Awash in a time and place

Writing prompt: What do you want to say about human nature? You might think of something that’s happened to you, or a story you like to tell, and ask yourself what its significance is — what does it say about you, or the people involved? What kind of insight(s) do you have into the subject? Once you have a story in mind, create a third-person narrator who doesn’t have to stick to the
facts, who can have fun with the idea, make it a little kooky: try to create a metaphor, and also try the he/she/he/she technique, to give yourself additional distance. And again, keep the real mood in mind, so that you know what you’re giving yourself distance from!

They met on a boat. It was the kind of boat with cabins below deck and it sailed in the type of water where there are always three hues of blue hugging the shoreline. She was in awe of his ability to identify fish. He lay lazily on the starboard deck watching the catch-of-the-day sunbathe herself. She traveled to forget her everyday routine. He replayed each dive in his dreams. She was in a hurry to mate. He was scanning the sea for possible boats to float away on. She figured a fling would buoy the spirit. He smiled recollecting the small pod of dolphins circling him at dusk.

As Summer turned to Fall to Winter, the intensity of their texts escalated. Waves of messages detailing the rhythm of their contrasting lives. Her day spent in a coral-colored box peering through an illuminated tunnel to a virtual infinity. His, in an endless aqua expanse seen through a tiny mask. She shared her day of thought-of-you-when and i-wish-we-could and someday-we-will. He shared his day of fish-made-me-think-of-you, when-we-next-dive and i-miss-your-touch.

She concluded there were plenty of other women in the world that would suit him. He didn’t want her to be the one that got away. He came ashore. She planned the wedding. They made a spot in their apartment where he could hang up his fins.

Years later, comfortably anchored, their tanks still full of conversation and adventure. They waded into uncharted waters by learning to time the tides month-by-month. Each moon became full with hope, then waned into emptiness. One July she squealed with glee. He quietly congratulated his swimmers for making the upstream journey. Her luminescence transformed to cramps and aches and red. He held her close to his hull, sharing oxygen together in silence.

She had gone around the sun a few too many times it seemed. She made a call to ask about eggs. At the information session, he nibbled at a plate of grapes and cubes of cheese, washing it down with a La Croix. The Director powerpointed the months-long itinerary ahead. She wallowed in the guilt of the bill. He was relieved cash could afford a solution. She felt her body as a dark pool of frustrating mystery.

She lay down as the doctor confirmed her odds with instrumentation. The aqueous injections were ordered. Each morning he measured precisely and plunged the needle into her hip. Some mornings he winced at drawing blood as he pressed to new depths. She clenched to equalize the pressure.

He was given a time and place, down the hall in the room with magazines full of flesh and skin and bones. She slipped into an unconscious pond, her last memory the vision of a sturgeon. He waited by her side as she woke. They hovered together as if at a safety stop; their fates bobbing together as they awaited the reality at the surface.