Lost at Sea

Even as deep as six fathoms she could feel them—thoughts charged with emotion so intense that they were able to penetrate deep beneath the black ocean waves.  She stopped swimming.  The gills on her neck flared as she hovered in the water, her long serpentine tail rhythmically licking from side to side.

                She closed her eyes and waited.  At first there was nothing, and then suddenly an image flashed in her head.  She saw a tall ship returning a husband home from a long voyage at sea—a woman knitting small clothing as she periodically glanced out the window.  The image drained from her mind’s eye, but like blood rushing away from the heart, more flowed in to take its place.  The same couple sat in church.  The woman stroked the meat of his palm with her thumb and forefinger.  Though a small gesture he found it soothing.  He looked at her from the corner of his eye and smiled.  The image was traded for another.  The man was hunched over his wife, crying.  A midwife swaddled a baby in a sheet, its blue skin disappearing in swaths beneath white linen.

                Her tail spiraled spinning her around in circles.  When the next thought arrived, she was able to pinpoint the direction from which it came.  She headed toward the thought’s origin, her tail casually swishing back and forth as she moved to investigate.

                First mate Jonathon Wythe leaned against the gunwale looking out over the rolling waves. The moon’s reflection shimmered in the ocean current.  To him the ocean looked beautiful only at night.  He took a pull off a bottle of whiskey, then set it down and wiped a tear from his eye.  Jonathon had volunteered to stand guard on the Rubicon while it was moored, and most of the crew went ashore seeking pleasure.  Throughout that year he hadn’t spent more than a few days on land, preferring instead the comfort of the ocean’s unceasing tides.  It was as if the longer he stayed out to sea, the more unreal terrestrial life became. 

The last time he went home he discovered that a large family of rats had made a nest in a wall in his kitchen.  He ate his meals as they scampered about, each ignoring the other’s presence.  Maybe in 100 years, he thought, they will gnaw the building to bits from the inside out, leaving nothing more than a few wooden planks as evidence that it had ever been a house.

                He took another sip of whiskey before stuffing the cork in the mouth of the bottle.  Jonathan pulled a gold locket from his coat and clumsily pried it open.  On the left panel was a picture of his wife, her freckles and radiant red hair seeming to transcend the limitations of a black and white photograph.  The right panel was empty.  When she had given it to him, Lydia had said that the right side was reserved for the baby, just as soon as they had saved a few extra dollars to pay the photographer. 

                The baby, he thought, and let the locket fall from his hand.  It dangled over the water, suspended by the chain around his wrist.  Jonathon gritted his teeth at the son that never was.  “Refuse the seed if you do not want to be a part of this world,” he mumbled angrily.  “Do not come into our lives for a moment only to take everything with you when you decide not to stay,” he said, and in one fluid motion he grabbed the bottleneck and hurled it into the water.

                Before he released the glass from his hand he could feel that something was wrong, but the whiskey had slowed his thinking and his actions outpaced his brain.  Jonathon looked down at his arm.  The only thing that encircled his wrist was his coat sleeve.  The locket chain had slid over his hand and around the bottleneck, hitching a ride on its flight out to sea. 

                “Oh, lord, no,” he whispered.  “What have I done?” 

The locket was the only thing he had kept to preserve Lydia’s memory.  Jonathon lowered his head onto his folded hands and began to sob.  The only possession he had that was worth owning, and he had lost it in one impulsive, drunken action. 

Jonathon wondered for a moment if he should jump in after it.  He peered over the side of the boat.  The frothy waves rocked the wooden hull from side to side.  The longer he stared the more he thought he could hear his wife’s voice calling to him.  No rope or ladder reached the water.  If he jumped in there would be no way back onto ship.  Does it matter? he thought.   

Jonathon gasped as he was struck by a thought.  The bottle was corked and he had drunk most of the whiskey.  It would be floating behind the stern on the starboard side of the ship.  The locket could also be afloat, its chain wrapped around the neck of the bottle. 

                He lowered the rowboat as quietly as could, taking care not to wake the few remaining shipmates below deck.  Using spare cordage that he had tied around the mizzenmast, Jonathon lowered himself into the dinghy.  He would wake his friend, Gabriel, to help raise the boat from the water when he returned.

                Jonathan spent the next hour rowing.  He stopped periodically to sweep the water in front of the bow with his lantern and then moved on when the light revealed nothing.  Finally, fifty feet from the ship, he caught sight of something small glinting in the lamplight.  Jonathon hurriedly paddled toward the object.

                Using an oar he gently pulled the bottle toward the boat.  He then plucked it from the water and examined it.  Defeated, he fell back onto the bench.  Jonathon flicked the cork out of the naked bottle and finished the last sip of whiskey.  A few drops dribbled through his beard.  He knew it was foolish to think the locket had not flung free and sank to the ocean floor, but the loss made him desperate.

                “You never used to drink, Jonathon,” said a woman propped up on the edge of the boat, her arms folded across the gunwale.

                Jonathon’s heart paused for a beat.  “L-Lydia,” he gasped.  “W-what are you doing in the ocean?”

                “Looking after you.”  The beads of water clinging to her alabaster skin sparkled in the lamplight.

                “But… how are you alive?” said Jonathon with amazement.

                “Remember what Pastor Collins said, ‘The soul cannot be destroyed, only the vessel can.’”

                “Am I—I must be dreaming?”

                “I am not a dream, Jonathon.  Come here.  Feel my skin.  It is real,” she said extending her hand to him. 

                He stood and took a step toward the front of the boat, taking care not to topple overboard.  Jonathon was about to take Lydia’s hand when he noticed something that startled him.  The end of a massive tail lazily swished back and forth behind her.  He recoiled in fright.

                “What is it, love?” she said, a look of disappointment on her face.

                “Lydia, you—you have a tail!”

                She looked over her shoulder.  “It would seem I do.”  The end of her eight foot tail lifted out of the water and then fell down with a light clap. 

                Jonathon gasped.  He had heard many stories and even seen drawings of mermaids.  In the pictures the tips of their tails always forked parallel to the creature’s body, but Lydia’s rounded at the end.  A posterior membrane flared perpendicular to her torso like the tail of an eel.  And instead of metallic scales, as the drawings often depicted, Lydia’s lower half was slick and spotted with dark green markings like a northern pike.

                “Do not be afraid, Jonathon.  I am still your wife.”

                Jonathon shook his head.  The folklore surrounding mermaids varied wildly.  Some tales described them as playful caring creatures that sometimes helped shipwrecked sailors.  Other descriptions compared them to sirens—tricksters that lured men to their deaths.  Regardless of the truth, Lydia certainly did not have an eel’s tail when she was alive, and she was not buried at sea.

                “My wife lies in a cemetery not far from our house,” he said gravely.  “She cannot be here.  You are some kind of devil.”  

                “No, my love,” she said smiling with eyes alight.  “It is the exact opposite.  I am an angel.”

                “An angel,” he scoffed.  “Angels are part-bird, not part-fish.”

                “Mermaids are angels, Jonathon.  When we die some of us are allowed to become angels if we desire.  We are also allowed to choose a territory to protect.  Angels that choose to protect a territory on land are given wings.  Those that choose the sea are given tails.  Does it not make sense for someone who protects the sea to be half-fish?  If I had wings, how would I rest?  How could I carry a man to safety with wet feathers?”

                “Why choose either?”

                “For you, Jonathon.  I wanted to watch over you while you sailed.”  She began inching toward him along the edge of the boat. 

Instinctively he slid to the opposite side.  “Why have you revealed yourself to me only now?”

“This is the first time you have needed my help.”

Jonathon furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side.  “What help do I need?  I am not shipwrecked.”

Lydia raised her fist and unclenched her fingers allowing the locket to dangle from her hand.  The gold sparkled as it twirled in the air.

                Jonathon sighed in relief.  He had resigned himself to the idea that the keepsake was lost forever.  He reached for it, but he stopped himself.

                Lydia frowned, disappointed by his persisting fear.  She did not think it would be this difficult to get him to believe her.  Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

                “I remember the day I gave you this,” she said looking at the locket.  “You had returned from your longest voyage since we had been married.  It was Christmas Eve and you were due to leave again not more than two days following the birth of Christ.  You said you could not bear to be away from me again.  I was going to wait until Christmas morning to give you the locket, but you were so sad that I thought it better to give it to you that night.  When you opened the locket it brought tears to your eyes.”

                At that moment Jonathon’s eyes began to well with water. 

                The wind blew and the ship creaked behind him.  He looked back.  It was now several yards further away.

                “Do not worry, my love.  I will help you get back to the Rubicon when you need to.”

                He looked back at her and winced.

                “And Gabriel will be asleep for several more hours.”

                “How do you know about Gabe?” he asked, surprised.  Again she had spoken his thought just as it came to mind.

                “I am an angel now, Jonathon.  I know many things.”

                He stared at her curiously.  At that moment he conjured the most erotic image that a man of his Christian upbringing could think of.  As he did he saw a flash of confusion on Lydia’s face, but she said nothing and the knowing smile returned almost immediately. 

                “Do you remember the day you died?” Jonathon asked, recalling the memory.

                “Of course.  I was lying on our wedding bed.  The doctor was trying to deliver the baby.  You were beside me holding my hand and dabbing the sweat off my forehead with your handkerchief.

                The doctor said that the baby was coming slowly.  I was scared, and you said, ‘Do not worry.  Our son, Christopher, will be here soon and we will be a family.’  I smiled even though the pain was immense.  Then suddenly I felt something in my stomach burst.  Everything grew dark, and the next thing I knew I was carrying Christopher to heaven to be with god.”

                Jonathon smiled as tears streamed down his face.  “Yes, that is exactly how I remember it.”

                He reached out and took the locket from Lydia’s hand.  “Thank you, angel.”

                Lydia smiled as Jonathon dried the locket on his coat before opening it one last time.

                “I thought I had lost this.”

                “I can’t leave the water, Jonathan.  You can swim with me.  Swim and you can hold me in your arms again.”

                Jonathon paused, weighing the thought in his head.  He looked at Lydia, then back at the ship, and finally down at the locket.  With a tired breath, he stood and began removing his clothes.  Jonathon set them on the bench in a neat pile.  Mild excitement came over Lydia as his naked form turned to face her.  She backed away from the boat giving him room to enter the water.

                As Jonathon lowered himself over the side of the boat, the cold water sent a chill through his body.  Like a baby baptized at the start of its life, he thought.  Lydia slowly moved toward him, smiling widely, her arms open for an embrace.

                “I want to let you know,” said Jonathon as he treaded water, “we had never decided to name our son Christopher.  I had only thought that we did.”

                The mermaid ignored his admission, thinking it was something meant for his dead wife, not her.  As she wrapped her arms around him, Jonathon knew that his life was over, but he had already surrendered himself to the idea before stepping into the ocean.  He was tired of being alone, and sad, and angry. 

                The creature squeezed Jonathon with superhuman strength, breaking his back.  He cried out, but his voice was quickly muffled as she pulled him underwater.  As the mermaid dragged him deeper, the lantern above grew dimmer and dimmer until he could see nothing but darkness.  And although he could see nothing, Jonathon could feel that the human half of her body had changed to match her fishier half.  More pairs of greasy hands grabbed his arms and legs, and just as numerous sets of needle-like teeth began gnawing at his flesh, his lungs gave out and he lost consciousness.  Before dying Jonathon felt a calm wash over him as he was relieved of his petty earthly emotions.  The sadness was gone—the anger extinguished.  For the first time in years he felt unburdened. 

                As the school of mermaids feasted on their victim’s flesh, the creature that had posed as Lydia thought about what Jonathon had said before she drowned him.  Somehow he figured out that she was reading his mind instead of recalling things that had actually happened, and he fabricated a memory in order to trick her into revealing that she was telepathic.  Until that moment she had been proud of her rouse, but now the victory was tainted by the realization that she was not the deceiver, but rather the deceived.  She repressed the thought for fear that one of her sisters should read it and use it to challenge her rank as leader of their school.

                No one communicated a challenge to her.  Whether this was because there was none or they were too busy eating was unclear, but she was safe, for the moment. 

                The next morning Gabriel discovered that one of the rowboats had somehow come loose and drifted several yards from the ship.  A feeling of dread came over him.  As the Rubicon pulled beside the rogue boat, one of the more nimble crewmen lowered himself aboard. 

                “Have you found anything?” Gabriel yelled down to the crewman.

                “Aye, sir.  Just some clothes and an empty whiskey bottle,” he paused, “and an old locket.”

                   Gabriel put his hand to his chest.  He knew who the locket belonged to, and he knew that grief had finally gotten the best of his dear friend, Jonathon Wythe.

Woodstock

(This is an excerpt--the first chapter really--from a larger story I've been working on.  It has been very challenging and even a little frustrating.  I bit off a lot to chew.  I was hoping that maybe some feedback might reignite my passion and dedication to the project.)

            “Why aren’t you naked, Bob?” said Seraphim, her manner slow and deliberate.

            “Huh?”  Bob snapped to attention.  Her smooth brown areoles had hypnotized him.

“Your clothes, man, you should lose your clothes.”  She knew he was staring at her bare breasts, but that didn’t bother her.  Although Seraphim had only known Bob a few hours, she trusted him completely, just as she trusted everyone she met at the festival—like one massive, happy family.

“I’d love to, darlin’, but I have something I don’t want to lose track of.”  It was partly true.  He was also embarrassed by his doughy, middle-aged physique.

                Seraphim wove a sprig of hemlock into Bob’s shaggy  brown hair.   Her own auburn curls were salted with clusters of the dainty poisonous flower.

                “Lost in our clothes,” said a naked young man sitting beside Seraphim.  Two tabs of acid had dilated his pupils to the size of tack-heads. 

“What’s that, Billy?” Bob said smiling.  The things people said while on psychedelics always amused him.

The boy looked at Bob.  “We are lost in our clothes,” he said without a hint jocularity.  “Clothing is like a series of caves we lose ourselves in day after day.  It—,” he tried to continue, but couldn’t.  A wave of LSD washed over him, and his eyes dove deep into space.

“What were you gonna say, Billy?” He said, in an attempt to bring the boy back from the ether.   

Billy looked at Bob and laughed, loudly and abruptly.  “I don't know.  I’m sorry, man.  I’m peaking, hard.”  He stared over Bob’s shoulder intently.

“I know.  I can see your mind branching out in a thousand directions at once.”

“Exactly, man!”

Bob chuckled.

“Does anyone want to go hear some music?” said Seraphim.

“I don’t know,” replied Bob.  “I’m a little nervous.”

“Is it the mescaline?”

“No.  It's not that.”

“Nervous, nervous, nervous,” Billy chanted.  “Nerves,” he carefully enunciated the word as if examining each of its letters.

The mescaline made Bob want to verbalize everything he felt, but he thought better than to state his fear plainly.  He took a moment to formulate an explanation. 

“I feel like I’ve been here before, numerous times throughout history.”

The two said nothing.  They watched him with undivided attention. 

“It’s like I know I’ll love Woodstock so much that I’ll be able to return to it again and again throughout the rest of my life.”

“Groovy,” said Seraphim.  Wonder shown in her bright green eyes.

“It is, but that would mean there are dozens of me’s from different times roaming around the festival.  I’m nervous I’ll run into myself.”

“Why does that make you nervous, man?  I’d love to hang with myself.”  Billy could barely finish the sentence before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“I’m afraid that if I come in contact with another version of myself,” he paused, “we’ll annihilate each other at the subatomic level.”

Billy and Seraphim looked at each other gravely and then burst into laughter. 

“I like you, Bob.  You are out there,” Seraphim said with a smile.

“I think I’m just going to hang back from the stage, but I’ll walk you up to the edge of the crowd,” he said, opening and closing his hands. 

“Groovy.”

As the trio headed up a hill Bob threw a few psilocybin mushrooms into his mouth.  He washed their stale, earthen taste off his tongue with a can of warm Utica Club beer.  “Two stems, one cap—stand back,” he said to himself.

Fanning out below the crest of the hill was a sea of hundreds of thousands of people.  To Bob, in his drug-addled state, it looked like a massive bowl of colorful cereal teeming in frothing milk.  The beginning of Motherless Child by Sweetwater was drifting from the stage in the distance.   As they neared a drum circle Bob thought he caught a glimpse of himself, bare-chested, dancing with a plump blond woman in an emerald green sundress with gold trim. 

His heart sped up and his breathing grew shallow.  “Hey, let’s listen to these cats jam!” said Bob, leading Billy and Seraphim toward the drum circle.  “Keep it together.  Everything’s okay,” he whispered to himself through a gritted smile.  “I think you’re actually doing quite well—totally fine.”

They followed Bob’s lead and plopped themselves on the grass at the edge of the circle.  Billy and Seraphim’s nakedness prompted nothing more than an affirming smile from one of the conga players. 

Bob's nerves were calmed by the entrancing beat of the hand-drums. 

Seraphim leaned toward him.  “Are you a Bob from the future or are you a Bob from the present?” she said with coy smile.

“Can you keep a secret?”

She winked.

Bob spoke softly so that only she could hear him over the clamor.  “I’m a Bob from the future.”

“Batteries,” Billy suddenly blurted out.  They looked at him curiously.  His face wore the expression of someone who had just discovered the answer to a very big problem.

Seraphim looked back at Bob.  “If you’re from the future, then what song plays next?”

“It’ll be Look Out followed by For Pete’s Sake.”

They looked toward the stage and waited.  After Motherless Child ended Sweetwater began playing Look Out.  Seraphim quickly turned to Bob, her mouth agape with amazement.  He closed his eyes and smiled and nodded.

She leaned in and kissed him.

“What was that for?” asked Bob, his cheeks flushing lightly.

“That was your prize.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, scanning her up and down, breathing in her being.  Bob ran his fingers through an unadorned ringlet of hair.  Despite the warm air a shiver relayed through his body.  “I love you," he concluded.

Seraphim closed her eyes and smiled.  “I love you too.”  She stood up and took his hand.  “Let’s go back to my tent.”

“You and Billy aren’t, um…?” said Bob as he rose to his feet.

“It’s cool,” she said definitively as she led him away from the group.

Bob looked back toward the circle.  Billy smiled and waved.  Surprised, Bob waved back.

As they neared Seraphim’s campsite a canvas door-flap unzipped, and a young woman with coarse black hair stepped out of a beige tent.  A tail of smoke followed her.  She held out her palm and a hand grasped it.  Bob froze at the sight of the man who followed from the tent.

“Is that me?” he whispered to Seraphim, hoping it was a drug-induced hallucination.

She answered with a gasp. 

The woman from the tent look confused.  “Do you have a twin brother, Bob?” she asked the man she had just smoked a joint with.

“Yes,” both Bob’s replied simultaneously. 

The dark-haired girl approached Bob and Seraphim.  “Wow, you two look so similar.  It’s trippy.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says,” said the second Bob.  “Could you excuse us for one second, darlin’?  I have to talk to my brother for a hot minute.”

She nodded.  As the dark-haired woman headed down the aisle of tents, the Bob’s looked each other up and down.  Two identical beings—the only difference was their clothing and the superficial signs of self-inflicted chemical abuse.   

When the other woman was out of earshot Seraphim blurted out, “I can’t believe you two are the same person!”

“She knows,” said Bob prime.

“Probably not the best idea,” replied second Bob.

“I was vague.  I didn’t think I’d be running into myself to prove it.”

“Far out,” said Seraphim.  She touched second Bob’s face to be certain he was real. 

“I think we’ve just about maxed-out Woodstock,” said Bob 2.  “Maybe one of us should go home.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Silence.

Second Bob spoke first.  “The oldest should go.  What year are you from?”

“I’m from 2011.  You?”  Bob 1 was certain he’d get to stay.  He had no memory of this ever happening, which meant that the second Bob had to be older.

“I’m from 2010.”

“What!  No way?” 

Second Bob shook his head.

“But I don’t remember any of this.”

Second Bob smiled.  “I’m not surprised.  I am on a ton of stuff right now.”  He laughed.  “I think I may have erased all our memories from the past month in one day.”

“Why does the oldest have to leave?” said Bob 1, not ready to concede Seraphim to the natural order of time.

“Because you’re the one that can cause the most damage to our history.  Since you’re older, I’m not altering our past by interacting with you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t altering your past by interacting with me.  This exchange could change you, possibly for the better, but possibly for the worst.  We shouldn’t chance it.”

Bob 1 sighed, defeated by his own logic.  “You’re right—we’re right.  I’ll go.”

There was a look of disappointment on Seraphim’s face.  “I don’t want you to leave me, Bob.”

“Well, I’m not exactly leaving.”  He nodded at the second version of himself.  “I mean, I am still here, technically.”

Seraphim looked at the other version of him, slightly suspicious.  “I guess so.”  She shook her head.  “This is so gnarly.”

Second Bob walked up to Seraphim and put his arm around her.  He went to touch first Bob's shoulder.  Before Bob 1 could move out of the way, Bob 2 grazed his t-shirt.  
First Bob winced, fearing his atomic annihilation, but nothing happened.  As Bob 1 exhaled his counterpart looked at him curiously.  Then he smiled and nodded.
“I’m sorry.  Chalk this up to the perils of time travel," said second Bob.

When Seraphim turned back, the Bob she had first met was gone, as if he had vanished into air.  She looked at the remaining Bob, reticent to embrace him.

“It’s me, darlin’,” said Bob.  “It’s still me.”

After reconciling the moment, she took him by the hand and led him to Billy’s tent.

They lay on an unfolded sleeping bag, sharing a fat joint.  Bob was now naked as well.  
"Why didn't you and the older Bob annihilate each other when you touched his shoulder?" said Seraphim
"Oh, that," laughed Bob.  "That's been disproved."
"But wouldn't the other Bob have known that?"
“Can I tell you a secret, Sera?”

“Of course,” Seraphim replied as she ran her fingers through Bob’s chest hair.  She had never been intimate with a man who was so much older than she was.

“I’m actually from 2013,” he croaked through a mouthful of smoke.

She sat up and looked at him warily.  “But you said the Bob from 2011 was older than you.”

“I know.  I guess I lied,” he took a hit and then coughed up a lungful of smoke, “to myself.”

“But why would you do that?”  She was not pleased.  Her trust was beginning to fray at the edges.

“It’s not anything I ever thought I would do to myself.  All I know is that an older version of me pulled the same trick two years ago.  I felt cheated, so I did the same thing.” 

Seraphim stared at Bob, a look of mistrust on her freckled face.

“Look, I’m not a villain.  I met you two years ago, and I loved you then as much as I do now, but for some reason the future me stole you… from me.  I had to get this back.”

“But why would you ever do that?”

“I guess I enjoyed being with you so much that I just had to relive the moment,” he paused, “at the expense of the first moment.”

“This is so trippy,” she said.

“I know, darlin’, and I'm sorry.” 

She lay back and thought for a moment. “So I imagine that at one point I must have made love to the younger you.”

“You would think.”

“Then at what point would the older versions of you decide to start stealing me from your younger self?”

Bob exhaled a ring of pot smoke.  He stared wide-eyed at the undulating halo as it rose slowly overhead.  “Maybe I never made the decision.  Maybe it’s always been this way, infinitely.”  With a wave of his hand the smoke dispersed.  “Causal loops are funky.”