The Shoreline

6

After I was fired from my job, and about six months passed with no sign of getting back into any field (never mind how many careers I applied for), my chequing was running alarmingly low. I had to swallow my pride and beg for some hospitality from Mom and Dad.

They hadn't grown up with the ability of the internet to tell a story that could travel way easier and farther than one community newspaper could, but Mia and Stan were both, even as youngsters, now completely invested in YouTube and Facebook, so my parents understood somewhat from their insight. Anyway, my parents let me stay for a month extra, and convinced me to apply for disability benefits.

It took both a lawyer and government representative interviewing me closely, but my applications were approved. It was very little income, but I was already practiced in cutting back.

I never bought plastic water bottles. I shopped at the cheapest grocery store I could find on the island, often stocking up on the least fancy food, which is actually quite scrumptious when you get used to soup cans and pasta. I kept the lights and Wi-fi off whenever possible, and with an occasional allowance from Mom and Dad, I managed.

The best part was whenever I got out of the house for fun. Most of the time that would be to either go for a swim or visit Showbin.

Showbin was the coolest guy on the island. If he ever left, he'd be instantly known as the coolest guy on Earth from the least interesting place on Earth. The story he told me was a business he once worked for in South Carolina laid him off and sent bad job recommendation notifications to everyone in the field, and he successfully sued them for it. Apparently the bonus he got from the company's intentional emotional distress, racial bias, and proven worker abuse from other workers who came forward was so astronomical the company had to shut down. Apparently, however, some sort of white supremacist group heard about this and Showbin began getting the impression he was being stalked, so he moved here with his fortune to let it go over. Except, the peace and quiet he got at Bell Island was enticing, so he's stayed here longer than expected.

I met him by chance when I was on a three-week break from my cruise job. I brought my kayak down to Beach Hill and just got myself floating out to sea when I heard some banging to my left, where a 30-foot cliff was standing gracefully.

I was in good spirits, and decided to go over and check it out. I rowed over in the water, and I saw the silhouette of a man standing on a tippy canoe, holding himself up by grasping the cliff rock. I saw him hammering something into that rock, but I couldn't make out what it was.

When he overheard me coming I made eye contact with him and I second-guessed my curiosity. I got the impression I was creeping him out, but I was about to turn back to the shore when he called out, "Hello. How's it going?"

"Oh, um, good, thanks," I stammered. "So, uh, what's going on?"

"Come over, I'll show you."

It took one short minute to get to his canoe, and when I did, he whooshed some sort of electronic stick throughout my kayak, and I heard the sound of a frequency buzzing up and down. It was eerie. After a few strange swipes, he grinned and put it back in the canoe. "No hidden mics then. Clean. Great."

I considered saying, "Uh...okay then, bye," and paddling off, but his grin was genuine. He seemed interested in having company just for the sake of it. I wondered if he didn't get out much like me either, but somehow I was sure even if that were true, he was the one with the better record. "So whatcha up to?"

"Well, it's an activity for the community council, which I got approved. I'm making a sort of diving board."

"Diving board?"