Wishful Steps

1

The fishing trawlers that were once used for fishing have been adapted to transport tourists between the islands. The hulls were painted avocado green, and the interior of the boat was painted white.

The boat named "Goddess Pirapanema" was heading towards Abaitaí Island, leaping over emerald-colored waves. The monotonous sound of the engine couldn't overpower the chatter of the thirty-seven people on board. Among them was Ticiana, better known as Tina.

"Probably the correct name should end with 'y.' So it would be 'abá,' 'ita,' 'y,' which means 'man,' 'rock,' and 'water' in Tupi-Guarani. Roughly translated, Abaitaí means 'wet rock man' or something like that," Tina explained to an elderly couple.

Tina was a slim woman, standing at one meter seventy in height. She insisted on keeping the same haircut since she was seventeen due to stubbornness and a lack of interest in following fashion trends. This made her look the same in all the photos over the past twenty-seven years. Blonde hair reaching her shoulders with layered ends. Her white and dry skin no longer concealed the effects of her forty-five years, but using anti-wrinkle creams and touching up her few gray hairs were not priorities on her to do list.

"How do you know so much, my dear?" the lady asked while caressing Friga, a four-year-old, large, and affectionate Golden Retriever lying at Tina's feet – her owner and best friend.

"I can tell from your accent that you're not from around here in Paraná. Is this your first time in these parts?" the gentleman added.

"No, this is my second time in Abaitaí. I'm a tourism professional and a nature enthusiast," Tina said, trying to hide her shyness when talking about herself. She petted Friga and continued, "And you're right. I'm not from here; I'm from the city of Santo André in São Paulo."

"But is there a little one traveling with you, or is it just you and this beauty?" the lady said, whistling as she spoke and stroking the dog's big head. In response, Friga wagged her tail twice and lay almost belly-up at Tina's feet.

"I'm married," Tina said, looking over to the other side of where she was sitting, with a slightly embarrassed smile on her face. There was Demerval, her husband, leaning over a stack of papers on his lap, trying to write, work on a calculator, and maintain his balance amidst the boat's ups and downs.

"Excuse me," Tina said as she stood up. Friga simultaneously did the same. "Stay," she said, and the dog sat and accepted the attention from the elderly couple, head held high, eyes closed, and tongue out, battling the heat that was already intense that morning.

Ticiane and Demerval got married in 1993 when she was 20 and he was 23. Demer, as he was affectionately called, was born and raised in the eastern side of São Paulo. He was dark-skinned, tall, slim, and somewhat awkward. That day, he wore a checkered shirt with khaki shorts and sandals with Velcro straps. He had worn glasses since he was ten due to nearsightedness. The golden frames were round, and the retro style had hooks at the end of the temples to keep the glasses securely behind his ears. Demerval had a degree in business administration but always worked in small accounting offices.

Tina sat next to her husband just as he irritably swatted a mosquito on his calf. With a sly smile on her face, she said to him, "You could at least pretend to enjoy the trip."

He looked at his wife, pressed his lips together, and took a deep breath. She wiped the corner of her lips with her fingertips, as she always did when annoyed, and stood up, shaking her head with one hand on her waist. She went to the outer deck and watched the foamy wake left by the boat beyond the stern.