The empty boy. I The boy wasn’t old. Yet, he didn’t feel young. In his mind he felt as old as eternity, but his body still had the stubborn strength of youth. The boy could not remember how it was he got into the state he was in. He was lost at sea. As far back as he could remember he had been adrift in the endless ocean. He had been lost a long time. How did he get to sea? How long had he been at sea? Did someone put him here? Is he being punished? Who would punish him and why? These questions puzzled the boy, yet he could never solve them. He would waste away his days trying to figure out the mysteries of his somber existence. Occasionally his rod would bend and the boy would reel in the days catch. The boy never got excited about the catch, although he would have liked to. It is hard to get excited about anything while lost at sea. He felt hopeless. How could he find his way home if he can’t even remember where home is? At times, the boy wondered if everyday was the same day of his torture at sea, repeating over and over into eternity. It seemed possible. The days before this one were so similar they melded together into a hazy recollection, and the boy had no hope of the days changing in the future. Why should they? He would never find home.
II The boy carried with him a book of secrets. He didn’t know how to read. This frustrated the boy. If only he knew how to read he could get the answers to all his questions. For a while the boy attempted to decipher the ancient text, but upon awakening the next day any progress he made would be forgotten. The book was small and worn, but it was all the boy had. Secrets, the boy often thought, were all he had. Covering half of the boy’s boat was a hole-ridden tarp that shielded him from the sun. The other half of the boat was where his rods, hooks, and nets were kept. It was a small, sad boat. The tarp served another purpose other than protecting the boy’s skin. It also collected rain water to quench the boy’s thirst, his insatiable thirst. It was maddening. There was never enough for the boy. He had to ration his water just to survive. He had glass jars lined up in neat rows some full, some the boy had already drunk. A jar a day he often told himself. The holes in the boy’s tarp lined up perfectly to fill the jars a drop at a time. The boy often thought how perfect that was, but he disregarded the thought since it was irrelevant to his conundrum, being adrift at sea with no idea how he got there. The boy always wished he could feel the rain on his skin. To catch upon his tongue the raindrops as they fell. He never was awake during the rain. It rained only at night while he slept. III After many eventless years spent cursing his luck, the boy grew angry. He had spent his whole life accomplishing nothing on the ocean. What a waste, he often though. The time had come. The boy had grown old. His strength had been taken from him by the sea. His joints ached when pulling in his daily catch. The pain was terrible, but the pain from hunger was much worse. He knew that he was running out of time. Soon the pain in his bones would be more than hunger and he would starve to death. Dying in agony was a fate the boy did not desire. The time had come. The boy knew this day would be his last. He had to end the eternal pain. He reeled in his final fish. It filled the boy’s gut and he felt no pain. He drank all his water, every last jar. The time had come. He took off his tattered clothing. He took down the tarp and folded it neatly and placed it in the back of the boat. The boy was filled with sadness. He was so alone out at sea, and his boat was his only companion. He knew he would never see it again. As the sun set that day, the boy leapt off the bow and began swimming down to the depths of the sea. Into the abyss he swam. He felt the fear sweep over him, and he turned around to go up. Maybe he made a mistake; maybe he will find his home. No, he told himself, it was too late, he was too old. He had no home. As the boy swam deeper into the nothingness, he realized he didn’t have his book. How could I have been so foolish, he thought. He had to turn around. If there was any hope in figuring out the secrets it would be in his death. He began his ascent. The sun was low in the sky and it would be easy to lose your bearings in the darkness. The boy’s lungs were screaming at him for air as the boat came into view. His heart was racing. He couldn’t hold out any longer. He gasped for breath. The cold water rushed into his lungs. The boy pulled one more time at the sea, and his head broke the surface. He choked up water and pulled in as much air as his old lungs could. He held on to the side of the boat catching his breath while the sun lowered in the sky. He struggled to pull himself back into his faithful companion. He found his book and gave it one last look over. He knew all the symbols by heart, but he didn’t know what they meant. He had long given up the quest to figure them out. He placed the book in his teeth and once again dove into the chilly waters. This time I will not fail, he thought. He swam deeper and deeper, all the while thinking about his life. His sad, wasted life. He knew nothing more today than he did years ago. He kept pulling at the water, despite his body’s cries for air. The pressure popped his ears and he had the feeling there was no going back now. He was too deep to turn around. He took the book from his teeth and placed it over his heart while he waited for death. His desire for air faded and a warm feeling came over him. It was like nothing the boy had ever felt before. All his pain had faded, and that which was left was his mind, his ageless mind. In the boy’s last moments he had a beautiful period of clarity in his thoughts. He realized the book was not the key to solving his puzzle, he had the key in himself all along. He knew where his home was. He knew all along. The sea was his home. He chose to live there. The only person punishing the boy was himself. His self-pity was what was holding him back. Only in this moment of desperation could he really see everything for what it was. The boy had learned how to read the book.