys, and this underage bombshell here. 'Specially if you're getting her cleaned up first.”
Hearing the bombshell bit, Janice glanced at Mac triumphantly to catch his reaction. He was intently focused on the rope, though, and didn't look at either of them. “She's getting herself cleaned up,” he insisted. “Look, can we discuss this later? I'm trying to concentrate. The hunter's dogs track the fox –”
“It ain't that I don't like you, kid, understand,” said the first mate to Janice. “And of course we can't take you back where you came from right now. But your being here sure makes things difficult for us. And Mac here didn't consult with me before offering you a share of our profits.”
“I was under pressure,” said Mac. “She has the prejudice of law on her side.”
“Yeah, mebbe,” said the first mate, “but you don't have to let on that it worries you none.” He looked into Janice's eyes, and she stepped back a little. “You know what I would've said, if'n it had been me what found you out on the scow?”
She shook her head.
“Hey there, get out of my trash, you,” he said, stabbing a finger an inch from her face. “We don't take free passengers here.” He gawked. “What's that? Take you back? Are you joking? No way. Oh, you'll accuse me of kidnapping, will you? That'll be the smallest detail on my record. Yes, as a matter of fact I could bring myself to throw you overboard, and so help me I'm going to if you don't stay still and stay quiet!” His face turned red and his finger shook with rage.
Janice stepped back a little more.
“Anyway,” he said, dropping his arm, “that's what I rather would've done than waste my money to make you cooperate. Name's Lance Fregoe, by the way.” He held out his hand. Janice hesitantly shook it. “And I already know your name, Jenny,” he said.
“Good show,” said Mac, finally looking at them both. “You've completely thrown me off. What happens after the hunter is hit by a falling tree limb?”
“Give me that,” snapped Lance, snatching the rope away. “Jeez, this will take hours to undo. Can't you remember anything I told you? Oh yeah, and Jenny,” he said as he began pulling at the discombobulated knot, “Mac here tells me you're using his bunk. That's his business, but listen, if you snore, talk in your sleep, or breathe too loud, I'm sending you to sleep with the fishes. Understand?”
“Aye-aye, sir,” said Janice, and headed for the other side of the boat.
***
The rest of the trip was not altogether unpleasant. True, Janice never ended up getting to shower, because she decided the seawater was far too cold to bother with. When they made land, she figured, better opportunities would come up, if only marginally. She had anticipated Lance being a sketchball for the duration of the journey, but he wasn't so bad once she got past the initial weirdness, although his cigarettes were a nuisance. The matter of bunks never became an issue because they wiled away the entire night playing cards.
Around noon the next day Puerto Cabezas came into sight, and suddenly Mac and Lance were all business. They rushed around the boat, tidying things up the best they could, which wasn't much at all. On his third time back and forth Lance stopped and scowled at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Mac!” he hollered. “Time to get rid of the girl!”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Hey,” she said, “by get rid of, do you mean –”
“Out of sight,” said Mac, coming to her side. “Lance is right, it won't look good for a good-looking young girl like you to be found in our sort of company.”
“They call your type jailbait for a reason,” said Lance, flicking his cigarette at her accusingly.
Janice ignored him and blinked at Mac in pleased surprise. But then, it wasn't really that surprising. “Good-looking? You think I'm good looking?”
“What's obvious hardly needs explaining,” said Mac, sounding preoccupied. “Don't make this awkward, okay? I got a wife at home. Now come on, we've got to think of something.”
“Can't I just stay in the cabin when we check in?” she wondered.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Lance. “There's a lot of unrest around here the last few weeks, and talk of a revolution. The Nickies are jumping at their own shadows. They might search the whole boat.”
“Please, could you stop calling them that? It sounds almost racist.”
“Whose boat is this anyway, kid?”
Mac snapped his fingers. “Hide in the garbage,” he said. “I mean, in the garbage. They won't want to look there.”
“I can't for the life of me imagine why!” Janice snapped. “Are you seriously –”
“Kid, just do it,” said Lance. “We're paying you good money to cooperate, and we didn't put up with you all this way just so you could blow everything now. Get in there.” His eyes convinced her not to argue.
With resignation she plodded over to the cable connected to the garbage scow. The smell was already more intense at this proximity. She shuddered, remembering how bad it had been just to lay in that compost for a few minutes. She would pick an area of less organic matter this time. Maybe it wouldn't be quite so comfortable, but at least she wouldn't suffocate as quickly.
“Hurry,” said Mac. “We'll be docking in a few minutes.”
“And once you're under there, don't move,” said Lance, “unless you want some trigger-happy Nicky to give you lead poisoning.”
“Lead poisoning,” mumbled Janice, “that’s a good one. Wonder how many types of poisoning I’ll get from your collection here.” But she shimmied over the cable to the scow, the continued soreness of her body overridden by a preoccupation with what she was about to have to do. Casting back a last baleful look at Mac and Lance, she held her breath and burrowed into the trash.
It was even less comfortable than she had imagined, with edges and corners pressing into nearly every inch of her, and the decrease of odor hardly seemed significant enough to warrant this spot as opposed to the compost. Still, there was nothing for it but to make the most of things. She tried to detach her mind from the present and find a happy place, one where she was still fabulously preened and strutting her stuff for the world to admire. She imagined she was in the hallways of her school once again, followed by gazes of envy and longing as she headed to her next class. And then that dorky guy – James – he was saying hi to her again, and she turned and punched him in the teeth, screaming at him for getting her into this situation –
“Psst! Janice!” hissed a voice. “It’s all clear! You can come out now!”
What? Oh, yeah. She brushed the trash from over her face and took a huge gulp of fresh air – well, not exactly fresh air, but fresh compared to what she had been breathing for the last – how long? The sky was black and scattered throughout with twinkling points of light, and for a moment she forgot her circumstances and was overwhelmed by their simple beauty. At home in Smoresburg, she had never seen more than two stars on any given night.
“Sorry we had to put you through that, sister,” Mac was saying. He stood atop the trash again, wearing his snowshoes. “I know it wasn’t fun, but you can stop in town for a quick shower before we leave.”
“I was asleep,” she said. “I don’t know how I managed to sleep…”
“Something about that Central American air,” he said. “Permeates even the most pungent aromas of filth and knocks you out like a rock.” He extended a hand and pulled her out of the garbage for a second time, though with considerably more effort than before. “It’s safe now,” he continued. “We’ve made sure the authorities turn a blind eye to us for the next hour.”
She glanced about warily. “You’re sure of that?”
“Positive. We’ve done it plenty of –”
“Mac! We’ve got company!” yelled Lance from somewhere.
A pair of headlight beams was cutting across the water towards them at great speed. “Wait for it…” Mac said under his breath. A couple hundred feet away, the beams came to a stop and flickered off, then on, then off and on again twice more. “Bingo,” said Mac. A flashlight beam suddenly appeared from where Lance was apparently standing and repeated the pattern. “All right,” said Mac, “start digging.” He picked up a pair of shovels from the mound of trash and handed one to Janice.
“For what?” she demanded.
“Truffles,” said Lance, who had come up next to her without her noticing and now made her jump out of her skin. The eerie speck of burning red from his cigarette cast a sickly glow under his eyes. He, too, was wearing snowshoes and digging with a shovel, tossing the loads of refuse aside to the back of the scow. “We’re looking for truffles,” he repeated, “so make like a pig and sniff ‘em out.”
The approaching boat had come alongside them now, and a silhouetted figure climbed aboard. “Hey there amigos,” he called in a thick Hispanic accent. “You got the stuff?”
“You bet your sombrero we do,” said Mac, bending down to where he had been digging. He pulled out a metal box. The figure walked over to them and they saw that he was a short, stubby old man with a stereotypical long mustache. He snatched the box away, eagerly pried it open and began rifling through its contents.
“He likes truffles,” Lance explained to Janice.
But she was having none of it, and she could not believe what was going on in front of her. “Drug runners!” she said, wondering as she did if she was still dreaming. “You guys are drug runners! This explains everything – why you brought the scow so far, why you couldn’t go back, and why you offered me lots of money to cooperate! I should have seen this coming a mile away.”
“Yeah, you really should have,” Mac agreed.
The Nicaraguan looked up at Janice, and a very unpleasant look came into his eyes. “How much for the gringita?”
"A thousand córdobas," said Lance without missing a beat.
“Hey!” she shrieked.
“Simmer down, kid, I was joking.”
“I wasn't,” said the Nicaraguan.
“Well, it was in very poor taste,” said Janice.
“You don't know the half of it,” said Mac. “That's only about forty-five US dollars.”
“Please, people, let us come to an arrangement,” said the Nicaraguan. “All I need is a woman to make for me the sandwiches.”
“You know what you can do with your sandwiches?” said Janice. “You can –”
Several bursts of machine gun and rifle fire rang out through the night. The three men dove to flatten themselves out and Lance pulled Janice down with him. Though grateful for the assistance she quickly wormed away from his breath.
“Get in the water, Janice!” Mac ordered.
The continued sounds of gunfire persuaded her not to argue. She crawled to the edge of the scow and jumped. The water hit her like an electric shock, colder and wetter than she had anticipated, and she struggled for a moment to catch her breath.
The harbor was lit up now and military boats were cruising in every direction, but none of them paid the slightest attention to Mac and Lance. “Well, this complicates things a bit,” said Mac. To Janice he yelled, “Stay there! It's probably the safest place!”
[The story was going to continue with Janice fleeing into the rainforest and being captured by a tribe of natives who were so awed by her physical perfection, they wanted to sacrifice her and cleanse herself in her blood. She escaped from them and went to the authorities for help, but they refused to do anything because they prided themselves on religious liberty. And that's as far as I got in my brainstorming.]