Chapter 21: Water

Before long the time came to return to the docks. For whatever reason, Bloo hummed video game music the entire way there. I couldn't name where most of it was from, but it all sounded catchy. The clouds seemed to express a special sort of motionlessness, as though they would look exactly the same in ten or a hundred years' time.

As I stepped out of the car I was hit by the distinct impression of grey air and cool sunshine. It was as though a filter had been placed over my eyes and the air conditioning on my skin was set a few degrees too low.

The docks looked about the same as last time. I glanced down at Bloo, who wore a sly, almost imperceptible smile. I set out along the familiar route, past the people who might as well not have been there, whose business was routine and mundane, and couldn't possibly be as important as mine. My footsteps alone stood out amongst all those I heard as I moved briskly forward before stopping suddenly.

The pickup truck was there.

It wasn't the truck—it couldn't be—but it looked about right. It was green and parked right on the ramp, with the back end facing the water. I approached it steadily, closing the distance with the same certainty by which the seasons pass and night becomes day. I slowly ran my fingers along the front of the truck, making circles around the headlights and brushing a little grime off the windshield. There was an air freshener inside, though I couldn't tell what it was supposed to be shaped like. I moved around, poking and prodding, invisible to everyone around me because they were invisible to me, alone because I wanted to be.

The back of the truck was filled with long wooden planks stacked high and neatly, all bundled with fraying rope. I stood on the flat, level surface between the ramp (which, I observed, was wide enough for several trucks) and the edge of the dock, which gave me about three feet of room. I realized that the ramp was there to make the process of loading and unloading easier when a boat was docked adjacent to it. Objects are made for a purpose; things happen for a reason. I licked my lips with equal parts hesitation and anticipation as I fumbled with one of the latches on the back of the truck. What was I trying to find out? As was often the case, my hands knew while I didn't. As I moved on to the other latch I realized something wasn't quite right.

A thrill of terrified excitement shot up through my stomach. I was so close. It was on the edge of my mind, the tip of my tongue. Tendrils of thought lapped at the answer like flame—I knew how they had died, but I couldn't quite think it. There was a resistance that made it difficult to open the second latch, a friction somewhere, weight from the boards. With a jolt I realized that I was standing exactly where my parents must have stood, and that I was about to die the same way. I stumbled backwards, tripped, fell down and away.

My ears filled with the sound of screams just as my stomach inflated with the shivering sensation that was my body's code for adrenaline. I felt a splash, followed by a cold, wet, sensation, followed by a floundering confusion around my nose and mouth. Don't drown, I reminded myself, but it was difficult to concentrate when the saltwater around me had turned blood-red and the screaming was so loud as to block out any rational thought.

Still, my arms and legs worked on their own, thrashing and spinning in ways I was in no shape to plan. I reached for something, anything, only to fall headlong into more water. I had the vaguest sense that I was being dragged down, or at least the direction I thought was down. Everything spun, everything was noise and pure liquid terror—terror as a medium, like water.

Suddenly I felt a shuddering pain in the side of my hand. Something hard and obstinate had stopped it in the air or the water, and now my entire weight began to shift as I grabbed hold of whatever I had struck. I can steady myself, I realized. The screaming grew a little quieter, though it was still completely audible. I kept reaching and touching, more tentatively this time, and before long my entire weight was borne on these sturdy, horizontal pieces of metal. Ladder, I thought. I began to climb, gripping tightly, clenching every muscle in my body for balance. I was determined to put myself far from the water, the unthinkable openness.

Colors and loud, angry noises danced in front of my eyes like tiny devils made of light and sound. Everything was so electrically chaotic and cruel that I might as well have been blind. Still, my shaking body dragged itself up, the water dripping off of me and back to its wretched home as I breached the last rung, leaning and then tumbling forward, scrabbling away from a nightmare I'd kept frozen in the back of my mind until today.

I was shaking like mad but there was still no time for rest. I got up on one knee and forcibly pushed myself into a standing position, knocking aside two or more annoying somethings that might have been people. I moved forward, thinking to ensure there was no chance I could fall back in. The world was still meaningless abstractions of color and hatred, but with a little squinting I got a sense of the obstacles that might block my path. I began to take a few steps, halting and lopsided, but I stood picked up speed and straightened my back. There were eyes everywhere, all pointed at me, but all they did was twinkle dim light like all the other afterimages dancing through my field of vision. Saltwater dribbled from my mouth, but the taste didn't really bother me and there would be plenty of time to breathe normally later.

I felt deeply sick as I realized the screams were coming from my parents. I knew right from the start, I thought to myself in a grim tone, that this game of pretend wasn't going to be a fun one.

I pondered how I would get back to my car when everything around me was either some kind of interdimensional monster or an abstract painting come to life. Was this the sort of air I could swim through? I tried, stumbled, fell. I pulled myself up using some sort of outcropping on a wall that was flashing so many colors it would've given me a seizure if I weren't already having—whatever this was. I quickly learned to identify my surroundings not by sight, but by the feel of the ground beneath my feet. There was hard pavement here, wooden steps here, grass here. I fell again, but the soft, cool grass was gentle in catching me. While I lay on my stomach, I took the opportunity to examine the blades of grass closely, comparing how they should have looked to how they did. Each blade was a writing, electric blue tentacle with an urgent flashing white light at the tip. The frantic motion must have been my brain's way of telling me that grass is alive, but it unnerved me. I hastily pushed myself back up and set off exploring again.

Where was Bloo? I'd have thought he could help me through a situation like this one. The grass gave way to pavement and it occurred to me that I was now in danger of being hit by a car. Why couldn't this be a good journey, like the one that turned darkness into a fluid and the night sky into a kingdom of unknowable wonders? Or would I have to wait until nighttime for that?

I managed my way onto something I was reasonably sure was a sidewalk. I touched the buildings with my left hand, averting my gaze from the faces that would surely have given me strange looks if they even looked like faces to begin with. I had made five or six mad dashes across crosswalks before realizing that I should've been able to reach my car without going to the sidewalk at all. The screams followed me the entire way.

The trip back was no better. Everything still looked like nothing—nothing useful, anyway. I saw red, green, and blue, along with colors outside the visible spectrum, like the color of death and the color of time. These are elements that slip through our world as surely as any other, and I saw them as plainly as I could in my distressed emotional state. Finally I made it back to the parking lot. I made it a few steps in before I realized that every single car looked like a giant quivering slug. This, I suspected, would make it very frustrating to figure out which one was mine.

Instead, I curled up into a ball and wept. Why couldn't I go back? I wanted to go back when I was at school, I wanted to back when I was at home, and I wanted to go back now. Back where?

I didn't stay put for long, but I was still in no state to find my car. I stumbled around, finding my way back to the grass, which at least knew how to take good care of me. Gradually I realized that the screaming was getting quieter. I shook my head, rubbed my eyes, heard a familiar voice.

"Jesus dude, this is the most fucked up I've ever seen you. Maybe this is a little late, but you really shouldn't stand behind the trucks when they're parked like that."

Everything hit ground within the span of about five seconds. There was gravity, the colors fixed themselves, and things were things. I was sitting cross-legged on the grass, still stinking of the sea, and Bloo was standing across from me raising an eyebrow in concern. I glanced around. People were staring at me from a distance, with fearful or disgusted expressions. I'm not someone to help, I realized. That entire time, I was just some sketchy, crazy guy stumbling around the beach and scaring the kids. It was a wonder the police hadn't shown up.

"Bloo," I whispered sharply. "I'm okay now. Let's go home."

…

As close as I came, I still don't quite remember what happened all those years ago—there's just one or two pieces missing. Above all, that experience made me suspect there was a good reason for me to forget.