When you were seventeen, Ras saw you drop acid and try to go fishing in the pond on the edge of town. Ras twinkled just above the trees on the far side of the pond while you, Shane and Clark laughed and cried as you tried to cast your bait into the sky.
“I can catch them,” you insisted, “because the stars are like fish in the pond of the air. They don’t twinkle, they don’t twinkle, look closer, they ripple. That’s water.” You’d cast the bait high into the sky, only to watch it come down with a plop.
Yed was there when you were twenty-one and you sat next to Megan Hourigan on the porch at your Uncle George’s cottage. You might not have seen him, he was kind of behind you, but he watched you creep your hand toward her as she told you about her mother’s last visit to the doctor.
You! Here was a twenty-year-old girl who was about to lose her mother and you saw it as a chance to get laid.
You! You put your arm around her shoulder and you reached under her shirt. Yed saw you!
You. You pulled away. You weren’t like that you said to yourself, with thoughts that Yed could hear.
She. She wished you hadn’t stopped.
In your thirties, you had a thing for hookers. It’s cool. Alrakis never judged you. She didn’t even judge you when she saw you pulled over on the side of the road, screaming into your cell phone, wiping your nose with the back of your rolled-up sleeve, begging Fred to help you make this go away, as your high-priced companion hemorrhaged in the passenger seat of your Mazda Miata.
Fred came through, he was good like that. Only he and Alrakis know the truth.
Chort shined on you off the coast of St. Thomas while you and your third wife took a honeymoon cruise. Do you remember meeting the couple from South Africa? Yes. The four of you had dinner together on the second night. By the time Chort took notice, it was clear your wife was going to sleep with the two of them while you kneeled by the toilet, felled by seasickness and an open bar. This marriage would last three weeks.
You should have asked Chort, she of the heavenly perspective. She would have told you about what had been and what would be. She could see beyond the horizon and was unaffected by the waves.
On your last night on earth, Hydrobius alone was visible through the clouds and city lights. He had such high hopes for you, and it broke his celestial heart to see you broken in the alley. He worried when you stepped onto the railing of the balcony and tried to jump to the next balcony over. You should not have gone out on the balcony, you should have answered the door and gone with the officers. For insider trading you would have done five years, less with good behavior.
What made you think you could make such a jump? It must have been fifteen feet to that other balcony. And it had rained!
Poor Hydrobius, he loved you so much and all he could do was watch you leap and fall. He yelled, but he was so far away, and sound travels so slowly, that his warning was too late.