"Dusk"

My wife and I sat watching the grandkids play on the last day of our vacation as the sun was clocking out for the day. They were swinging from an outcropping into the lake on a rope, blaring music from their boomboxes, laughing as they splashed into the green lake. My wife nudged me with her elbow and motioned for me to look to the left of the splashing, where the sun was about to meet its reflection in the lake's mirror surface.

"It's beautiful, don't you think?" she said as she placed her hand on my thigh.

I looked at her thin, sharp face, mesmerized by the way that the sun's soft parting light seemed to cling only to her. It was as if she was the source of the sun's light, which to me she was.

"I can think of something even more beautiful," I said, waiting for her hazel-green eyes to meet mine.

She looked at me and kissed me. Even after all these years, electricity ran through my body, down to my limbs, then collected in my heart, where it sat for a bit.

I put my arm around her and pulled her close, planting a soft kiss on her head before I rested my head onto hers. I closed my eyes and listened to the kids getting their final swings in, wishing that this vacation would never end.

I felt like I was falling asleep, so I jerked my eyes open and sat up. My wife was no longer under my arm. I looked around and noticed that there wasn't any splashing from the grandkids. There was still light emitting from the horizon, which meant that I couldn't have slept long. I began to panic as thoughts of one of the grandkids being hurt, which caused me to sprint towards the lake.

There weren't any signs of the grandkids at the lake. The rope that they swung from was limp and still. The towels, sunglasses, sunscreen, and boomboxes that littered the area were also gone.

"What is going on, here?" I asked myself as I began to head towards the cabin.

As I made my way, I noticed that the faded light of dusk was clawing its way back from the horizon. I looked at the shadow that a tree from the outcropping cast as it shrunk and deduced that the sun was rising in reverse.

"This makes no sense," I said to no one as I sat down on the old wooden rocking chair that belonged to my wife's father.

"It makes perfect sense," a familiar voice said from inside the cabin.

Before I could get up, a man exited the cabin holding two glasses and a bottle of scotch. I recognized his pockmarked face, which was adorned with a grey goatee and tortoise shell glasses. It was Dan, an old friend that I used to work with at the shop, who was cantankerous, yet playful, and seemed to dislike everybody but me for some reason. Dan moved away when his wife died in ’92 and I never heard from him again. He didn’t even say goodbye, or put in notice at work, he just left overnight.

“You just don’t understand it,” Dan said as he placed the glasses down and filled them with two-fingers of scotch.

Dan picked up a glass and handed it to me. I looked over at the sun, which now hung in perpetual dusk just above the horizon.

“So, my wish came true, then?” I said.

“BWAHAHA,” Dan guffawed. “It did if you wished to die.”

I sighed as I downed the scotch. I was not surprised that I was dead, as I was living on borrowed time thanks to Agent Orange, but I was nervous as to what was to come. Dan refilled my glass, this time with four-fingers.

“Well, what happens now? Are you my guide, like Virgil or something? What about my family?” I inquired to Dan, who sat with a blank stare.

“I’m not your Virgil, and I don’t like being compared to a lazy poet,” he said with furled eyebrows. He placed his drink down and stood up, placed his palms out and wiggled his fingers proclaiming, “I AM DEATH!”

We both laughed hard for a couple of minutes. Dan was one of only two friends I had, and whether he was Death or not was immaterial, he was a good friend, and I couldn’t fear him. We recomposed ourselves and got back on track.

Dan finished his scotch and began to explain the ins-and-outs of the afterlife. Everyone has their own afterlife, which could be full or empty, as he put it. If you treated others well, then they would want to spend eternity with you, and will wind up in your afterlife. Those that didn’t won’t have anyone that wants to spend eternity with them, so they wind up alone.

“Both need to want to spend eternity with the other, that is vitally important,” Dan stressed with a raised finger.

I looked around and didn’t see anyone other than Dan. Sadness washed over me, crashing into a wall built with stones of regret, forcing it to circle in the pit of my stomach.

“I should’ve treated them better,” I said.

Tears welled up as I thought about the pain I caused my family, especially my wife.

“Didn’t you, though?” Dave sat back and folded his arms. The perpetual dusky sun’s reflection was pasted on each of the tortoise shell glasses’ lenses.

“Yea, but it wasn’t enough,” I replied.

“Says who!? You!?” Dan boomed. “They are the ones who deem when they have satisfaction, not you!”

“They’re not here,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Oh, so when you die, everyone you love dies, is that it?” Dan asked smarmily. “Death comes when it comes, and not a moment sooner.”

Dan produced a smile so wide that his gold-capped molar was visible and chuckled.

“Besides, time doesn’t exist here,” Dan said, still chuckling. “Matter of fact, you’re still sitting over there, dead, still warm, but dead.”

“So, we don’t know who will be here, yet!” I said with optimism.

Dan’s smile disappeared, and in its place was a frown. He sat back, the rocking chair creaked loudly in protest, and removed his glasses.

“No, we know,” he said as he reached into his pocket and produced a white handkerchief with DC embroidered on it. “It’s always the same.”

Dan cleaned his glasses in a rhythmic circular motion. He inspected them carefully, then spit on one of the lenses and resumed cleaning.

“Everyone winds up alone,” Dan put his glasses back on as he continued. “People are selfish. When they die and realize that they can have anything, they always choose what they did not have, not what they had.”

“Huh?”

A massive sigh erupted from Dan, “I forgot, you were in the Army, let me get the crayons.”

We both laughed, then Dan proceeded to explain. Whenever someone choses who they spend eternity with, they always choose someone who they desired but never returned their affections.

“The Big Cheese,” Dan pointed up with a long, thin, finger. “She doesn’t force anybody to be bound by another’s will, that’s Man’s thing, not Her’s.”

I stared out at the painting of the dusky sun, still unmoved, and pondered what Dan said. I closed my eyes and thought about who I wanted to spend eternity with. Burning green hazel eyes set in a thin, sharp, face. Long black hair that ran down her back, held back by a black and red ribbon. Stonewashed jeans, Chuck Taylors, and a black Rolling Stones t-shirt that clung to her athletic frame. A cigarette was in her left hand, which she brought to her mouth and inhaled. As she exhaled, she flung the cigarette away, and began to approach me. She smiled as she kissed me, which threw me back into Dan’s presence.

Tears cascaded down my face, as I realized that I would only be able to see her in my mind. I closed my eyes again, and prayed that whoever she desired reciprocated it, so that she wouldn’t be alone. I want her to be happy.

“Don’t get all mopey,” he reached out and refilled my glass. “Most just die and figure it out on their own. There’s one guy who died back in the 1400’s that still doesn’t know he is dead.”

“Why are you here?”

“You’re my friend,” Dan said with a serious demeanor. “My only friend since time began.”

Dan raised his glass and rammed it into mine, sending a loud clink that rustled the trees.

“You respect both life and death, and you live your life in such a way that you always try to do others harm, which is rare,” he said.

Dan placed his glass down and stood up, which I mimicked. He smiled and stretched out his hand, which I grasped. We shook hands three times, he let go. Dan, my friend who never shook hands, shook my hand.

“Look on the bright side, at least it will always be your favorite time of day,” he said as he turned to leave.

“I prefer dawn,” I said. “I never liked dusk.”

“Hmm,” Dan said as he walked away, looking towards the hanging sun. “Well, I guess there is a first time for everything.”

Before I could think about what Dan said, I heard the crunch of loose gravel under Chuck Taylor’s, and the stale smell of burning tobacco. My wife always loved dusk.