Quicksand Sucks

"Things could be worse; they're only cannibal aborigines!" I cried out hysterically. Shia didn't comment because he was too busy rereading the note as if it would give any more information. Shia shook his head.

"We don't have much time; let's head east," he said. I helped him put the stuff back into the bag. Shia only kept out the compass and his switchblade. He stood up, shouldered the bag, and offered me a hand to help me up.

"East…east…ah…east is this way," Shia said, pointing with a long index finger toward where I saw the tree frog.

"Are you sure they didn't give us a faulty compass or something?" I asked him. He looked up at me, an eyebrow raised.

"It was only a suggestion," I said quickly. I smiled sheepishly before he shook his head and turned away.

Nevertheless, I followed him in the direction he'd pointed. We'd gone several yards in silence before hearing far-off shouts directly behind us. I panicked and stayed close to Shia's back until I couldn't hear them. We walked over fallen logs, great tangles of ivy, and animal dens. The silence made me uncomfortable, so I decided to start a conversation.

"So, Shia, tell me, what was your favorite part of your childhood?" I asked. He kept walking, and I thought his silence meant he wasn't up for talking. Seconds later, though, he answered.

"When I turned eleven, my dad introduced me to a couple of bars in our town. He got me my first gig. I guess the people at the bars thought it was funny to see an eleven-year-old telling dirty jokes on stage. I didn't know any better; I just liked to make people laugh, like my grandfather did. How about yourself?" He asked in turn. I was pleased that he wasn't just asking out of polite curiosity…he was interested… in me!

Unprepared to answer, I dug into my brain to find something.

"I guess when I first learned to play the piano," I said, hoping it didn't sound too lame.

"The piano?" Shia asked, and to my relief, he sounded impressed.

"Yeah," I answered.

"I play the piano also," Shia said, still trekking onward through leaves as big as we were.

"What age?"

"Seven. My mother taught me," He answered.

"Really? I taught myself at ten, so I've been playing eight years," it took me a minute to count the years on my fingers. I know it was pathetic, but you try to do math with a migraine!

"You're eighteen then?" Shia asked.

"Uhuh," Yep, eighteen. One week until my nineteenth birthday.

"I remember when I was nineteen. I thought it was great…now look at me!" Shia laughed aloud, startling a bunch of bright, colorful birds.

"You're not that bad!" I protested.

"' You're not that bad!'" Shia said in a mocking tone. "Yeah, a few DUIs, a DWI, a broken hand, and getting arrested for not leaving a drug store. Yeah, not that bad, eh? I'm pretty bad," Shia said.

"I don't think so. You don't go get wasted at parties," I protested.

"Only to do so on my own. And then that's when I make the stupidest decisions ever. I don't know how it hasn't affected my career yet. Maybe it has, and this is the form of my punishment?" Shia wondered.

"Who knows what this is? I think you're a great person, Shia. You are a hero to so many! Look at all of your performances, especially your recent ones! You are a hero, Shia. You are proving that fact right now. Look how many times you have saved me, knowing that if you didn't, you could go home!" I said.

"I guess so...I'm not sure, though...I don't even mean to be a hero. It just...happens!" Shia said from in front of me. The leaves started to thin out, and we entered a clearing. It was a wide circle about ten feet wide of trodden-down dirt.

"I mean, the only ones who declare me their heroes are love-struck fans who ended up seeing my half-nude pictures! I didn't plan for that to happen either..." Shia kept walking and talking. His switchblade suddenly fell out of his back pocket, and I stooped to pick it up right before I got into the circle. Shia was right in the middle when I stood up and saw him stop to turn around.

"Shia? Uh...you're sinking!" I said, watching helplessly as his shoes started to disappear under the surface.

"Shit! Uh...ok, don't move, don't move..." Shia said, over and over to himself. His ankles were going under.

"Here!" he threw me the knapsack, and I caught it in my arms.

"Ok, don't panic! I'll...uh, what do I do?" I called out to him. He shrugged and looked around at his feet. He looked around at the trees.

I dropped the knapsack and looked at the trees too.

"That tangle of vines would be perfect, just cut a long strip off...I've heard they are stronger than anything else out here!" He called out to me.

I ran back to the vines and took out his switchblade. With shaking hands, I began to cut the tough vines. It took me about five minutes to get a long piece cut out of the rest. It was about 5 inches thick and seemed very durable to me.

I ran back to the sand pit and threw him an end of the vine. He was now waist deep, his hands held chest level. His face was full of fear as he grasped the vine and nodded to me. I knew I could never pull him out on my own, so I took my end of the vine and wrapped it around a sturdy-looking tree.

"Ok!" I called.

I watched helplessly as Shia pulled himself out. When he got to the pit's edge, I rushed forward to help him the rest of the way out. He fell against me, and we both fell to the ground, his weight on top of me. He was breathing hard and was shaking from head to toe. I stayed underneath him before he rolled off of me and gave me an apologetic look, too tired to speak. His jeans and shoes were covered in the muck of the quicksand. I tried not to laugh at him. This was just like the Crystal Skull, except he was the one in the quicksand, not Indy or his "mom." And I didn't throw him an anaconda.

"I think that one was meant for me," I said, lying beside him.

"I dunno...it seemed like it was meant for you to save me. To see how far you would go. Thanks, I owe you one," Shia said.

"No, you don't; I owe you two," I said before sitting up and wiping the sand off my shirt.

"Do you think there's some kind of water source nearby? I need to wash these pants, and I'm thirsty," Shia said, his hand resting on his stomach. Odd combination, I thought.

"I dunno...maybe, let's skirt this quicksand pit and find something," I said, standing up and going to retrieve the dropped bag.

"Yeah, ok, just let me...catch my breath," Shia muttered.

Soon, we were on our way. We carefully went around the pit and heard rushing water up ahead. How convenient that should be there if The Director knew we'd need it.

Shia was ahead, seemingly unperturbed by the drying quicksand on his pants. We reached a large, clear river that emptied into a pond-like place. It was extremely beautiful. The surrounding edges had long, bright green grasses and stones big enough to lie on. I was in love with the place as soon as I focused on it!

I looked over to see that Shia was taking off his shoes and socks and reaching to unbuckle his belt.