Brett Martin

Back on the boat, they were having a fine old time.

A police helicopter was performing drills nearby, and apparently no slouches in the cliched castaway department themselves.

They had figured out that they could signal it with a mirror.

Oh, so you were actually holding off, signaling the helicopters while you had a nice day?

It was a nice day.

Still, as it began to get dark and the cigarettes ran out, the friends thought it was probably time to get a move on.

A helicopter soon arrived and airlifted them off the boat.

It wasn't until they were safely ashore, wrapped in blankets and being fed complimentary cookies, that either of them happened to mention that there'd been a third passenger.

When the helicopter came back for Alex, cold, exhaustion, and dehydration had left him in a trance-like, almost wild state.

And for him, this island will always be a place where maybe there'd be monsters.

And that's what, after many hours spent with Alex, I find myself liking about him the most.

His insistence on finding mystery and adventure everywhere he looks.

It's easy to laugh at that, to write it all off as adolescent stupidity.

But what if it's more than that?

What if it's also a kind of adolescent magic?

Think about that.

Every step of the way, by almost any measure, Alex could not have been more wrong.

It takes a special kind of grace to turn that into right time, right place.

And how can you help but envy that?

Who wouldn't rather live in a world where if you believe you should have an adventure, you do?