Watery Grave

My wife loved heights. She would dangle her legs off ledges. Lean over railings and always wonder at birds. She wanted to fly so badly. And she told me as a kid she would jump from her bunk bed. The top bunk. And try to fly like Peter Pan would. Everytime she would land in the pile of pillows and blankets. Disappointed. Still she tried again. A hundred times until she was so bruised and battered and sore. I asked her why she kept trying? She would say it only needed to work once 

I don’t know why that stuck with me. Maybe it's such a hopeful statement. A silly thing like hope can make us do the craziest, most irrational things. Hurt ourselves a dozen times. Over and over again. But maybe it does work that one time. Then, all those failures fall away behind you with the earth. It's worth it then. 

I was saddened to think that one time, when she was young, she jumped and felt weightlessness. Thinking it might be the time she flew. In that moment hope was boundless and stretching and beautiful. And one day she didn’t do that anymore. She stopped hoping. The rules of our universe had broken her. Grounded her for good. But then why did I always feel uneasy when she was around heights?

When she looked off the edge and dangled her feet. There was something in her eyes. Like she would try again for real. This time maybe it would work. I was always scared in moments like that. Irrationally so. I mean, I knew she wouldn’t try, she would obviously die. Fall to her death after a slip. But was I being irrational? Everytime I still scrambled up behind her to remind her that she was mortal. Holding her back. Holding her close. Reminding her of her reality. She’d either die or if she could fly… Would she leave me behind?

What was I really scared of?

These were all strange thoughts to have while falling. And I was falling. I can tell you I wasn’t close to flying. I was flailing at best. And when I splat against the storming waters. 

I was sure I was dead.

~

The storm lit up the waves. 

The lightning gave it the strangest darkest blue hue. There were long slippery shadows in this watery world down here and I wasn’t sure how far below I was. Air was surely out of reach. No hope. But it was peaceful. Quiet. Among the sandy bottom filled with sunken trees and long pulsing lake grasses clad with trash. There was old broken down furniture that was dumped here. A burned out car. A table sat here too. That’s odd.

The table had been set. 

Chairs too. 

I saw my wife. My real wife. As beautiful as the most stunning mermaid tales. She sat at the head of the table. Pouring tea for the others. Four people. Two on each side. They were all corpses. All rotting away, different ages and dead at different times seemingly. I could tell from the style of clothes. 

Hmm curious situation to find myself in. But I was glad I got to see her again. Especially after the cruel trick Tim played on me. I pulled up the last chair. Sitting across from her. She smiled and as soon as I saw that, my heart beat to life. 

I could stay down here forever. I would take a life under these turbulent waves with her shepherding the dead over anything. Just to be near her. She poured the cups for everyone and we took it gratefully. The corpses grumbled their thanks. I sipped mine. Which was difficult to do as it floated away as soon as she poured it. 

Tasted like lake water. But I didn’t wanna hurt her feelings and tell her that. 

“Yum, good stuff” I said. Beaming like a fool. 

She rolled her eyes. Still smiling. “This was my husband, everyone.” 

They cheersed their cups and talked amongst themselves. 

“Was?” I was a little hurt. “I still am.”

“Right.” She smirked. “Till death do us part.” 

I nodded. “So this is it huh? The end. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish things. You know…” I pointed up to where Tim and I once fought. So long ago. “But he might have been offed by that power line pole. Pretty lucky if you ask me.” I laughed and took another sip. 

“I never wanted you to confront him.” She noted but she relented. No longer wanting to talk about it I could tell. 

“And down here? How are you doing? You are…” I raised a curious eyebrow. “I’m guiding the dead.” She giggled the cutest little laugh. “I am actually quite good at it.” Leaning forward. “Funny enough it's pretty easy. You get to be personable too. Very nice gig.” She smiled. “I took it because, you know, I wanted to look out for you a bit. Now I get too for all lost souls.”

“That’s perfect. You always did look after me. I appreciated it so much. Marriage is supposed to make you better, you know? I don’t think Chewy quite got that.” I felt a little sad I would be leaving him behind in that other world. I sat my teacup down on the saucer. “How come you get to look out for me but when I try doing the same for you…. You know, all I was doing back there, following him over the country and all, you don’t like it? You get mad at me. I mean even from beyond the grave. Jeez.” I said a little exasperated.

“Honey. Did you want to spend this time fighting before you go back or just enjoy the moment?” She gave me that look. All my feelings melted away.

“You’re right.” I shrugged

“I’m always right.” She reached out to grab my hand. It was so cold. But any type of her touch was welcome. Especially because she followed it up with a squeeze and a wink. “And if you must know. It's the dead's job to watch over the living. Not the other way around. Never the other way around. Just my opinion.” She released and went back to pouring a dead man dressed as a 1950’s miner some more tea. He thanked her with a nod.

I enjoyed the tender moment. Beneath the waves. Each time the lightning flashed closer and closer giving me a better angle on their swallowed faces. But I wasn’t scared. I was one of them now. Wasn’t I? 

“Wait. What did you say? Before I go back?”

“You are going back, aren’t you?” She asked. Tilting her head curiously. 

“But why? Why can’t I stay here with you? This seems nice. I’m so tired, baby. I’m so so tired. I just wanna be with you again. I can’t handle it.”

“I know. I know.” She breathed deep. Her long black hair lifting up and floating around her as she exhaled bubbles. “I just think you have so much left. I think it’s a shame to throw it away. Even if you aren’t the same. You still are SOMETHING, you know? That’s coming from a very privileged spot.” She leaned in and cupped her mouth into a whisper. One thumb pointed to the dead on her left. “These guys would love to be where you are. Even Sally.” 

The woman with piercings lining her face as well as a grouper eating the bits of her flesh free looked over to me. As much as black decayed eyes can look at something.“I held a slab of concrete till I hit the bottom. Soon as I got there I realized every problem I had could be solved.” She shook her head and sighed. The bubbles scared off the fish for a second. Then it came back for dessert. “Couldn’t swim up fast enough… What can you do.” She shrugged and laughed. 

“You know what?” My wife said. “You can mourn me to the end of days. You can continue going after this…” She couldn’t find the words. Nor could I. “This Thing that took me. You can forget about me tomorrow. You can leave it all behind you.” She held my hand with both of hers. Staring at me. My siren. My beauty of the deep. My other half. So lost without you. “You can handle it however you want. There are no rules to this thing.” She smiled and even submerged she knew I was crying. She didn’t have to wipe the tears but she pouted and patted my hand.  

“There's no right way to live.” She finished. “And that’s what you’ll do.”

THE OUTSKIRTS

The sun came free and crested the ridgeline all around me. I felt like a turd floating in a porcelain bowl. Were turds this cold too? I felt bad for all the ones I forgot to flush overnight. I had awoken in the morning hours. To a calm pink sunrise. Floating face up. Thankfully. Or maybe not. It seemed pretty quaint down here.  “Was there a storm last night?” I asked an early morning boater at the dock I doggie paddled too. 

Him and his young daughter just stared at me as I waded out of the boat ramp fully clothed. Like some fat swamp thing. I was surprised the young one didn’t scream. 

“Uh. Excuse me sir?” He said as he placed down his fishing poles but they still tipped over to the ground behind him. 

“Was there a storm last night?” I asked again as I squished out of my shoes and started ringing out my socks. “Wet socks are the worst.” I noted.

“Did you go for a swim?” The little girl asked. She was playing Nintendo in the passenger seat of their truck.

“No, it was more like a float. I have a life jacket built in.” I laughed and slapped my belly. “Keeps you pretty warm too in those cool waters. But for you I'd recommend an actual life jacket.”

“That’s so cool!” She said smiling up to her father. “I wanna get fat.” 

The father was shaking his head no before she even finished. “Abigail!” He gave her that stern look I'm sure she saw often enough while sneaking candy in Church. Then he turned his attention back to me. “There was no storm mister. It’s been dry as the dickens around here.” He finished. Stepping in front of his daughter and whispering “Sorry.” To me.

 I thanked them and turned down the help they were offering. I was heading up on my own. I guess it was lucky I fell into a different landscape. I had floated into a world where no tornado hit. I hope wherever I was Chewy was as well. And not just some version of him. I wanted my dog back. 

~ 

I was still haggard and hurt. My leg was heavily bruising on the thigh where that branch had whipped me. And my lip was swollen like a bee had stung it. But there was no sign of Tim. As I walked up these switchbacks roads and found myself on the edge of this quarry. 

I had left him crushed in some other universe. Same with the Suits that had been following me. I hoped my antics had lost both. But. I couldn’t help the feeling that Tim was still out there. He had just moved on. We had had our interaction. Our soiree. It wasn’t the last of him, especially if he was death incarnate, but I knew I had some time before I caught up to him again. Some other dimensional eldritch being wasn’t going to die from a light pole. I’m not even sure if Tesla and Edison teamed up they could figure out how to put him down for good. Which left me feeling like I was very much screwed. I had to figure it out on my own. 

That could wait. Chewy was first and foremost. He wasn’t by the docks below. I eventually found my way back up to that dead end road and couldn’t find him there either. Couldn’t find any tracks of us. If I left him in another world how would he find me? 

What was I saying?

He is a talking dog that can smell portals. 

He would find me. I just needed to get into town. That’s where he probably went. Right? But of course just cause he could smell the paths doesn't mean he could open them. Maybe he’s gone forever. 

Stop it. 

We can sense each other. I just gotta get close. He’s my spirit guide or whatever.

I hope I find him first. Tim could easily have caught up to him. Killed him. Wrung his neck. 

I imagined the sound he would make when life was squeezed out of him. How he might squeal out for ME. And I’m not there. 

Stop it. What did my therapist say? Halt the intrusive thoughts. Tell your brain to shhh. 

In town things will be better. 

~

Beckman’s Books and Things. What were the things? 

I had caught a bus into town and decided to use the bathroom at this bookstore. They had a little coffee shop too so I got a cup to help me and my senses wake up. To warm me too. Sitting in a lake for hours really saps you. I probably would die of pneumonia in a week's time. Get some coffee in me and then get some info where the pound is, or any animal shelters, a library even if I need to print out posters to put up. We weren’t quite there yet. 

Settle down. Settle down, just feel the world around you, where to go next. 

This was a quaint little bookstore with a small barista bar in the corner. Books were still stacked onto the lower shelves of this bar. They needed every square inch of space to amass their collection here. It was impressive. Better yet they had good coffee. And the girl with the sides of her head shaved didn’t even cringe when I handed her two dollars that were crumpled and soggy. 

I wandered into the small british literature section half hoping Chewy would be here perusing. He did mention after all he was a big fan of the BBC, Downton Abbey and all. But I saw there was no small dog here sipping on a cappuccino and waiting for me. I also remembered he said he couldn’t read.

I had that usual feeling simmering up within me. Like a nervousness dashed with hopelessness. Maybe it was the caffeine jitters. But I couldn’t help but feel helpless. My best friend was alone because I had abandoned him. Choosing to fight and get myself killed instead. 

I slumped to a reading chair. Books stacked on the wooden armrests. If I waited here maybe he would be able to find me. He was probably better at that than I was. Maybe if I leaned back and relaxed. Took a nap, rested. I would wake up with him tugging on my shoe. 

No. I should head to the nearest shelter. I was ashamed that I was not putting more effort into this. I needed to be canvassing. A dog catcher could have rounded him up already. I stood up and the stack of books balanced on the armrests fell to the ground. 

Three books landed in various poses. I

groaned and went to gather them. One was a book on Astrophysics. Boring right?

Another was the psychology behind the five stages of grief. 

Wow, that's something I should buy. But we all knew I'd end up never reading it. Just like the book on Paleo Diet and a motivational book called “Finish that Damn Project: How to See Your Great Ideas Through to the Very End”. (I only read a third of it). 

The last and more interestingly enough caught my eye. Simple cover with a crude drawing of a man and a dog in a car. Like a child had drawn it. It reminded me of us. 

“Power Line Prophet” I said to myself. And my arms broke out in goosebumps as I touched it and pulled it closer. I read the back of it and it dawned on me what I was holding. This was no coincidence that it was here. The first page was enough to know this was the story of me.

That’s when I had my first panic attack in a bookstore.

~

I had practically fainted. I stopped just short. When my vision started closing in I plopped back down on the chair and focused on my breathing. Or really just stopped holding my breath. I dropped it and kicked it away from me. There were a dozen, red flashing crises going through my mind. 

How did someone know my life like this?

Was I real? 

Am I trapped in a story? 

Is what’s going to happen in there going to happen?

To know. Truly. I had to read it. I came to that conclusion. 

I turned the book over in my hands. “S. Barkley R.” I said to myself, seeing if I would unlock some sort of power by uttering the name. I didn’t. Sounds like a chick. 

The first chapter I surprisingly enjoyed. 

I liked the way she wrote about my wife. Kinda weird that she didn’t put her name, REDACTED. But she was able to put into words how I thought about her. It was alright. In real life I felt more jumbled as a person. But she seemed to tap into what I was feeling at the start of this adventure. A helpless, scared, sweaty, manic person in denial. 

I stopped after that. 

I couldn’t read the rest of it here. And each page made me wonder what the next held. What did the page after hold for me? What about the end? I could see it all now. I should at least buy it. I was surprised, as I walked up the register, to see a familiar looking man. I couldn’t tell from where, but he was an acne riddled skinny shaggy haired cashier. 

I handed him the book. The book about me. The one with a dumb title. 

He looked at it for a second, looked back at me. Scanned it and looked back at me tilting his head. “It’s funny.” He said to himself. 

“What is?” I asked.

“Well. I have worked here for fifteen years now.”  15? How old was he? “And sometimes you can just tell what book someone is gonna buy.”

“You think this book fits me? You have no idea buddy.” I nodded. 

He ran his finger along the spine of it. “I read it a long time ago. But to me…” He poured over me again with his eyes. “I swear you look like how I imagined the main character. Just even your demeanor.”

“So you’ve read it before.” I took the book back and cracked open my damp wallet. But stopped. “What did you think?”

He shrugged. “Interesting. Crazy.” He laughed. “I don’t know. It’s not a common recommendation for me.”

“Oh.” I said. “Shouldn’t you be selling me on this book? I haven’t even bought it yet.”

“You have to buy it.” He stated shaking his head and snickering. “It’s just one of those purchases. This book was made for you.”

That made me pause. Question things. Staring down at the little novel. 

Did it really contain the rest of my life in there? 

There's not that many pages. The manager broke the silence.

“Maybe it’s the author to me. I feel like throughout it, the author is so close to making a point. So close to realizing an idea but then it just falls away. On the verge of something great. Or at least making sense. Making something.” He shrugged. And with that it was like something dawned on him. He grew quiet and bit his fingernail. “This is like… Woah. This is like deja vu.” He reached out to the book. Motioning that he wanted it back. I obliged. He started going through the pages. 

“How is the ending?” I asked.

He pointed to a sign above and behind him. 

It's not about the ending

 It's about the journey.

I rolled my eyes. 

“Do you want me to be honest? Or do you just wanna read the book? Find out for yourself?” He asked while he was looking at the chapters index. Running a spittle ridden finger along the page. Then he flipped near the back.

“I don’t actually want to know it. God. I don’t think I’m ready for that. I just want to know if you liked it… Were you disappointed?”

“I’m always disappointed in how books end. That’s why I write my own.” He pushed up his glasses. “But it only matters if you think the end…” He trailed off. “is the most important part.” He snapped his fingers realizing something. “That’s in here! Look on this page. The cashier at the bookstore says the same thing. Woah. It says exactly this.” His eyes went wide. Whispering something I could not pick up. I watched his eyes trail across the page. His face grew faint and pale. 

I ripped the book away from him. “Can I pay for it now? I don’t want you to spoil it for me.” 

“Is my face pale?” He touched his face lightly and looked around for a mirror but couldn’t find one. He looked at the cafe bar across from him. Grabbing his forehead like he was ready to faint. 

“Did I put in that coffee bar before or after I read this book?” He asked himself. “I always liked the idea of having the shelves built into it.” He reached back for his stool and only tipped it over. So instead he stepped back against the wall and leaned. 

“Hello.” I waved my hand in front of his face. “Can I buy this book?”

He ignored me. “Weird,” he said again under his breath. “Weird. Weird. Weird .” He repeated.

I snapped in his face and that brought him back to reality. “Yea?” He asked, eyes furrowed at me. Looking at me like I was some alien beast. God maybe I was? 

“Can I buy this book?” I asked him.

He focused on me for what felt like a lifetime. “It’s your book.” He pronounced. “Take it. It’s yours.” He turned and walked back into the backroom. I ran my hands over the cover once more. Making sure it was real. Satisfied I nodded, breathed deep, and left. 

~

It was hard to think about. I could enter different dimensions but this was something else. 

This was my story. This was everything I am and everything I was going to do written down on some pages. I didn’t think you could boil a person down to words. They hardly suffice. But here we are. 

Was the author some sage that sees what's behind the veil? Like me? Were they some extra dimensional being able to see all worlds? All stories. Like Tim. Maybe they write them down like a courtroom judge? Or did I even exist? Was I only here because someone was reading the pages of this book? Would I cease to exist. If the reader just closed the book? That scares me most. I'd rather be stripped of free will then only exist because someone hasn’t gotten bored of me yet. Someone hasn’t tossed me in the bargain bin.

But I'm flesh and blood! I breathe and bleed and, Jesus, do I sweat a lot. And my world. The worlds I enter are so detailed and so alive and so real. Jeeze, everything is so real. Every place. Every person. Every emotion I feel is so real. But how do you know if something is real?

How do you tell?

If a reader is reading this how do they know that they aren’t in some story as well? Some cosmic being is typing away saying:

“The reader read for some hours. Then pissed. Then read some more. Then decided to head off to their day. Not knowing their own tale awaited them.”

Yes. Yes. What if every person is just a character in a story. All they are doing is running along the tracks that the words lay ahead of them. Playing out their pre-written fate. So am I lucky or cursed to be handed this book? My book? Why is that such a horrifying concept to me? To us?

When it comes down to it. Every human’s story, every human that has ever lived or will live can be boiled down to a pre-written story they follow. And it could be fit into one sentence. 

They were born, they lived, then died. 

The story of all things, not just humans! Written and published by Dumb Luck, going under the pen name of G.O.D. 

We act like it’s not. Like we aren’t destined to the same story over and over again. Or we try and convince ourselves that it’s the things in between, the punctuation of those simple words that matter most. Looking for any excuse to say we are real. We are not actors acting out lines. We are not just sticking to the script that was handed to us. 

But I don't know…

I’m not sure if that’s true. A story is a story and all of it matters. And all of it doesn’t. And as I held this book I skipped through its pages. My pages. I passed the bookshop scene. And the scene where I did an existential rant. I found the passage that mattered to me most. 

The one where I could find my dog.

~

I found Cumberland park by asking around. There were plenty of people enjoying the blue skies and summer weather as it wasn't too humid anymore. Probably because that storm had blown through? Or was that in a different reality? Who knew!

I approached an amphitheater built down into this narrow park along the water's edge. Streets crossed over it via bridges and bike paths did the same too. Based on the sign propped up near the concrete amphitheater there was a play going on. I could tell from the flamboyant costumes and old timey dialogue it was a performance of one of Shakespeare's plays.

A gaudy man in purple robes spoke loudly and with bravado “Dost thou forget,

From what a torment I did free thee?” 

A small woman dressed as some fey creature looked down and somberly said 

“No,” 

I rolled my eyes at the language and I cozied up to Chewy who was laying down in the grass between two groups of people. They were on the berm of the hill above the amphitheater. I’m sure they thought the strange dog belonged to the other group. Classic Chewy, finagling his way through life. I couldn't help but grin ear to ear at seeing him again. 

“Psst.” I said to him.

His tail wagged but he still paid attention to the scene happening before us. Maybe only a dozen people were as well. Small crowd for a small performance. I sat down with him. 

“You're alive, thank the heavens.” He said as he turned around once and came up and booped my nose with his own. It was cold and wet and I was just as thankful. 

“Good to see you too!” I scratched him on the head. “Have you just been hanging here?” I asked. 

“Yeah, I knew you’d get here eventually. But my goodness did it take forever. Luckily to entertain me is a rendition of the Tempest! You know I adore shakespeare. Always was a right git.” 

“I actually didn't.” I said. 

He leaned back on his haunches and stretched while yawning. “All right we can go. It’s quite melodramatic for my taste.” He scoffed. “Community theater aye.” 

We plodded away into the park where we were out of ear shot from everyone. There I petted him thoroughly as he skipped around me. Licking my arms and elbows.

“I thought you were dead, my boy!” I said.

“I thought you were too!” He replied back. “When you guys tumbled out of view I lost you both! I thought that was it. I made my way back to town and was surviving off crumbs from birthday parties here. Lots of pizza crust.” He burped. “I’m not complaining. I think I gained five pounds overnight.” He spun around and hopped up on the bench to nestle up to me. 

I laughed at that. “Well why were you waiting here?” I asked. 

“The cars here!” He looked curiously at me. “Don’t you know that? It's got a ticket by now. Being here for a couple of days and all. Wait, You must have known that? How did you find me otherwise? Don’t you remember parking here?”

I didn’t. I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I had parked. 

Was it at the bar? Was it at the Partheon? 

Or was it here? I feel like I slept in the back of my car on the first night we arrived? But I couldn’t remember if that was here or not. It was even before meeting with the Witch who had harmed me and helped me like most people are prone to do. 

“Huh” I held my head. “Things aren’t making sense to me Chewy. I don’t remember parking here at all. Maybe in one world I did. But… They are all bleeding together. It’s like when I enter a doorway, I lose things and gain things.”

“It might be your psyche getting mixed up.” He said matter of factly. “Happens. I mean especially after crossing so many times. You were pretty beat up. I was really worried. Phew. I thought we were goners.” He was wagging his tail so excitedly his whole body was shaking. “But we aren’t. We are back! We got the car, we got each other, and we can go home now. In one piece!”
“We can’t go home.” I said. The wind fell out of his sails. “Tim’s not dead. I can feel it. I know it.”

Chewy huffed, his mouth agape. “Didn’t you hear what he said. What he is... He’s not Human, damnit. Me biting his leg isn’t gonna kill him. Those bullets aren’t either. He’s the reaper you moron. Or one of them. He’s above our pay grade.”

“I don’t even have my gun. It’s at the bottom of the lake.” I shrugged. 

“So there you go. Nothing we can do.”

“This story isn’t over.” I shyly pulled out the book stashed in my back beltline. “I know it’s not… Because of this.” I placed it next to him. 

“What is this?” He asked while sniffing it. “Look at that little drawing. Like us!” He said funnily enough. But he saw my grim visage and his smile fell away. “Uh oh.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Let’s go to the car. I’ll read it to you there.”

“Okay.” He hopped down and trailed by my side. Inches apart. Together once more. He looked up at me. “Do you think I am more of a Caliban or an Ariel? I definitely think Ariel.” 

“Like the mermaid?” I asked. 

He laughed, “You're so uncultured. From the play!”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t ever seen the Temptress.” 

For some reason he sighed disappointingly. “Nevermind.” He said.