We aren’t Lost

Tessa giggled with delight as the foamy waves of the ocean on the beach tickled her toes and covered the pearly white sand for a moment before sliding back down to the depths of the water. She loved it here. Things washed up on the shore normally, letting her find things that still worked; a few bands made of elastic, some half dried drawing sticks with different flowy colours, some with black in the centre. Pieces of cloth you could wear after you dried them, some round bouncy things. She didn’t knew what they were called, having almost no connection to the world outside her. All she knew about it was that there were many things that came from there, since she got many things from the shore that the waves washed up. Tessa had two companions; her older sister Lyssa and her older brother, Zayne. They’d been together since forever, and they felt like close family to her. Technically, they weren’t blood-related, but she had known them since she was a baby to now, when she was 12.

Lyssa had been washed up to shore during a worldwide storm in LA at the age of 11, (if that was a real place) and a week later, she had found Tessa’s mother (or who she suspected her to be) on the ground, still and silent. Beside her, underneath the shade of a tall tree, was Tessa. Her mother had given birth to her before the global storm, and from France she had been carried off the water when the storm had flooded the hospital and carted her off. She held on to her child until she hit the shores of the island and took her final breaths there and let her child roll from her arms into the shade of the nearby palm tree close to the water. None of them knew this, however, not knowing each other’s ancestry. Lyssa had been the one to name Tessa.

Zayne had been swept to the other side of the island when he was 9, not knowing what to do, he went off in the other direction, hoping to find some trace of human life. After a few days of walking, he stumbled across the remains of skilled Lyssa’s fire, and knew that someone was here. He ran until dusk, and stopped for the night. The next morning, he went off again, but this time he found her. Lyssa, in the middle of making a sharp pointed stick with her Swiss Army knife that she had in her zipped up jacket pocket, jumped up and waved it in front of her like a weapon.

”Who are you?” She had asked sharply and tiredly. Zayne fell down and lost consciousness from relief of finding someone on this cursed island and from exhaustion. He awoke to the girl splashing salty water on his face. “Here’s some coconut water,“ she said, holding a coconut in front of him. He drank until the coconut was empty and put it on the floor, stood up and extended his hand.

”I’m Zayne,” he said.

”I’m Lyssa.”

Eight years later, nothing had changed. Lyssa and Zayne could speak a weird language, but Tessa couldn’t utter a single word, no matter how hard she tried, or how much they tried. They came up with the theory that she probably couldn’t speak, and created a language of their own to use with her, by making signs, drawings in the sand, or making noise with objects. Lyssa was convinced the cloths were called “shirts, pants, and skirts” whereas Zayne was sure that the sticks were called “pens” and the ones with black in the centre “pencils”. Life wasn‘t that bad here, they had much they needed. Lyssa was great at making ‘fires’, ‘building’, and ‘weapons’, Zayne was great at ‘hunting’, ‘drawing’, and ‘watching’. Tessa had a flair for ‘cooking’, and ‘designing’, whatever that was. Watching this wasn’t a bad way to live your life, anyway. You could almost life your entire life like this, on a tropical island, with the pearly sand, palm trees and fruit, starry nights and the deep ocean. Now, Lyssa was 19 and Zayne 17, and she, Tessa, was 10. She wondered if she would spend her life here.

15 years later

Lyssa was 34 now. 34. Tessa wasn’t jealous. She could understand a lot of their language now, from the word “ambidextrous” to the word “hi”. She could even write their words now, like “Happy 32 Birthday Zayne!” In neat little letters. At least she wasn’t as old as Lyssa or Zayne. She was 25. Still kinda old, according to Lyssa’s big brain of knowledge. As she watched the leaves rustle in the wind above her, Zayne stumped back carrying a bundle of wood, some rusted nails, a hammering tool and some rope.

“Look!” He was yelling. ”I’ve found some tools! Can you believe it? I found these on the shore where Tessa always watches!” Lyssa dashed over and began to tie them together, forming a mat. But a wooden mat! Why would we need one? Tessa wondered. Zayne looked at Tessa. “Come on, help us! We’re going to build a boat and get off this island!” He grinned, extending Tessa a hand. Tessa followed, her mind whirling. Leave? She’d stopped thinking about it because it seemed so impossible. And this place wasn’t so bad after all. Lyssa’s voice brought her back.

”Earth to Tessa!” Lyssa said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Let’s go!” For the next few days, Tessa did the hunting and cooking, washing and watching, as Lyssa and Zayne worked on their boat. Finally, a week later, they were done. There were footholds and handholds in case they were in danger of falling, oars to steer and some precious sown together cloth for a sail. Another week passed and their second boat was loaded. Why’d they get another boat? Tessa wondered, scratching the question on the sand. “We needed to put the food somewhere, you know?” Zayne smiled as he answered. “Come on, let’s get off this island.”

The water was peaceful the entire time, and they set to work, rowing and taking turns to sleep, watch and row, take breaks and to eat. Dawn after dawn. Day after day. Night after night. Soon, they were in low spirits when Tessa, on watch, jumped down and on a bit of wood, scratched “There’s a storm!” Sure enough, there was. Already the waves were becoming rougher and wilder, and all three of them rowed and rowed until their arms were aching. But they hadn’t escaped the storm yet. It tossed them around wildly, splashing ice-cold water into their faces and making them hold on for dear life. Lyssa screamed as she lost her grasp. Zayne yelled and Tessa was about to let go when Zayne stopped her, his brown eyes desperate.

”No,” he said hoarsely. “No.” Tessa held on again as another wave buffeted them and turned them over. She lost count of time and wave after wave, the storm died down. They had lost a piece of the second raft and some supplies were missing, but they kept rowing. They had also lost two oars. Their hopes perished but still they kept rowing. Until finally Zayne slumped down from his climb up the sail to try and watch and put his head in his hands and gave up. Tessa didn‘t need words to know that. A few minutes later after her rowing, she climbed up the sail, and she saw the distant outline of something. Something big. She tapped Zayne and climbed up the sail with him. He let out a shout of delight and they rowed faster than ever, their hopes raised by the sight of land. Nothing dangerous befell them again during the rest of their journey.

6 years later

Tessa and Zayne walked down the sidewalk of where they lived together, something like two small connected houses. “You wanna go to the mall today?” He asked Tessa. She nodded. After all these years, she still couldn’t talk. “Okay, let’s go.” Before going, however, they stopped at a shelf on the wall in their home, with a drawn sketch of Lyssa made by Zayne, and candles made from red wax made by Tessa. They lit the candles silently, doing their daily wish of hoping Lyssa was well, wherever she was.

Zayne drove her to the new Walmart at her request on paper, and when they got out of the car, they paused. at the sight of something. Someone, actually. Tessa’s eyes widened. The woman paused too. “Lyssa?“ Zayne asked, shocked to tears.

“Tessa! Zayne!” Lyssa ran and hugged Tessa and Zayne. They stood there beside the mall entrance, relieving memories and shedding their tears for a person they had grieved for and thought lost.