Murky Waters
I have this reoccurring dream, and in this dream I’m drowning. I’m fighting with my inability to swim just to stay afloat, gasping for air that’s just not enough in quantity to fill my lungs, and reaching for someone that is never going to save me and pull me out. Each night it happens a little differently. A slight variation in how I’m thrust into a lake of murky water, but it’s always the same place and it always ends the exact same way. I’m not disturbed by the fact that I’ve had this same dream every night for the past year, because I know why. I’ll always know why.
Plato once wrote in his play The Phaedrus, “Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.” I think of this as the music in my ear-buds comes out in tune with the beat my feet are making on the sidewalk. I’m running at five thirty in the morning, something I’ve become accustomed to doing in response to my dreams. I usually run through town and back. This morning, though, my feet have a mind of their own and I end up at a place that I haven’t been for a very long time; the lake-trail. Just beyond the hundreds of trees in my view point the sun is rising, a brilliant and vibrant orange. Several birds are chirping and the water is still. Although the overall environment around me reflects serenity, I am mentally freaking out as I take my first step onto the dock. Before I can move any further, I’m transported back in time to this exact spot.
It is mid day and raining. I can see her sitting on the edge of the dock, swinging her legs back and forth, rippling the water beneath her. I knew she would be here. After all, we always meet here on Saturdays, but my mind isn’t focusing on our years of friendship and small traditions. Instead I’m filled with anger. My hands shake as I make short purposeful strides toward this person who has been my confidant since elementary school. My temples are throbbing and it feels as though a substantial amount of blood flow is traveling to the vein popping out of my neck. After what feels like an eternity, I finally approach the dock and take a seat beside her.
Like a flash of light, my flashback is over and I am brought back to reality. It’s all too much for me to handle: the lake, the memory of that day, and the simple fact that I am to blame. I make my way back, methodically walking in a daze. As soon as I arrive home, I go into my bathroom and turn my shower on. Within minutes the steam from the extremely hot water is fogging up my vision in the diminutive enclosed space. After I peel my now sweaty clothes off, I carefully step into the shower. The exceedingly hot water stings my skin so much to the point that it begins to obtain a red pigment. Although it hurts, I like taking my showers like this, because the pain reminds me that I am still alive. I step under the shower head, letting the water run through my hair, mixing with my shampoo. As I close my eyes, I allow my other senses to take over. The sound of the water hitting the bottom of the shower sounds just like rain, and I am once again transported back in time.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally approach the dock and take a seat beside her. I can’t decide if it’s my anger or the heavy rain that’s making my vision blurry at the moment. I take a good look at her. Her blond hair, always a big contrast to my dark brown, is in strings sticking to her face and neck. Her shirt is soaked through and through, and she’s slightly shivering. Although her appearance warrants nothing but sympathy, I have none for her at the moment. “How could you?” I ask with a voice I didn’t know I possessed. It’s not until she turns her head and I look into her eyes that my demeanor softens. Her answer breaks my heart even further than it already has been. “How could I not?”
The icy cold water that is now coming from my shower head causes me to once again jolt back to reality. I have no idea how long ago the hot water ran out, but my skin is freezing, the steam is no longer present, and as I step out of the shower I notice that the mirror is almost clear of all its previous fog. Wiping the remaining fogginess from the mirror, I stare at myself. The stress from this past year has taken a toll on me. My once curvy body now seems gaunt and awkward from the significant amount of weight I’ve lost, my hair that use to be shiny and healthy is now stringy and damaged, and my eyes that were once a vibrant chestnut are now dull and lifeless. I don’t know what’s more upsetting; the fact that no one around me has noticed these changes in me or the fact that the one person that would have noticed is no longer around. I guess they’re both equally upsetting. Not being able to stand looking at myself anymore, I quickly dry my hair and throw on some sweats before making my way into my room. I walk over to my record player and put on the Band of Horses’ song ‘The Funeral.’ I find it quite fitting for today. I grab my photo album that’s basically dedicated to us and lie down on my bed.
The first picture is from our first football game of junior year. In it we are all smiles and you can see the winning score board in the background. The next few pictures involve us at the homecoming game and dance, us dressed up for a Halloween party, and us raking leaves the day before Thanksgiving. The next one that follows came from my Christmas party from that year. It surprises me, because although I’ve seen the picture before, I have never noticed the biggest detail about it; we’re in it. At first glance the picture appears to be a couple of my friends smiling cheesy grins at the camera with their tacky green and red Christmas sweaters on. Looking closely, beyond the huge Christmas tree, past Zach and Lisa dancing, and opposite the foyer, I spot us. We’re standing by the banister of the staircase in deep conversation. Our faces are in such close proximity to one another that I’m sure we had no breathing room. Seeing the image gives me a chill that runs straight down my spine. It’s as though I am looking at two ghosts; her before she died and the person I was before everything took place. I’ll never forget that conversation, because that’s when everything changed with what felt like to me to be an actual shift in the universe.
“Are you sure?” I ask her, not believing this could happen to her. She’s supposed to be my best friend, not a statistic. “I’m positive,” She whispers back with force. “I checked five different times.” There are so many thoughts racing through my head at the moment, but the statement that leaves her mouth next is definitely not one of them. “I had to get rid of it.” She says, looking around as though someone were actually paying attention to us. “I couldn’t keep it.” She finishes finally looking up at me with teary eyes. My stomach drops and I feel as though I am going to throw up all over the floor.
“What do you mean you had to or you couldn’t? Those are all past tense... Please tell me you didn’t get an–” I can’t even finish my sentence. I can’t bring myself to say the word abortion out loud. I am so overwhelmed with a combination of feelings: grief, sadness, relief, and disappointment. “You know how my parents are.” She says, trying to justify her actions to both herself and me. “Please don’t hate me. Please, I need you right now.” She begs. How can she think I’m mad at her? My mind is blank right now and I have no idea what to do so I do the only thing that I can, I pull her into a hug. “I’m not mad and I could never hate you,” I murmur in her ear. “I just wish you would have told me sooner.”
After that night the subject was never brought up again. She seemed fine. She appeared happy but she had everyone fooled, even me.
“How could you?” I ask with a voice I didn’t know I possessed. It’s not until she turns her head and I look into her eyes that my demeanor softens. Her answer breaks my heart even further than it already has been. “How could I not? I killed my own baby. I cannot go on living like everything is okay.”
“So what?” I begin my anger back with full force as the rain continues to beat down upon us. “You decide that you want to commit suicide and you want me to help you? Are you crazy? How could you even be that selfish to ask me that?”
“Because,” She hesitates. “I don’t want to be by myself when I die.” I stare into her face, and maybe it’s the look in her eyes or the fact that her voice doesn’t waver with any kind of uncertainty, but I find myself slowly nodding as tears roll down my face. She pulls me into a hug and all I can think of is that this is the last time I will hug her or hear her voice or smell her clothes that always give off a fresh scent of Downy, so I soak in the moment like a child drinking water on a hot summer day.
“I love you.” And with a kiss on my cheek she turns and jumps into the deepest part of the lake. She can’t swim, and she knows that this will be a painful death. At first I’m stunned at her actions, and then everything begins to move slowly. I hear her short gasps of breath, I hear her struggling to stay afloat, I hear her cries, and then I see her hand reaching out. She’s changed her mind. She doesn’t want this, and yet I’m still standing here stuck in my place as time continues to flash by. I’m having a completely outer body experience as I jump into the lake and swim to where I last saw her, pull her to dry land, and turn her onto her back. Her face is pale, and I frantically perform CPR as I pray to God it’s not too late. But it is. I am too late to save her.
She was reaching out to me, and I did nothing to save her. She told me about her plans, and I did nothing to convince her otherwise. I let this happen and I am responsible.
I have this reoccurring dream, and in this dream I’m drowning. I’m fighting with my inability to swim just to stay afloat, gasping for air that’s just not enough in quantity to fill my lungs, and reaching for someone that is never going to save me and pull me out. Each night it happens a little differently. A slight variation in how I’m thrust into a lake of murky water, but it’s always the same place and it always ends the exact same way. I’m not disturbed by the fact that I’ve had this same dream every night for the past year, because I know why. I’ll always know why.