if, you feel sick, just...

swish, swish...I was crossing an expanse of blue. my legs seemed to make holes in the surface, being completely sealed in by water. swish, swish...the water curled and gurgled and spat as i forced one leg ahead of the other. yards and yards of knee-high water, just blue enough; like the blue in some peoples' eyes, or the blue when you're very very happy. anyway, it was easier to read out here. it looked unnatural, walking through water and reading, as if i were on land - i was, but so was the water. above, the freshest sleepy breeze ran its fingers through my hair, and a gull or two were trying to read over my shoulder high above, circling like white-and-gold bobbles we hang on the tree at christmas. underneath, my feet pressed into hundreds of perfectly carved little ridges in the white sand, sculpted by the washy tide. every now and then the waves were playful and pushed me to the side, as if trying to wake me from my reverie.
they watched me from the shore - they like to watch me you see, something about being old people they say, even though they aren't old. but it's easier to act like it sometimes, isn't it? because they just watch everything that goes by. they must have been very young when they made that decision...i don't try to understand those things anymore.

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her laughing head looked like a sun, mouth wide open with joy, and eyes tightening up. it made an arch in the sky and then landed on the picnic cloth beside mine, still laughing; but everything else was bright that day too - too bright. hordes of sun-burned people with chlorine-streaked hair littered the shoreline, their arms full of flimsy plastic chairs so their neon spandex swim suits wouldn't get grass stains. a chaos of cherry-red coolers, volley balls, gaudy inflatible beach toys, cheap umbrellas that didn't always work, hats and shiny bikes, pink flip flops, and stinky sun screen surrounded us and blended into a blur of lights and colour; and we curled up in the safety of it.
maybe, when spirit is about to go up and pass the sun on its way, the sun gets excited and burns brighter, like it did that day.
it had begun; confused calls and jerky running, frantic scanning over the water's morbid surface. there was a young slim lady in a lose black dress with white polka dots on it, with a ginger complexion and a tuft of black strands caught up at the back of her slender neck. it was hers of course, the one missing; you could tell by the panic screaming on her face, it belonged to her, and she couldnt find it.
first the young man in the white t-shirt; he ran in, unsure and nervous, then he plunged head first under the murky water. another, with thick black hair, ran in; moments of sick suspense lasted only a little while. then, slowly, the truth eased through the crowds; it got cold. he hit the water with his arm and the water splashed; he cried out in anger like a wounded bear and ran his hands desperately through his black hair. an older women with the same ginger complexion slapped her hands together and yelled at the young slim one, "he's dead! ah? okay? dead!!" - the polka dot dress lady wasn't listening to any of them.
but he was found. he was more a communal link of humanity than a person, as no one could see him. he was dragged on shore, the hordes surrounded the ones who knew him.
the sun burned brilliantly, garish and unaware that even it could not warm the cold face it fell upon, lying there on the beach. the young lady in the polka dot dress never let her thin brown hand fall from her trembling mouth; even she did not know how terrible it was yet. the beach inhabitants seemed a separate species for an hour; they stood around dumbly, mute and expressionless, but no understanding spoke in their faces. it was almost as if they felt that this Dark Stranger had intruded on their sunny excursion, rather than it being them who had intruded into one of It's visits. perhaps some of them had not already met this Stranger, and did not then notice It's unfailing presence under their skin, something like being shown how to clean floors; before taught, one never knew about the dirt on the floor, but once put into contact with it, one is in constant awareness of its omnipresence. one sees it everywhere, and cannot get away from it; there is no respite from enlightenment.
after a while, sirens and men in red suits surrounded him and eventually wrapped the polka dot dress in a blanket and took her away, frantic eyes poking out of a vacant face.
i suppose, her little girl will be told stories about how good her papa was. how brave, and kind, and lovely he was; how his friends loved him, and his wife loved him. she will likely be reminded of how he loved her because she can't remember. perhaps the little girl will understand one day, perhaps she never will. perhaps the polka dot dress lady would think she was the only one who still saw him, in her room, you know, when no body else was around; that he still spoke to her, and caressed her cheek, and smiled lovingly into her face - perhaps she will never let go. perhaps she will become a living shrine to the one she loved, with no room for any other gods in her cracked and leaky bosom. perhaps her Hail Mary's will be said with more ardour when she clutches the gold crucifix that hung around her gaunt neck.
perhaps it was all a dream.

if, you feel sick, just...