This Isn't It

Content warning: natural disaster, death, mature, noob writer

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He had slept. Or was it the other way around? He lost touch with which was which anymore. He was old again. Stiff, sore, and subdued. Strong, still, and in good shape. Not like the younger him who drinks too much, and knows too little for the power he holds.

He stirred out of a comfortable lounge chair next to a pool on his private balcony high on a tall building. His sunburn revealed that he had been sleeping there for some time. A full pitcher of melted ice water was sweating on the small table next to him. He towelled the sweat off of himself and poured a glass, and another.

He stepped back into his apartment through the sliding balcony door. The conditioned air engulfed his almost naked, sweating body. The carnal pleasure was unique amongst all others. It was too hot outside. The cool felt good, but artificial… unsustainable.

The apartment was sterile and decorated with sharp pieces of art with hard edges. The television was looping through a newsreel of war, and plague, and toxic politics, and wildfires, and record-breaking hurricanes.

A woman was showering in the bathroom with an open door. His wife, he assumed. She was getting ready for a party he’d rather not attend. It would be full of people who were either unable to engage with reality or refused to try. They would talk about sports, or taxes, or their insufferably boring jobs.

A piercing buzz interrupted the news cast. An “Emergency Broadcast. This is not a test.” graphic flashing on the screen.

“This is an alert from the emergency broadcast system,” a calm female voice spoke through the television. “This is not a test. A severe weather event is expected in your area within the next [eight] minutes.” The word “eight” came in a different voice and tone, inserted by the automated system. “All people hearing this message should seek [underground] shelter immediately.” Again, the word “underground” was different. “Repeat, this is not a test.” Another long buzz, and the message repeated.

The man walked back to his balcony door and looked towards the ocean lined horizon. A dark gray wall of cloud and lightning brewed in the distance, and closed in with terrifying speed. He slid open the balcony door to an already crescendoing sound of horns, and sirens, and screeching from far below. The air was colder, and the wind had grown stronger. From the edge of the balcony, the man could see that the wall of storm came with a wall of waves larger than the buildings on the shoreline, both heading his way faster than the automated alert foretold..

“This is not it,” he said and suddenly he awoke. Or was it the other way around?

--- 

The young man was shaken. It seemed so real, too real. 

A woman slept in the bed next to him. Was she naked like he was? His throat was dry, and his head throbbed. He quietly slipped out of bed. He needed water. And he needed to brush his teeth... right after he finished puking.

What was he doing? He knew this woman from his job at the consulting company. She was shallow, and fake, and terribly self-centered. And she drove a Hummer. A Hummer!! The most ridiculous vehicle any rich father ever bought for his spoiled brat of a daughter.

He examined himself in the mirror while scrubbing his mouth with his electric toothbrush. His face was blotchy from too much tequila and puking bile. “Do better, jackass. Life is too short.”

+++ 

His eyes slowly opened from a light nap. Or did they? The scene slowly came into focus. He was lying on a grassy hill on the edge of a mountain town. Two young boys, about 5 or 6 years old, were reading their new book with their mother on a blanket.

“Daddy, you’re awake. Come and see the white river.” The older boy took the man’s hand and led him to the meltwater channel built with deep stone walls. Aqua blue water from the melting glacier above roared by. The loud, cold water made the air more cool with every closer step. The powerful water heaved and rolled over hidden things deep underneath. “Why does it smell yucky, Daddy?”

“Sulfur from the mountain, buddy.”

“It smells like your farts,” the boy said with a giggle.

“Good observation, buddy,” the man smiled back. “It’s the same chemical that makes farts stink.”

The boy stepped on the first rail of the metal railing to get a better view of what was below.

“Why is the water getting higher, Daddy?” said the boy after a few moments.

The man looked for signs of rising water against the mortared stone wall. Indeed, the water was getting higher and more violent. First by one course of the stone wall, then two, then four. He looked upstream and saw even more water heading their way. “We need to go, buddy,” said the man, unsure of what was happening. He took the boy’s hand and turned toward the others.

“Wait, I want to show you something first,” the boy ripped his hand away from the man’s gentle grip and, in a flash, jumped feet first into the raging water.

“No!” but it was too late. The boy was already in the frigid, frothing water. The man sprinted in the direction of the current, looking for any sign of the boy’s location. After too many strides with no sign of the boy, he dove headfirst over the railing and into the channel with the last hope of a desperate parent.

“This isn’t it,” he said to himself a moment before his head hit the icy water, and he suddenly awoke… or was it the other way around?

--- 

The young man was shaken. It seemed so real, too real. Even more than the others.

There was a woman sleeping in the bed next to him. His wife now. She slept on her back, which was the only position her pregnant belly allowed. This made her snore loudly. The air smelled like sulfur, but not because of a mountain stream.

He had not been sleeping well. In fact, he couldn’t remember his last good sleep. These dreams. So real. So terrifying. They were affecting his work and his sanity. Why did he feel so icy cold? The room was warm, and he was under blankets. What were these dreams trying to say? Why were they so similar, yet so different? Ice, fire, weather, hunger, pain, disease, hate, destruction, and death. There was something in his future, or in his mind, that needed to be fixed, but what? And how?

+++ 

“What did you do?” a judging voice startled him awake. Or did it? “What did you do when you saw the tower fall, and the world burn, and the people starve, and your boy die? What did you do when you heard the warnings of what would come?”

He sat on a hard wooden chair in the middle of a cold dark room, feeling submerged in thick glue. His breath wafted in the cold air by the light over his head, but everything else in the room was dark and black.

The man said wearily. “I loved my family. I provided for them. I showed them everything I know.”

“You did these things for yourself, driven by selfishness, demanding their love in return for your pitiful gestures of generosity. What did you do to deserve your blessings? What did you sacrifice?”

The man’s head fell limp on his neck. “I paid my taxes. I put money in every church basket and homeless person’s cup. I obeyed the laws, and supported the troops and the police. I voted for the best people and volunteered my time for good causes.”

“All for nothing,” the impassioned voice replied. “Too little, too late. You knew what needed to be done, and you did none of it! You waited for others to save you and the ones you love.” The face of the voice came into the light. It was the face of his youngest daughter, who had grown old and hard through years of trouble and toil. “If you fail now, we will all be lost.”  

She waved her hand and everything went dark. “This isn’t it,” he whispered to himself before nodding off to sleep. Or did he? 

--- 

The younger man shot up out of bed, no longer encumbered by the glue. He charged the dresser with the television on it next to his bed — knocking it all over, and leaving a fresh gash on his forehead. 

His wife shot out of bed at the sound of the crash. She was pregnant… again.

His heart raced, but for the first time, his mind was clear. He knew what he must do, and he knew how to do it. 

He sobbed in her arms for the first time… and the last.

+++ 

He awoke. Or did he? He was lying on an inclined bed positioned on a covered wooden porch in the shadow of a snow-peaked mountain range. Tubes ran in and out of his worn body. He felt terribly weak and sick, more so than he ever imagined possible.

His daughter sat in his chair next to his bed, and her daughter snuggled next to him on the side that was free of tubes. The younger sang a slow, sweet song with her pretty voice that was part song and part whisper. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I have everything I’ll ever need. But there’s another thing I’d like to see. And that’s me with you, and you with me.”

His hand probed the bed for hers, and her small fingers wrapped around one of his. She stopped her song and raised her resting head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. He smiled down at her, and she beamed back.

The porch, full of pure love, gently stirred with the fresh silence: his two sons, grown and fathers themselves — and two daughters, lovely and formidable like their mother. Younger ones played tag in the cool mountain air of the wooded yard, and did not notice that the old man had woken up.

“This is it,” he tried to say, but his plastic oxygen mask muffled his weak voice. “No matter”, he thought to himself. The words were meant for someone who wasn’t exactly there.

He reached for his mask, but didn’t have the strength to free himself of it. His daughter in the chair next to him lifted it over his head and set it next to his pillow.

“Did I have a happy life? Was I a good man?” He turned to her with unusual lucidity. 

She failingly fought back an emotional collapse, and could only nod her head while warm tears welled in her eyes. “Yes,” she finally managed while dabbing away the tears and snot with her sweatshirt sleeve.

“Did my family love me?” 

“More than anything. Can’t you see?” She scanned her now standing siblings, whose wet faces told lifetimes of complicated truth.

“Where is your mother?” He studied the face of his older daughter, who looked so much like her.

“She’s gone, daddy,” she said comfortingly as if she had heard this question before. 

His gaze stayed on the 3 standing adults. “Did I help?” 

They knew what he was talking about. The last half of his life was filled with selfless purpose and success. “Yes,” they all nodded, fighting back tears. “More than anything,” the oldest boy assured him. “You saved us all.”

“This is it,” he said, looking towards the snowy peaks, and he closed his eyes for yet another dream.