It was meant to be a simple trip, only a few days long. I woke up that morning excited to try something new. Excited that I’d finally be out of that boring old office in Boston. I could finally escape the cold weather, and go somewhere more fun.
Brazil seemed like the perfect place to go to get the relaxation I needed, so I did my research and found a remote location great for getting away. I had been doing Duolingo, so my Portuguese was all right, and I really hoped I wouldn’t mess it up as badly as I did the last time we tried to go.
I woke to the sun dimly reaching across the night sky and the sound of rain against the windows of my apartment. My tiny Volkswagen carried me through the freezing showers that pelted the asphalt and the gray buildings of the city. The airport was moderately busy, and few people boarded the red-eye I was taking to Brazil.
I woke up in the hotel the next morning, and took a taxi to the port. There were three other people at the docks, not including me. I was really expecting more people, but I guess this was it. Whatever, I didn’t want it to be too crowded anyway. The purser took the ticket and nodded. Finally the crew arrived, and there were more of them than us. They boarded the relatively small ship, and then we got on. No conversation was exchanged, and someone handed us the keys to our rooms shortly thereafter. Mine had the number 16 scratched into it. Apparently my room was all the way at the back of the ship, overlooking the opposite way we were going. I unlocked the door and it opened into two small rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom. The bedroom had a simple chest of drawers and a bed, and the bathroom had a sink, a small shower, and a toilet.
Hmm. This doesn’t look like the right room. It looked different in the picture on their website. Maybe you should go talk to a crew member.
I stepped outside into the hot and humid Brazilian air, and looked around. There wasn’t anyone on deck or anywhere in sight.
You probably shouldn’t bother them, anyway. It’d be too early to bother them. The last thing they want is some angry American screaming in their face because you’re unhappy about some small thing, like your room not looking right.
I went back to my room and sat down on my bed. Sitting soon turned into lying down, and then I fell asleep right there. When I woke up, the cicadas were singing and the steady rocking of the boat was calming. I peeked out of my door, and two men were leaning over the edge of the boat, talking to each other and looking at the river we’d been traveling. I spoke to them in broken Portuguese, but they just seemed confused. One responded in a complex sentence that I didn’t quite understand. I walked back to my room.
You are such an ignorant American; you couldn’t even talk to them. Were you even listening?
It's fine, I’m fine, they’re fine. We’re all fine.
You want to know who isn't fine? This is exactly what happened last time, and this is exactly how you reacted.
I don’t — I don’t want to remember that anymore.
Now where is my gosh darn key? Did I drop it?
I retraced my steps, inspecting every board and crevice, looking for my key. I leaned over the edge — maybe it had fallen in the water? I looked down into the river, and the boat was moving pretty quickly. If it had fallen in the water, I had already lost it. I’d already ruined it. I put down my head on the railing out of frustration, and groaned.
Then I heard a thump, a crash, and the boat bounced off the water. I lost my grip on the railing and plunged head first into the somewhat warm water of the Amazon River.
On my way down I screamed out, calling for anyone.
Calling out to him.
Are you still there?
No. He isn’t. He’s dead because of you.
That’s --
It is true.
I think I hit my head on something. My head felt weak and I began to sink, but I pulled myself up toward the surface with my feet and hands. When my head reached the air again, the two men who had been looking over the edge were calling out to a crew member.
You messed it up again. Good job.
All of a sudden the boat stopped and I was thrown a float. They hauled me back onto the boat, and I coughed up river water. I lay there, defeated and discouraged.
Just go live your boring life in Boston. You obviously can’t do this.
You can’t do this.
I am surrounded by indistinct but urgent conversation, and my memory begins to cloud as I am taken away — and put on a stretcher.
Brazil seemed like the perfect place to go to get the relaxation I needed, so I did my research and found a remote location great for getting away. I had been doing Duolingo, so my Portuguese was all right, and I really hoped I wouldn’t mess it up as badly as I did the last time we tried to go.
I woke to the sun dimly reaching across the night sky and the sound of rain against the windows of my apartment. My tiny Volkswagen carried me through the freezing showers that pelted the asphalt and the gray buildings of the city. The airport was moderately busy, and few people boarded the red-eye I was taking to Brazil.
I woke up in the hotel the next morning, and took a taxi to the port. There were three other people at the docks, not including me. I was really expecting more people, but I guess this was it. Whatever, I didn’t want it to be too crowded anyway. The purser took the ticket and nodded. Finally the crew arrived, and there were more of them than us. They boarded the relatively small ship, and then we got on. No conversation was exchanged, and someone handed us the keys to our rooms shortly thereafter. Mine had the number 16 scratched into it. Apparently my room was all the way at the back of the ship, overlooking the opposite way we were going. I unlocked the door and it opened into two small rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom. The bedroom had a simple chest of drawers and a bed, and the bathroom had a sink, a small shower, and a toilet.
Hmm. This doesn’t look like the right room. It looked different in the picture on their website. Maybe you should go talk to a crew member.
I stepped outside into the hot and humid Brazilian air, and looked around. There wasn’t anyone on deck or anywhere in sight.
You probably shouldn’t bother them, anyway. It’d be too early to bother them. The last thing they want is some angry American screaming in their face because you’re unhappy about some small thing, like your room not looking right.
I went back to my room and sat down on my bed. Sitting soon turned into lying down, and then I fell asleep right there. When I woke up, the cicadas were singing and the steady rocking of the boat was calming. I peeked out of my door, and two men were leaning over the edge of the boat, talking to each other and looking at the river we’d been traveling. I spoke to them in broken Portuguese, but they just seemed confused. One responded in a complex sentence that I didn’t quite understand. I walked back to my room.
You are such an ignorant American; you couldn’t even talk to them. Were you even listening?
It's fine, I’m fine, they’re fine. We’re all fine.
You want to know who isn't fine? This is exactly what happened last time, and this is exactly how you reacted.
I don’t — I don’t want to remember that anymore.
Now where is my gosh darn key? Did I drop it?
I retraced my steps, inspecting every board and crevice, looking for my key. I leaned over the edge — maybe it had fallen in the water? I looked down into the river, and the boat was moving pretty quickly. If it had fallen in the water, I had already lost it. I’d already ruined it. I put down my head on the railing out of frustration, and groaned.
Then I heard a thump, a crash, and the boat bounced off the water. I lost my grip on the railing and plunged head first into the somewhat warm water of the Amazon River.
On my way down I screamed out, calling for anyone.
Calling out to him.
Are you still there?
No. He isn’t. He’s dead because of you.
That’s --
It is true.
I think I hit my head on something. My head felt weak and I began to sink, but I pulled myself up toward the surface with my feet and hands. When my head reached the air again, the two men who had been looking over the edge were calling out to a crew member.
You messed it up again. Good job.
All of a sudden the boat stopped and I was thrown a float. They hauled me back onto the boat, and I coughed up river water. I lay there, defeated and discouraged.
Just go live your boring life in Boston. You obviously can’t do this.
You can’t do this.
I am surrounded by indistinct but urgent conversation, and my memory begins to cloud as I am taken away — and put on a stretcher.