Arthur Wants To Be Left Alone

I looked up at our five-minute slow, billiards-themed wall clock—8:05 am. Only an hour ago, I was hassled out of bed. Five more minutes, I pleaded. No, they said, you’ll make us all five minutes late. And now, we were ten minutes late. Mom was doing God knows what. Dad had gone off double-checking, triple-checking, quadruple-checking the sinks, stoves, and security systems. My sister celebrated her fortieth-minute anniversary since she uttered the phrase “quick five-minute shower”. As for me, I sat there. Hot, fresh, and ready. Like a fool. Like a goddamn fool.

“arthURRRR!” Mom screamed from upstairs.

“Yeah?” I yelled.

Silence.

“YEAHH?” I shouted.

Silence again. This woman must have teleported to our nonexistent third floor.

“Fuck-This-Ga-Damn-Fu-cking-Bull-Shit” I muttered rhythmically, tying each syllable to a stair step. I found Mom tucked away in the master’s closet. She threw me a confused glance before she hung some more clothes.

“What?” I asked.

“What?” she asked back.

“You called me,” I said, irritated.

“Huh? Oh right. Are you ready yet Arthur? We have to go soon.”

“Wu-Du-Hell-Is-Wrong-With-This-World”.

Twenty minutes later, we were all in the car. I set the GPS before starting the car. Forty minutes to the tubing place. Forty minutes too long with this family.

“At the lights, turn left,” the GPS said robotically.

“Turn left,” Dad said as I was turning left. I dug my nails into the steering wheel. I disliked it when people told me what to do. I abhorred it when people told me what to do when I was doing it. But it was only forty minutes. Not a lot of chances to backseat drive.

“Hey, why’s it so quiet?” my sister whined from the backseat. “Hand me the aux.” I already knew the evil that would swamp this car. Coldplay poured out of the speakers and fell on my tired ears. My sister was the world’s most religious Coldplay listener. Non-consensually, I was the world’s second most religious Coldplay listener.

“In one thousand feet, turn right,” the GPS said unkindly.

“Turn right,” Dad said as I was turning right. I turned towards my father but said nothing. Everything I wanted to say was too explosive for this packed car.

“Let me play something,” Dad asked. Out of the frying pan and into the fire I guess. He scrolled for almost a minute before making his selection. The car display went blank before a small satellite image showed up. “Psst I hear dead people” murmured through the speakers.

I took my eyes off the road, endangering my entire family, just to make sure the song was indeed coming from the fifty-year-old man beside me known as my father. The last thirty seconds had not deceived me. He really had played “Not Like Us”.

I sat back and smiled. With good music, I could make it through this trip.

A phone rang out from behind me. “Heyyyy girlfriend, how ya been?” my definitely not southern Mom drawled. Her hand came from the backseat and flapped downwards. I held in a cry as Dad turned the volume down on my only solace.

“At the lights, turn left,” the GPS said callously.

“Turn right,” Dad said as I was turning right. Existence is suffering. With the volume turned down, any music that managed to sneak past the speakers was swallowed by Mom’s incessant yammering. It could be worse though. It could be Coldplay.

My sister grew bored of the silence and pulled out her phone. Meme clips surged against pockets of silence. Her attention span was cutthroat. She gave each clip three seconds to impress her. Otherwise, it would be usurped by a new one. The jarring audio cuts weighed on me, but I held in my discontent. Or atleast I did, until ear-splitting laughter shrieked from behind. I scowled at my sister through the rearview mirror. She was too busy wailing in laughter to notice or care.

“At the roundabout, take the first exit,” the GPS said mockingly.

“Turn right,” Dad said as I was turning right.

“Girl you tell me why he’s been so uppity lately,” Mom twanged.

An earth-shattering laughter rattled the car.

“In one thousand feet, turn left,” the GPS said sadistically.

“Turn left,” Dad said, as I was turning left.

“Mmm-hmm, you tell ’em this girl. You tell ’em, if I catch you creating a ruckus one more time, Imma whup you where the sun don’t shine until you skedaddle.” Mom drawled.

Satan himself crawled into my sister’s throat and screamed.

“You have arrived!” the GPS said pleasantly.

Thank fucking Christ.

It took thirty minutes to get from the car to the river shore. Why thirty minutes? First, we argued over how many sticks we’d need. I said each person should have their own stick. They said we only needed two sticks, as my sister would tie her tube with Mom and Dad. I said don’t start screaming when your tubes get stuck and your stick breaks trying to lug three adults.

Then we went to buy the tubes and sticks. The lady asked how many people. I said four. She punched in four tickets. She then asked how many sticks we’d need. I scowled at Dad. Two sticks Dad said. Okey Dokey the lady said pleasantly. The card reader beeped and dinged and then showed an option for tipping. I maintained eye contact with her as I pressed no tip. Have a nice day the lady said with a not-very-nice voice.

After that, we went to rent a storage locker. Dad saw the hourly rate and said he’d drop our stuff in the car. Once he reached the car, he realized he couldn’t just leave the car keys inside the car. He walked back and said he’d hold on to the car keys while he tubed. I said are you crazy, do you want our ride home swallowed by the river? He finally saw reason but said, if I’m going to rent a locker, I might as well put all of our stuff in here. So he walked back to the car, picked up our stuff, rented a locker, and dumped it inside.

So that’s how it took thirty minutes to get from our car to the river shore a hundred feet away.

Once we reached the shore, I tossed my tube into the river and fell inside. I dragged my long, wooden stick across the surface and shoved it against the shore. The tube groaned as it scraped against the rocks below. With another shove, I caught the current and began moving forward. My parent’s pink tubes disappeared amongst the green. The scent of water and mud replaced the stench of the public outhouses. Even my sister’s wailing (she was battling two-feet-deep water) diminished after a mile. Glorious, glorious isolation.

Surrounded by nature, silence, and time, I became philosophical. I noticed the river was a character of its own. Some spots were filled with stagnant water. These were easy to cruise, but boredom forced people to push forward. Other spots were like rapids. There wasn’t time to slow down or consider. You either set yourself up early, or you set yourself up for a mouthful of water. The true enemy, however, was rocks. They poked, prodded, and pushed you. If you dropped your guard, you’d find yourself stuck, or worse, flipped. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t control any of it. Not the stagnancy, the rapids, or the rocks.

Yet, people still made choices. Some traveled alone. Others tied tubes with their entire extended family. Some blasted Spanish music. Others contemplated in silence. Some were friendly with strangers. Others kept to themselves. Some saw this whole thing as a race. Others wanted to enjoy the views.

Wait. Is this a metaphor for something?

I ran into one person over and over again. He was a chubby, cheerful boy around my age. He bobbed up and down the river, striking conversation with whoever was nearby. If someone got stuck, he’d rush over and give them a push. If someone dropped their flip-flops, he’d fight currents to retrieve them. And between all of that, he took care of his younger siblings. He didn’t just make sure they were safe. He made sure they were having fun.

It made me sad when I watched him. Sad, because I couldn’t be the same. When he looked at this river, he saw opportunity and fun. When I looked at this river, I saw obstacles.

I felt the current pick up. I looked ahead and saw a big drop in the river. A man attempted to float down the drop but toppled over. I panicked and tried to shift to the other side. But the current was too strong. The harder I pushed, the more I spun around. Maybe if I had planned ahead, rowed before, and not been so apathetic, I could have avoided this. But it was too late. I was going to be swimming with the fish. I was-

Still as a rock. Because I was stuck on a rock. And so were five other people, including the chubby boy from earlier. He gave a hearty laugh and hopped out of his tube. He tried to pull people out of the rocks, but it was too much for one person. They were wedged between the rocks and the other tubes.

Since I was in the back, I could have easily slid off the rocks. Nobody would even say anything. It’s not like I even knew these people. I didn’t owe them anything. I just wanted to be alone. Right?

“Here,” I said to the woman in front of me, “hold my stick.” I leaped off my tube and felt the freezing, fast current sear against my legs. I took lumbering steps toward the chubby boy and grabbed one of the tubes. He smiled at me, and together we began to pull. The tube wouldn’t budge at first. I dug my feet into the slippery rock and yanked harder. With a groan, the tube shifted, and with a *thwack*, the first person was free.

We trudged towards the second person and did the same. One by one, we freed people from the rocks. Pull after pull, I grew cold, exhausted, and content. When it was just the boy and I, I gestured for him to get on first. With an almighty shove, I sent him on his way. He whooped and hollered and waved. I couldn’t help it. I beamed and waved as well.

When I turned back, I realized I had forgotten my stick. But somehow, I wasn’t mad or annoyed. I didn’t feel cheated or punished. I just was. I dragged my tube towards the precipice, and let the currents take me.

I toppled over. I found the woman. I got stuck on some rocks. I learned how to get unstuck. I hit the shore. I had kind people to drag me out.

It wasn’t about good things, and it wasn’t about bad things. It was just tubing. I learned and I grew, and whenever it became too much, I had people to help me out. And maybe I’ll forget this lesson tomorrow, or even on the car ride home. But right now,

I don’t want to be alone.