It had started with just the one.
It was in an old plastic bottle, bobbing in front of my paddleboard. It glistened in the water, sunlight bouncing off the surface like a star caught in the glassy water.
Litter, I thought. I couldn’t just ignore it – it marred the serenity of the small estuarine preserve around it. I paddled up to it, lowering myself to pull it out and toss it into my bag for disposal.
Then I saw it…tucked inside, folded into a rough rectangle – a piece of paper. A note purposefully folded – a message in a bottle. I didn’t feel disgusted by the trash; I felt butterflies from some inner child, some sense of excitement. I was a kid again, and found a floating letter, someone’s private secret or treasure tossed into the wide anonymity of the sea and found here, floating up to me, on a rental paddleboard in a Podunk tourist town in Florida?
I pulled it out and read, scrawled in chicken scratch:
“Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
And still I love you.”
“Lyza!” I called out, as soon as I finished. “Hey, Lyza! This is crazy!”
I looked around for my sister; she was about fifty yards behind me, moving around one of the patches of mangroves, kneeling on her board. I could tell she was having a little harder time then me, but coming down from the Midwest after all these years, her struggling to find her sea legs again made sense. She looked over to me, and waved.
“Hey! Everything ok?”
“Yeah, I just found this poem inside a bottle!”
“There was what?”
“I found a bottle!”
“What?”
I could hear the strain in her voice, so I paddled back towards her. I was excited; it was like finding a secret from a stranger, one you don’t feel any guilt in sharing. When I got close, I could see the weariness on Lyza’s face.
“Hey, you doing alright?,” I asked.
“Yeah,” she panted out, and I could see a strained smile on her face. “I’m just not in great shape for this anymore. Listen, I’m going to paddle over to that sandbar and relax for a bit.”
I nodded back. “No worries, I’ll join you in a few minutes. Some person threw a note in the water, some love poem. Crazy, I’ve never seen that before.”
She nodded back, but I could tell she wasn’t really listening – just tired, probably thirsty and wanting a break since we’d been out all morning.
I went back around the bend, wanting to go the long way around the mangroves to get a little more movement in before taking a break; I didn’t figure I’d find anything quite as interesting besides the note.
Then I found the second one. And the third.
Around the far side of the mangroves I saw the two bottles shimmering in the water again, and I paddled over with fervor. Two more coke bottles, two more notes inside. I didn’t even find it weird, and that should have been strange enough; I was just curious, almost expectant – what would I see now?
The first note was folded with the same meticulous creases that the original one had; I pulled it out with haste and read:
“Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
Why did you leave me my love? Why did you leave me?”
I tossed the bottle into the ocean carelessly as I pulled out the next note; I guess my mind forgot about the littering. The third note was simply crammed into the top of the bottle, no clean crease, or careful fold. And the writing was short; and the handwriting was worse.
“I loved you. I loved you and you left me. Why did you leave me?”
I could feel a quick chill pass down my back, even in the bright and hot light of the Florida day. I felt a chill, and suddenly felt very alone.
I looked back for Lyza, then remembered she had moved to the sandbar. I should have gone over to her then; instead, I saw a fourth bottle.
And behind that a fifth.
And behind that a sixth.
I paddled towards them, where they formed a line moving into an alcove of red mango trees in the outer section of the estuary. Here, the trees were taller, less well kept than the inner section, close to the rental center. Here, the shadows, even at midday, were longer, and the roots seemed to hold back the current of the water so that it was still within. I reached down and grabbed the first one; I didn’t really feel that same sense of wonder now. It was almost like anger – anger at finding these secrets, anger at their being poured into the water like this.
The rough note was balled into the top:
“I love you, and you left me. I thought you would leave forever, but I never forget, I never forget”
In like fashion, the next was unevenly written, almost like a child learning to write:
“I love you and I needed you for all these years, all these years”
And the sixth:
“I have cried so long alone so long I love you I love you”
Before I had even tossed this one back into the water, I felt the brush of the seventh bottle brush against my knee, sticking out over the edge of the board. I grabbed it, not even thinking about a note – which there was, crammed into it again like garbage.
The writing was nearly illegible now.
“I love you but I hate you”
I wanted to leave.
I was tired, and whatever chills I had felt had passed – I was acutely aware of just how hot this still water was, how much I could taste the salt on my breath and feel its sting on my dried skin.
And then I saw them – in front of me, like a constellation clustered into the stretch of this shoreless line of trees – a dozen, maybe two dozen, maybe more. Floating along like dead fish, floating dumb and blindingly glittering, mocking the tranquility of the cool shadow of the trees.
I couldn’t help myself, and I paddled in. Further and further.
The notes were all crammed in, all scrawled with fervor and rushed writing, all the same.
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and..”
Something splashed in the water behind me. Breaking the silence and stillness.
I turned, and I could feel my heart slam against my ribs and chest.
There was nothing, no fallen tree, no animal.
No person.
Just the bottles. Scores of bottles. Beneath the mangroves, amidst them.
Just floating.
I looked around, dropping back to my knees and panting like a dog. I noticed now how loud my breath was, and my heartbeat. There was no other sound, beside the distant waves and small whistle through the leaves. Where were the birds, the fish? Where were the other paddlers? I didn’t know how deep into the mangrove trees I had paddled; the path had curved, forked. Bottles floated everywhere, and the stretches of trees looked identical, like funhouse mirrors had been shoved into the grove.
Then I saw something distinct – a canvas tarp, hanging from the trees. A rain jacket, tarnished and ripped, but clear in intention. It was draped across the branches, not blown in by the wind. It was a shelter. Shelter for someone.
A few plastic bags, with empty plastic bottles filling them, were tied to the branches of the trees there. Candy wrappers floated in the water. Someone had been here, and it had been recent.
I looked into the depths of the mangroves, to see if there were any other signs of habitation. It was too thick, and the branches choked out a great deal of the sunlight – with the light behind me, my eyes could not adjust to the darkness within the trees. I was on my hands and knees now, peering in.
My hands shot back as I felt some object touch my fingers grasped over the edge of the board. I looked down and saw a bottle, a green plastic one, with one more note inside.
I couldn’t stop. I pulled it from the water, and I opened it, pulling the note from within. It was folded neatly, like the first ones had been, the torn bottom from a receipt.
“So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
I love you Nellie. I love you and I want you home.”
I paused, stunned in shock that melted rapidly into horror. I grabbed the paddle, rowing as quickly as I could, and screamed.
“Lyza! Lyza! God where are you?!”
I heard nothing in response. I did not know how far I was.
But I kept screaming. I screamed because I knew a Nellie.
Lyza Nellie.
---
Credits
It was in an old plastic bottle, bobbing in front of my paddleboard. It glistened in the water, sunlight bouncing off the surface like a star caught in the glassy water.
Litter, I thought. I couldn’t just ignore it – it marred the serenity of the small estuarine preserve around it. I paddled up to it, lowering myself to pull it out and toss it into my bag for disposal.
Then I saw it…tucked inside, folded into a rough rectangle – a piece of paper. A note purposefully folded – a message in a bottle. I didn’t feel disgusted by the trash; I felt butterflies from some inner child, some sense of excitement. I was a kid again, and found a floating letter, someone’s private secret or treasure tossed into the wide anonymity of the sea and found here, floating up to me, on a rental paddleboard in a Podunk tourist town in Florida?
I pulled it out and read, scrawled in chicken scratch:
“Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
And still I love you.”
“Lyza!” I called out, as soon as I finished. “Hey, Lyza! This is crazy!”
I looked around for my sister; she was about fifty yards behind me, moving around one of the patches of mangroves, kneeling on her board. I could tell she was having a little harder time then me, but coming down from the Midwest after all these years, her struggling to find her sea legs again made sense. She looked over to me, and waved.
“Hey! Everything ok?”
“Yeah, I just found this poem inside a bottle!”
“There was what?”
“I found a bottle!”
“What?”
I could hear the strain in her voice, so I paddled back towards her. I was excited; it was like finding a secret from a stranger, one you don’t feel any guilt in sharing. When I got close, I could see the weariness on Lyza’s face.
“Hey, you doing alright?,” I asked.
“Yeah,” she panted out, and I could see a strained smile on her face. “I’m just not in great shape for this anymore. Listen, I’m going to paddle over to that sandbar and relax for a bit.”
I nodded back. “No worries, I’ll join you in a few minutes. Some person threw a note in the water, some love poem. Crazy, I’ve never seen that before.”
She nodded back, but I could tell she wasn’t really listening – just tired, probably thirsty and wanting a break since we’d been out all morning.
I went back around the bend, wanting to go the long way around the mangroves to get a little more movement in before taking a break; I didn’t figure I’d find anything quite as interesting besides the note.
Then I found the second one. And the third.
Around the far side of the mangroves I saw the two bottles shimmering in the water again, and I paddled over with fervor. Two more coke bottles, two more notes inside. I didn’t even find it weird, and that should have been strange enough; I was just curious, almost expectant – what would I see now?
The first note was folded with the same meticulous creases that the original one had; I pulled it out with haste and read:
“Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
Why did you leave me my love? Why did you leave me?”
I tossed the bottle into the ocean carelessly as I pulled out the next note; I guess my mind forgot about the littering. The third note was simply crammed into the top of the bottle, no clean crease, or careful fold. And the writing was short; and the handwriting was worse.
“I loved you. I loved you and you left me. Why did you leave me?”
I could feel a quick chill pass down my back, even in the bright and hot light of the Florida day. I felt a chill, and suddenly felt very alone.
I looked back for Lyza, then remembered she had moved to the sandbar. I should have gone over to her then; instead, I saw a fourth bottle.
And behind that a fifth.
And behind that a sixth.
I paddled towards them, where they formed a line moving into an alcove of red mango trees in the outer section of the estuary. Here, the trees were taller, less well kept than the inner section, close to the rental center. Here, the shadows, even at midday, were longer, and the roots seemed to hold back the current of the water so that it was still within. I reached down and grabbed the first one; I didn’t really feel that same sense of wonder now. It was almost like anger – anger at finding these secrets, anger at their being poured into the water like this.
The rough note was balled into the top:
“I love you, and you left me. I thought you would leave forever, but I never forget, I never forget”
In like fashion, the next was unevenly written, almost like a child learning to write:
“I love you and I needed you for all these years, all these years”
And the sixth:
“I have cried so long alone so long I love you I love you”
Before I had even tossed this one back into the water, I felt the brush of the seventh bottle brush against my knee, sticking out over the edge of the board. I grabbed it, not even thinking about a note – which there was, crammed into it again like garbage.
The writing was nearly illegible now.
“I love you but I hate you”
I wanted to leave.
I was tired, and whatever chills I had felt had passed – I was acutely aware of just how hot this still water was, how much I could taste the salt on my breath and feel its sting on my dried skin.
And then I saw them – in front of me, like a constellation clustered into the stretch of this shoreless line of trees – a dozen, maybe two dozen, maybe more. Floating along like dead fish, floating dumb and blindingly glittering, mocking the tranquility of the cool shadow of the trees.
I couldn’t help myself, and I paddled in. Further and further.
The notes were all crammed in, all scrawled with fervor and rushed writing, all the same.
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and I hate you”
“I love you and..”
Something splashed in the water behind me. Breaking the silence and stillness.
I turned, and I could feel my heart slam against my ribs and chest.
There was nothing, no fallen tree, no animal.
No person.
Just the bottles. Scores of bottles. Beneath the mangroves, amidst them.
Just floating.
I looked around, dropping back to my knees and panting like a dog. I noticed now how loud my breath was, and my heartbeat. There was no other sound, beside the distant waves and small whistle through the leaves. Where were the birds, the fish? Where were the other paddlers? I didn’t know how deep into the mangrove trees I had paddled; the path had curved, forked. Bottles floated everywhere, and the stretches of trees looked identical, like funhouse mirrors had been shoved into the grove.
Then I saw something distinct – a canvas tarp, hanging from the trees. A rain jacket, tarnished and ripped, but clear in intention. It was draped across the branches, not blown in by the wind. It was a shelter. Shelter for someone.
A few plastic bags, with empty plastic bottles filling them, were tied to the branches of the trees there. Candy wrappers floated in the water. Someone had been here, and it had been recent.
I looked into the depths of the mangroves, to see if there were any other signs of habitation. It was too thick, and the branches choked out a great deal of the sunlight – with the light behind me, my eyes could not adjust to the darkness within the trees. I was on my hands and knees now, peering in.
My hands shot back as I felt some object touch my fingers grasped over the edge of the board. I looked down and saw a bottle, a green plastic one, with one more note inside.
I couldn’t stop. I pulled it from the water, and I opened it, pulling the note from within. It was folded neatly, like the first ones had been, the torn bottom from a receipt.
“So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
I love you Nellie. I love you and I want you home.”
I paused, stunned in shock that melted rapidly into horror. I grabbed the paddle, rowing as quickly as I could, and screamed.
“Lyza! Lyza! God where are you?!”
I heard nothing in response. I did not know how far I was.
But I kept screaming. I screamed because I knew a Nellie.
Lyza Nellie.
---
Credits
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