Left on Paradise by Kirk Adams Read Free Book Online

little spillage of love, and a wallet with a round bulge left on the nightstand attested to their passion.
     
    Jason Brewer pinched a joint with his fingertips and took a deep drag of its acrid smoke. A moment later, he handed the home-rolled cigarette to a tall, freckled, and red-haired girl sitting beside him—her eyes bloodshot and head thrown back as she stared into the heavens. She took a drag, then passed it to a square-shouldered brunette beside her who took a hit and also passed it along. The joint made it around the circle only once, so Jason lit another.
    “Man,” Jason said, “the stars have never been so bright.”
    “Nature’s so cool,” the red-haired girl said, “if only we’d let her be. Stop polluting and exploiting.”
    Jason smiled as he listened to her talk.
    “That’s why I’m here,” the girl continued, “to get away from exploitation and pollution. Imagine paradise. An entire archipelago almost free from human imprint is what Ryan said—a new world. Virgin beach and pristine forest for us to garden. Living in communion with nature. No factories, no pollution, no toxic waste.”
    “This,” Jason said as he passed a joint, “is pure nature. Mountain high and ocean deep.”
    The young woman took a deep drag and coughed. “We’ll do it,” she said. “We’ll show how it can be done.”
    “Peace,” someone in the circle giggled.
    “Freedom,” another chimed in.
    “Love,” the red-haired girl declared.
    “Legalized dope,” Jason added and everyone laughed out loud.
    Two joints later the dope ran out, except for a stub that Jason stashed for himself. A couple smokers stumbled toward their rooms and several others lay beneath the nearest roof, but Jason remained where he was—the red-haired girl now sleeping beside him, her lips stretched in an obvious smile. Jason laughed a little, for no particular reason except he felt at peace and the stars were bright. It was good to be alive and to be on this ship. Mostly, Jason thought, it was good to have a stash of Hawaiian Gold and a bag of unburned seeds.
    The girl stirred as Jason watched. She was lying on her back still, the shallow slope of her chest lifting the image of Gaia on her tee shirt with each breath—her movements soft and slow. A moment later, she folded her hands across her belly and lifted her legs at the knees: her bare feet now flat against the deck. She pressed her legs together and lifted her head. Finally, she smiled at Jason, closed her eyes, and drifted into oblivion.
    Jason lit one last stub and raised it to his lips. “A toast,” he whispered, “to good crops and free love.”
    With his mind swimming in dreams and desires, Jason smoked the joint and watched the girl until he fell asleep.
     
    Heather could smell the pungent aroma of marijuana. Someone was smoking dope down the deck and the slip of the vessel through the ocean was carrying her through the smoke’s lingering odor, though not nearly enough to catch a buzz—for which she was thankful. She turned her head toward the stern and looked toward the black ocean, the foamy wake shimmering in moonlight—a magnificent sight for a first-time seafarer. Heather sensed The Flower of the First of May was only now reaching full speed as she herself looked east, where the dark silhouette of the California coast barely remained visible: now disappearing, now reappearing as the glint of moonlight broke through clouds.
    Soon, the coast was gone.
    The thin-faced teenager remembered the sights and sounds of the city, the vaulted climb of the skyscrapers and the grinding crush of New York traffic. She thought of the ragged people beneath the surface and the elegant ones strolling Fifth Avenue. Heather remembered friends from the Upper East Side and the sharp stench of a Midtown alley percolating in the summer heat. She remembered the raised torch of Liberty and the crowds of gaudy tourists making perfunctory pilgrimage. She wondered where they came from and where