Harry Was A Newsman • 3
The Island
Start from the beginning.
Once everything was set, Harry flew down to the Bahamas, where a chartered floatplane was waiting to take him on the final leg of his journey. As he boarded the floatplane, Harry was in a great mood.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Reak. My name is Charlie,” the pilot said with a slight British accent.
“Hi, Charlie. Call me Harry.”
“I flew the previous owner to your island several times. It is a beauty. I am sure you will be very happy there.”
“As long as it’s quiet and I can do some writing, I am sure I will like it fine.”
“Oh, it’s quiet, alright. And only about an hour to the main islands by boat. You will have no problem getting anything you need. And you can always call me if you need to get there faster.”
“I may do that. Thanks, Charlie.”
“Here we go then.”
Charlie ran his checklist, and they took off. It was a bumpy takeoff, but soon they were soaring over the clear, aquamarine Caribbean sea.
“There it is,” Charlie shouted and pointed at Harry’s new home.
Harry looked out the window and saw his island. He was in awe. The island looked perfect from the air, with a decent-sized house, some landscaped property surrounding the house, and white sandy beaches all around. There was also a dock with his new boat.
The floatplane landed and taxied up to the dock. Charlie said, “Careful getting out. I am not tied up. Watch your step.”
Harry opened the door and carefully tossed his backpack onto the dock. Then as he stepped toward the dock, a wave swelled under the floatplane, raising it about a foot. Harry lost his balance and stumbled onto the end of the dock. And then right off the side into the water.
It wasn’t deep, and Harry was a good swimmer. He popped up out of the water and walked up to the beach. Then onto the dock to get his backpack.
“You all right, Harry?” Charlie shouted.
“Yeah. Just feeling a little stupid,” Harry replied.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. Thanks for the ride.”
“If you need anything, call me. Alright?”
“Will do.”
“Enjoy your new home, Harry. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Charlie taxied away, and Harry took the keys out of his backpack and went into his new home. It was stunning. Like something you see in a magazine. Harry was stripping off his wet clothes when panic hit him. He frantically ripped the button off his shirt pocket and pulled out his notebook. It was soaked.
“No, no, no!” He shouted.
He took it outside and laid it on the deck, hoping the sun would dry it out.
Eventually, the notebook dried out. The pages were slightly wrinkled, but surely it would still work, Harry thought to himself. Still, he was scared to try it. Harry set the notebook on the kitchen table and took a beer out of the fridge. After drinking the beer, Harry showered and changed clothes. Partly because his clothes were still damp, and the saltwater made him sticky. And partly because he couldn’t face the thought of the notebook not working.
Harry made himself a sandwich and sat at the table, staring at the notebook. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if it didn’t work, he thought. I own an island, for Pete’s sake. And I’ve got plenty of cash in the bank. So maybe I won’t become a 22-year-old again. Perhaps I won’t be able to prevent wars. Maybe I won’t be able to play guitar like Carlos Santana. Maybe I… He couldn’t wait any longer.
Harry walked back to his new office, grabbed a pen off the desk, and walked back to the kitchen. He flattened out the top sheet of the notebook as best he could and wrote:
Reporter Harry Reak finds friendly dog on new island home.
He looked around the house. No dog. He walked around the entire island. No dog. He tried a different page:
Reporter Harry Reak finds kayak docked at his dock.
He ran out to the dock. No kayak. He tried all four sheets on both sides. It was no use; the notebook didn’t work anymore. The water must have ruined whatever magic it once had. Overcome with grief, Harry sank to the ground. If he knew how to, he would have cried.
Eventually, Harry raised his head and got back up. He knew there was only one thing to do.
Harry walked into his new office and sat down at his desk. He placed the ruined notebook on the desk and pulled a rare gold coin out of his pocket, setting it next to the notebook. He took a clean sheet of paper off a stack and fed it into a vintage typewriter, and typed:
Charlie was a newsman. One of the greats back in the day. But now he was a dying breed, and he knew it.
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I loved this!
Thanks for a good ending to a great story.