The Island Flamingo: Chapter 13
The Island Flamingo
The boat slows down as it nears a remote island. I look over to the right and see the sandy shore with a small dock. A large metal fence circles the area with notices that have the words ‘PRIVATE: NO TRESPASSING’ written on them.
Miss Jessica has the right idea.
Louis stops his boat by the dock, turns off the motor, and walks to where I’m sitting.
“We’re here,” Louis tells me. “There are some things you’ll need to be aware of: don’t be too noisy, no pictures, videos, or live streams, and don’t antagonize Fizz, the flamingo. Miss Jessica will meet you at her lodge. It’s past the beach and up the path toward the forest. Here’s a map to direct you in case you get lost.”
“Understood. Thank you, Louis.” I grab my bag and map, then pull out ten dollars in US currency to pay Louis. However, he refuses.
“Thank you, Tamara, but the owner pays me for any trips. You don’t have to pay me.”
“Consider it a tip then.” I put it in his hand, nod, and exit the boat onto the dock.
“I’m going to meet some friends in town. I’ll be back by 2:30 to pick you up. Please be ready by then.”
“Okay, have fun.”
“Thanks, enjoy yourself too.”
Louis speeds off towards the mainland while I stand on the dock, looking towards the island.
The sandy beach and olive trees dot the barrier between it and the forest. When I walk towards them, the fragrant scent of the fruit engulfs the air.
I’m not an olive eater, but I always love smelling them, mainly from using the oil to cook with. My consciousness enters peace once again as it did at the spa.
This is a paradise I want to live in. The aroma of olives gives me peace. Whenever things go wrong, I sniff olive oil to calm me down and remember that there are still goodness in this world. My family always fought and made me feel bad, and this was the sliver of hope that kept me going. The happiest moment of my childhood was when I sat at a kitchen table and smelled it from a bottle, and a woman with long dark hair smiled at me.
My mind wakes up from memories and returns to the doubts from the boat ride.
Jessica Galton, is it true? Could Miss Jessica, who owns this island, be you? The first person who ever cared to hear my story. My inspiration for my career.
No, don’t jump to conclusions, Tamara. It might not be the same Jessica.
I take a deep breath, check out the map, and locate the path leading to Miss Jessica’s lodge. Walking along, I leave the olive trees and the beach behind me.
