Bev is singing Karen Carpenter songs. She\u2019s getting that thin. Her voice steals across the sand to me. From the cottage. She\u2019s making love with Mike. I\u2019m on the lake beach watching their two kids: Alex, four. Lexie, two. They are ankle deep, knee deep, hip deep until I snatch them out. Water rolls off their tan skin in flecks like diamonds. I roll them and sand sticks to them like I intend to fry them up. Maybe I will.<\/p>\n
They have a weird strength. Their hands and feet are webbed. They dig a hole in the sand. They roll me in and pat me down with those hands and feet. Only my head and toes are out. Bev\u2019s cries sliver through the lake grass. I yell out, \u201cWhy would you want to make fuckin\u2019 more of these?!\u201d The two of them echo, \u201cFuckin\u2019 more!!\u201d My toes point to them in an accusing way, slashing toenails.<\/p>\n
They giggle and tear for the water. I discover I can\u2019t get out of the packed sand. How did they do that? \u201cWait!\u201d Bev is singing again, her babies left with an incompetent. They wiggle to the end of the dock, slipping off their suits, white butts mooning and blinding me. They dive perfect swans, like they learned in a different former life. Then they are under the ripples. They don\u2019t come back up. Oh my God, they are goners. I close my eyes tight, preferring this as a dream, but when I open them I see the two jumping on the raft fifty yards away, spinning their chubby bodies, shadows wheeling the opposite direction, time slipping ahead or back. They run and dive again, making no splash, moving just under the ripples, struggling with something in their hands. They come pat patting up to me. They are holding squirming fish in their hands. The fish have sharp little teeth, smiling as they sense my fear. They present my long nose and the fishies nibble and I sneeze and sand grits my eyes. My toes are feasted upon, the gnarly nails crunched.<\/p>\n
I hear Bev\u2019s voice getting closer. Then Mike. They reach the sand. \u201cWhere are their suits?! How did they get fish?!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell\u2026.<\/p>\n
\u201cWeren\u2019t you watching them?\u201d<\/p>\n
I spat sand. \u201cListen. They can dive and swim underwater and snag fish.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s absurd.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI just saw them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you doped up?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust the hash. See, here\u2019s my little pipe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, my God,\u201d said Bev. You had one simple job.\u201d<\/p>\n
The kids ran to the water and let the fishes go. \u201cBye!\u201d<\/p>\n
Bev struggled their suits back on.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t get out,\u201d I say. \u201cThey really packed me in.\u201d I try to wiggle my body. It\u2019slike something beneath has increased my gravity several fold. Mike starts scooping with a plastic shovel until I come sucking out from the demon\u2019s force field. Sand scours my nuts and I hop like a sand flea on hash.<\/p>\n
As a diversion, Mike suggests that we take the sailboat for a spin. I\u2019m terribly afraid of any boat, but I\u2019m willing to escape the wrath of Bev. It\u2019s a two man thing with a yellow sail. Neither one of us knows how to sail, but how hard can it be? Turns out very hard, especially when we forget the oars. I have my little hash pipe to make smoke circles against the deep blue sky. Mike is suffering with the still bulge in his shorts. Back at the beach, they are burying Bev. Suddenly I\u2019m way paranoid, my heart throbbing, playing my ribs like a xylophone. \u201cWe have to get in,\u201d I say, hinting a sob. \u201cMy God,\u201d Mike says. \u201cI don\u2019t know how! We have to tack!\u201d \u201cHow do we do that?\u201d \u201cWe have to go back and forth. You just can\u2019t go in, without oars.\u201d \u201cI think I\u2019m dying, you know? Are you ever afraid of dying? When the kids were under water I thought they would die. I\u2019m afraid of everything. I\u2019m afraid of time passing.\u201d<\/p>\n
We\u2019re drifting farther down the lake. The sail flaps in our faces, mocking us, mortal creatures, frightened beings. A cloud covers the sun, turning us to shadows of our former selves. Ripples flare, fish shine like feathers. The beach disappears. A squall renders us useless. On the shore a line of purple boulders are the destination, beckoning. I toss the pipe over, good riddance. Time has warped and the bubble breaks and we crash into the rocks, the sail crumpling like a dead insect. We scrabble up the sheer faces over webs of moss. We leave the boat. Fuck it. There\u2019s a cabin there with an old couple on the porch. They smile at us. Their heads look big and shiny, like alien heads, like we have entered a different dimension. Our legs burn as we run over the grass to the dirt road. We hear them laugh and for some reason I start to cry. The sand on my legs is a collection of fiery diamonds. Mike carries me on his back like a wounded soldier. The dust of ages kicks up around his bare feet.<\/p>\n
It takes forever to get back. The sun has emerged, newborn in a new time and place. The cars are covered with dust, the trees have grown, paint has peeled. On the beach we find Bev\u2019s mummy, just her nose and hair free of the sand. The children are grown now. They run circles. From her belly they have delivered a sand baby and are passing it between them. When they see us they scamper into the lake.<\/p>\n
We dig Bev out, brushing sand from her eyes. She sputters, \u201cWhat has happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re back,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
They stay under the water. Nothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere am I?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
From the lake\u2019s surface finally come some bubbles, each one holding laughter which bursts in the sun.<\/p>\n
I think of the life she\u2019s missed. \u201cIt will be alright,\u201d I say, trying to believe myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Bev is singing Karen Carpenter songs. She\u2019s getting that thin. Her voice steals across the sand to me. From the cottage. She\u2019s making love with Mike. I\u2019m on the lake beach watching their two kids sink ankle deep, knee deep, hip deep until I snatch them out. I roll them and sand sticks to them like I intend to fry them up. Maybe I will.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":20176,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19617","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-gary-moshimer"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19617","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19617"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19617\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20177,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19617\/revisions\/20177"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20176"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19617"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19617"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19617"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}