Great Pacific Garbage

Haley Seitz

After they watched the submarine descend back into the Pacific, Arthur and Grant sat across from each other in silence. They looked out at the vast ocean and the trash that littered its waters, then down at their small yellow inflatable boat, doomed to soon deflate and join its plastic brethren. They’d been left with a map covered in coffee stains, missing the corner with the compass entirely, two water bottles with complicated filters, and eighteen cans of baked beans. There were no oars and no land in sight, just open water and floating piles of garbage.

Arthur was attempting to adjust to the prospect of existing in a somewhat brutal silence— the only noise around him the whipping of the wind, the crashing waves of the water, the impact of the debris on the side of the boat— when Grant tilted his head back and started laughing wildly.

“How’d that big speech work out for you, Arthur?” He asked. “You feeling extra righteous? You gonna sleep easy tonight?”

“I was trying to help you,” Arthur protested, crossing his arms and shifting his long legs awkwardly, trying to keep them in his tiny half of the boat.

“Look where that got you.”

“You think I shouldn’t have said anything? That I should have just cast a vote like the rest of them?”

“I was always gonna end up out here.” Grant shrugged. “They wouldn’t have sent you though. At least, not ‘til you stuck your foot in that big mouth of yours.”

Arthur cringed. Maybe it had been a mistake. They had done exactly what they set out to do, and he wound up as collateral. So much for morality. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to speak up in the first place. He was never one for activism or public speaking. He preferred to stay quiet. Grant did not. He laughed at his own jokes and told long stories. He chewed with his mouth open and scraped his fork against his plate. His footsteps would echo off the metal halls of the sub as he clomped through, and people would rush to act busy with something so they wouldn’t get stuck talking to him.

When Captain Nelson announced that he and his wife, Molly, would be having a son, everyone knew that there was a vote on the horizon and that Grant would be the one to go. The sub had reached capacity last spring, after the Ryans had their son. The first vote was supposed to be the easy one. Grant was pushing fifty. He’d been on the sub for years now and he didn’t pull his weight. Most of the time, he was causing some sort of chaos, pulling a prank or starting a rumor. People had wanted him out for a while, now they had a reason.

Arthur didn’t really know Grant. They lived at opposite ends of the sub, worked on different jobs, and on the occasion that their paths did cross, Arthur found himself looking for any excuse to remove himself from the situation. Sure, Grant was a little insufferable, but he was a person, same as the rest of them. And these were good, reasonable people. Surely Arthur could help them see the error in the system, that there was enough space for everyone, and stop the vote altogether.

“You’re not at all happy someone stood up for you?” Arthur asked.

“I didn’t ask for some grand gesture,” Grant said. “Besides, if everybody down there thought life would be better without me, why the hell would I want to be stuck with them?”

“To stay alive, for one,” Arthur said, looking out at the immeasurable miles of sea surrounding them, whatever land was left hundreds of miles in the distance.

“I was sick of being stuck down there anyway.” Grant leaned back, stretching his legs across the length of the boat. “Too stuffy. And I’m not just talking about the air.”

“You can’t honestly think we’re better off up here.”

“I am,” Grant said. “You’re not.”

* * *

The seasickness started the next day. Arthur would shiver awake, then rush to stick his head over the edge and expel what little was left in his stomach. Grant clapped him on the back as he dangled limply against the side, helping him get it all out and pulling him back when the boat started to tip.

“You’re gonna sink us both,” Grant said.

“Sorry,” Arthur mumbled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The rocking of the water had done little to help his stomach, which was already spinning with stress.

Grant had taken custody of the beans on his side of the boat, explaining it wouldn’t be right for them to be eaten only to be thrown right back up. In the time since, he’d eaten a quarter of their supply, chucking the empty cans out to sea with the rest of the trash. He’d been making a game to see how far he could throw them, but there wasn’t a decent way to measure the distance. He landed on counting Mississippi’s until he heard the can splash or, on some occasions, clunk, but he counted a hell of a lot faster after that first Mississippi. His current record was twelve, but Arthur knew it was probably closer to seven.

“This your first time on a boat?” Grant asked.

“Besides the sub, yes.”

“Your dad never took you fishing or nothing?”

“He didn’t like the open water, always told me it was dangerous. He thought the ocean was too big and mysterious for any of us to understand.”

“And he still stuck you on a sub?” Grant said, blowing the air out from his mouth. “Rough.” 

“The ocean was getting closer,” Arthur said. “It was leave or drown. He put me on the sub so I’d have somewhere to go. He said I had more life left to live. I was only sixteen.”

“So, he’s a hero then, your dad? Like you?”

“You’re trying to upset me,” Arthur said, stiffening. “It won’t work.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you a little better,” Grant said, grinning. “We’re in this together, after all. Your voice’ll be the last one I ever hear.”

“A ship will come through eventually.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Grant said. “By the looks of things, there isn’t too much left up here.”Arthur looked back at the vastness around them. He hadn’t seen anything move beneath the surface of the water, no fish or sharks or dolphins among the heaps of trash swirling in the water. He started to feel dizzy again. He moved his head over the edge and threw up.

* * *

Arthur managed to sleep off most of it. The water was relatively still now, and the motion sickness passed. He woke up sweaty and folded in a ball, the sun beating down on his face. It was hot. The air felt sticky. He sat up and stretched, limbs aching from compacting into his corner of the boat, jumping when he realized Grant was looking straight at him. It was unclear if the other man had slept. He was sitting with his legs crossed, rough hands holding a silver can of beans.

“You gonna throw up again?” Grant asked, gesturing towards Arthur with the can.

Arthur shook his head.

“Good.” Grant set the can on its side and rolled it across to him. “Eat.”

Arthur pulled at the lid, failing to fit his nails between the lid and the walls of the cylinder. “How on Earth have you been opening these?”

“You gotta use your teeth.”

Arthur blinked.

“Give it here,” Grant said, making a grabbing motion with his hand. Arthur passed him the can and watched morbidly as Grant bit into the top of the lid, puncturing through with his teeth and prying it open with his hands, wiping the juice onto his pant leg. He extended 

the can back to Arthur, who stared at it, thinking of the many, many times he’d seen Grant do 

something disgusting.

“I’m alright, thank you.”

“Food’s food,” Grant said, pressing the can into Arthur’s hands. “Can’t afford to be picky. You don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

Arthur looked down at the beans, closed his eyes tightly, and took a sip from the can. It was warm, but not in a good way. He was tempted to spit them out, but with the glare that Grant was giving him, he knew he shouldn’t take the risk. He swallowed, shakily, and set the can beside him.

Above them, the sky had been collecting white, puffy clouds that did little to shield them from the sun as it reflected off the waves. Arthur’s memories of life above the water were mostly a hazy rain with tides rising around him, but he hadn’t forgotten the warmth. The sub had always been cold. Its lights shined cool in harsh whites against the metal, man-made to last, to make things clearer, and nothing else.

“I missed the sun,” Grant said. “She’s giving us hell now, but it’s better than being cooped up down there.”

“If you liked the surface so much, why join a sub?”

“Didn’t seem so bad at first. Place to sleep, food, got me away from all the flooding. I used to live on the coast. Lost my place pretty quickly. Figured I’d be better off buying a spot somewhere that wouldn’t get washed away the next week. Sub kept me dry, but it got boring fast. Was never anything good to do.”

“I guess not,” Arthur said, thinking back to his routine aboard the sub, his sliver of a room, the three books he’d been reading and rereading his whole life. It was nice to have more space to breathe, even if the air was a bit questionable. Grant reached across and took the beans from beside Arthur, tipping them back swiftly and downing what was left. Then he took the empty can and dipped it in the water, dragging it back and forth and rearranging the floating waste.

“Wanna see who can find the best piece of trash?” Grant asked.

Arthur didn’t feel his abilities aligned with this particular game, nor did he think he knew the proper criteria for the best piece of trash, but there wasn’t much else do to and he had a feeling that he would be included in some capacity regardless of his opinion. He nodded. “Alright. Just don’t put any in the boat.”

Grant swiftly ignored this request and began making a collection of larger pieces between them.

“There isn’t enough space for this,” Arthur said, frowning as he tried to scoot away from the accumulating stash.

“Won’t be there for long,” Grant said, lifting half a plastic sled and welcoming it aboard. 

“I’m gonna’ try and build us some shade.”

“What happened to best piece of trash?” 

“Best trash? That sounds stupid,” Grant said, beginning to stack some of the pieces together.

“But you said—”

“You gonna help me or what?” Grant asked.

Arthur continued grumbling to himself as he shifted through the trash in the water, trying to find something that could hold Grant’s structure in place. They tested a variety of systems, none of which managed to stay up for long. Eventually, after it got dark, they decided to stop and get some rest, tossing most of the pieces back to sea.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when the light came into view in the distance. Arthur was asleep at the time, but the sudden, sharp sound of the whistle startled him awake. He sat up straight and turned his head from side to side, quickly examining his surroundings. Grant was asleep across from him, and while their bean supply had dwindled, the remaining cans were still there. The only difference was the massive ocean liner, slowly chugging parallel to them roughly five miles to the east. Arthur thought he was dreaming at first. Then, he frantically scrambled to shake Grant awake.

“What is it?” Grant mumbled, still half asleep. 

“It’s a ship,” Arthur said, continuing to shake Grant’s arm. “There’s a real, massive ship, right there.”

Grant groaned and sat up, blinking awake, his eyes widening when he looked out and saw the ship.

“I told you!” Arthur grinned, hitting Grant on the arm. “I told you, all we had to do was be patient.”

“Yep, you were right,” Grant said.

“Hello,” Arthur yelled. “We’re stranded. Please, come help!”

The ship continued pushing forward.

“Please! Help us!” Arthur said.

“Don’t think they can hear us,” Grant said, placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“That’s because you aren’t yelling.”

Grant sighed. “Help,” he called reluctantly. “Come, please, help.”

The ship’s whistle sounded again, fainter this time. It was moving further away.

“Let’s start paddling,” Arthur said. “We can catch them.”

Grant didn’t move. “They’re too far out.”

“What? They’re right there,” Arthur said, pointing towards the ocean liner. “There might not be another chance like this.”

“It’s too far away.”

“I can’t believe you don’t care. You don’t care if we get out of here.”

“It’s too far away,” Grant repeated. “It’s not gonna see us. Not at night when they’re way up there and we’re down here with all this trash.”

“You aren’t even going to try.” Arthur frowned, thinking back to the sub and all of the times that Grant had refused to help move chairs after dinner or hang holiday decorations, or sweep the halls, or basically do anything at all. “You never try.”

“You’re just like the rest of them,” Grant said, narrowing his eyes. “You try to act like you aren’t, but you are. You think I’m some lazy piece of shit, fine.”

“Can you blame me?” Arthur asked. “You would rather we stay stuck here than help me paddle.”

“Paddling takes energy and strength, both of which you do not have. Trust me, we’re not gonna get to them in time, and then we’ll both be exhausted.”

“But I helped you—”

“You want your ‘good person’ points? Here. You did the right fucking thing. Congratulations. I’m gonna go back to sleep,” Grant said, lying back down and turning away from Arthur and the boat. “You should too.”

Arthur did not. He stayed awake, watching the ship drift further and further away, until it was completely out of sight.

* * *

By morning, Arthur was still sitting cross-legged, his back turned to Grant, gaze fixated on the beans he was picking at. The sun was beating down on them, brighter than before. His skin was starting to burn. He hadn’t slept, he couldn’t. There probably wouldn’t be another ship in time. His last meal was going to be fucking beans.

From behind him, there was a shuffling. Grant had been up for the past hour or so, seen the deliberate shift in Arthur’s seating, and had yet to say anything. Arthur knew if they started giving each other the silent treatment, that he would be the one to break first, but he hadn’t expected to give in so soon.

He turned over his shoulder and saw Grant removing the clunky boots he wore, thick fingers struggling with the laces before beginning to empty his pockets and roll up his sleeves.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, bitterly. “I thought you needed your sleep.”

“Gonna go for a swim,” Grant said, standing up.

“Here?” Arthur made a face.

“As good a place as any.”

“That can’t be safe.”

“Probably not.” Grant jumped off the edge of the boat, splashing into the water and sending waves of plastic rippling. He popped his head out of the water, grinning. “You gonna come in?” He asked, looking up at Arthur who was leaning back from his spot in the boat, horrified.

“You’re crazy. You have to be. That would explain why you didn’t want to be rescued by that perfectly good ship last night.”

“There’ll be another ship.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You said it yourself. We just have to be patient.”

Arthur scoffed.

“Come on, it’s cooler in here,” Grant said, pushing aside the plastic and splashing water up at Arthur, who flinched. “Don’t tell me you can’t swim.”

“I learned,” Arthur said, stiffly. “But that was twenty years ago.”

“You remember,” Grant said. “Come on. Not like you have anything better to do.”

Arthur paused. Part of him couldn’t believe he was even considering it, but there wasn’t exactly much to lose. At least this way if another boat came, he’d have a shot at swimming after it. He’d spent most of his summers on land at the local pool growing up, a refreshing escape from the rising temperatures. He didn’t really think about everything he’d been missing when he was on the sub, partly because it felt like there wasn’t another choice. They didn’t surface often and even if they did, it wasn’t like there was somewhere to go. What little land was left was always overcrowded, probably more so now. But was he really better off down there?He stood up, took a deep breath, and jumped into the water, fully submerging in a space where the plastic had cleared.

Grant was right, it was cool. As he pushed to swim further underneath the surface, he could see just how much garbage had piled and pushed below them. There was plastic in every color— bags, bottles, rubber. Things that had been lost in the floods or discarded on the shores, everything that had drifted with the currents and ended up stuck here, just like them. He started to swim back upward, slowing as he saw something move. Peeking out at him from behind an old grocery bag was a silvery, blue fish. Then, another. A whole school of them weaving in and out of the trash surrounding them. Still swimming, somehow