Course of Time

I spent my entire life with my head peeking above the water, with too many dry days taken for granted. An ordered myriad of timid moments when my voice should have mattered flashes before my eyes. I jolt at a chill skipping down my back. I focus on the sky instead, how much better it looks after the storm—the blue peeling off a gray coat. The sea air dries my sinuses, and the salt burns my eyes. My nose crinkles with discomfort—the fishy aromas drowning me in a distinct stench. There is a dryness glued to the insides of my cheeks, and it stains my tonsils with a dramatic hint of bleakness. The damp raft saps the moisture from my skin.

The sun beats fatigue down my soul like a bat striking a baseball. I welcome the challenge and even boldly attempt to embrace it. Four or five days have passed since the sea and weather conspired to strangle me, perhaps three. Now, all I see is a glistening friend wanting to share sweet whispers through the calm waves with me. My only solace is the tranquil motion of the sea pushing and pulling me to its delight. They say land was nearby if you spot birds while lost at sea. The only problem was that I hadn't seen anything that wasn't wishful thinking. My hunger had driven me delirious. My mind slips to the worst-case scenario: starvation replacing drowning, being pecked to the bone by scavenger birds, or being knocked into the water by a desperate and hungry shark. I'm dead meat surfing the waves.

I keep thinking of Marty's face as I saw it last. There was a lost optimism; he was skeptical of survival but brave enough to face death with a smile. He didn't last in the storm. I didn't know him for long, and I'm still unsettled by the mournful bliss of no longer hearing his grating voice. I miss his little attempts at jokes to lighten the mood. Either intentionally corny, or that's just who he is–was. He sunk below his raft, his body lost at sea, so I'll never know. He reminded me of Lucas. One of the many clouds looks like him, too. I hadn't thought about Lucas in years. I miss my brother. He would've loved the cruise, at least until the wreck.

I see a ship in the distance. I thought it was another trick of the light, but the smoke was close, and burning coal did the tango through my nostrils. I want it, but my body is too weak to move and too far away to recognize a blot on a pathetic piece of driftwood. A plank of nothing. A growing frustration and disparity drowned the splash of flushing hope. I garner another minute before I pass out from heat exhaustion and dehydration. I catch a quick glimpse of Kennedy's sea-blue eyes as her mirage's kiss plants an itch against the skin of my eyelids. Her lips always left a soft stain of love, accompanying a brightened white smile that lit dimmed rooms aflame and twisted heads upon entry. Dark hair that grabbed onlookers, wrapping them in its glorious web. The dark gray returns to my line of sight, and she leaves me. I can still make out the shape of her face through the clouds.

My sister always complimented me on my taste in women. She was likely glad I stopped when I did—almost missed the best one. She came to me, a godsend at my lowest. She gave me the best daughter a man could have asked for. She gave me a chance to be better at life. To have one that'll miss me. It takes everything I have to stand, my weight betraying my knees and stability. The ocean's flow hobbles my balance, and my empty stomach strains my back toward my legs. Waving my arms above my head feels like shouldering two mountains on my neck. I scream from my soul, disappointed and devastated to hear my shrill, poignant voice. My eyes go numb, and my weight lightens. I collapse face-first into the solid but weakening driftwood.

My dad called me his young albatross because of how well I sang, like him. My mother thought I should be a chef. They seemed to believe that I couldn't do both. I flashed photos of them when they were happy to people on the cruise tour. They complimented my eyes, saying I must've gotten them from her. I try to hang on to that with pride, but no one cares about the backstory of a traveling lounge singer doubling as a line cook. I was around the same age they were when they had me by the time my mom filed for divorce. I thought I'd never find the kind of love they had at their happiest. Part of me didn't want anything to do with it. That was when Kennedy tripped into my life during my first year of college. It was a painful realization of a miracle.

My consciousness slips me into a world where I am the self I dreamed about being when I was young. I had my very own yacht with a jazz band to play all the classics my wife loved. Loves. My daughter, owning her runway with crazy outfits, dreamt up in that beautiful head of hers. I say all the right things, do things the right way, and shoulder life with a more significant, smoother ease. A dream that lasts a few drifting but precious seconds, but the effects of retreading the last three decades will be a lasting constant. I am always and forever grateful to have met Kennedy and for making Willis.

Ken's visage comes back to me toward the end of it. I'm dominating the stage to the applause of my audience, and she's there, in her glistening red dress with the fancy slit running down her side, exposing a sleek and sexy leg. She sparkles like a ruby, and her eyes light like diamonds. My heart races when she takes my hand, and I try not to freeze. There's a misty presence when she laughs, and a solemn song runs through my head repeatedly. She leads me to a golden door, and a wave of love transcends worry and stress. I'm cold but cozy; I am calm but aware. I step through and welcome a comforting darkness, but Kennedy is gone, and I tumble into a confident free fall.

I drift further into nothingness before waking with a familiar euphoric tang as I'm hoisted over a strong back and carried up a ship's ladder. How I'm gently rolled onto a cold deck suppresses the suspicion of foreign pirates rescuing me. I recognize the dark hair hovering over my face, tickling my forehead. There's a confusion that suffers against clarity. I fear this may be some afterlife that pulled me into a loop of my greatest desires. My senses reconnect, and the nerves in my spine tighten. My sight bleeds into reality, and I spot them. A sharp, hypnotic pair of glorious, sea-blue eyes and a white smile that shone brighter than the blazing sun revealed themselves. Kennedy leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose, and I knew I was home again. But is this heaven?