Are you done? Good. Now…
Did you see the houses that lined the shore of the lake? The 2 story lake houses with their docks and jet-ski’s and music playing in the backyard? Did you see the happy family playing bocce ball in the yard? The dogs digging up the human remains from the side of the house and the father trying to cover it up by showering his kids with gifts and his wife with all of her desires? Did you see the man that was wearing the red Speedos? You know the one who is sunbathing in his backyard but his Speedos are on the ground next to him because he thinks no one can see him but he can certainly see the family in the pool next door? Can you see the teenagers sneaking beer out the neighbors cooler because he is passed out from drinking too much too early in the morning? Can you see the woman who is crying on the 2nd floor of her house while her husband shoots crystal meth before leaving for town to buy hot dog buns for the kids? Can you see the guy smearing blood on the wall of the bathroom in your office?
Ok. Now imagine you are in a boat. A small 22 foot Umiak with a calfskin sail and two 9 foot oars. You are in a boat on the lake on the sunny summer afternoon. The lake with the houses nestled against the shoreline with the people waving out at you. Go ahead. I’ll give you a minute.
Good.
Now imagine for a minute that you fall out of the boat. You flail your arms as you limply fall into the water. You sink into the water slightly; seaweed wrapping itself around your arm. You kick your legs once, stretch upwards as hard as you can. You see the light piercing the murky water and finally you rip open the surface of the water. You breathe out, spewing smelly sulfur lake water into the air. Gasping softly trying to understand what has happened.
After wiping away the algae and muck from your eyes you try to get acquainted.
You look around and the boat is gone.
You turn around again and the houses are gone.
Panicked, you turn again and the lake is gone.
Finally, you are gone.
I’ll give you a minute.
Now imagine you were never in the boat. You were never on the lake. There were never houses and there were never people in the backyards or bones being dug up by dogs. There was only you in the bathroom at your office smearing blood on the wall and thinking you knew who did it. There were only people who thought that they were at houses on lakes sitting naked in the sun. There were only people who thought that the bones of their dark secrets had been dug up by the dog that belonged to the people who believed that they were your neighbor living on a lake in a 2 story house. There were only people who believed that they saw you fall out of that boat. They believed it so strongly that every time that they saw a picture of that boat they cried, even if they were at work looking at the picture of that lake in that town where they lived that they had framed after they saw it in a magazine and knew, just KNEW, it was the lake where they had lived. They told the story so many times over drinks with those same neighbors who lived on the lake burying their secrets for their dogs to dig up. The story of how they lived on a lake and they saw you sail out onto the lake in a boat and then fall out of the boat and disappear even though you know that there is no lake and there was no boat. They cry and then they tell the story again the next day sitting in the office, naked with their Speedos on the ground while the wife in the next cubicle cries because her husband just shot some crystal meth before going to pick up the kids. They tell the story because they believe it. They need stories to tell to get through this meaningless life. They believe this story because they need it to feel alive. Like they were part of something. Part of something other than Cisco IP phone systems and Post it notes and certified original document stamps. Part of something that they don’t understand but must put their trust in. Part of something that they must believe in. They believe that you, insert your name here, fell out of a boat on a lake that they live on and disappeared. They think this even though they get e-mails from you every day in the office or pass you in the hall or sit next to you in the cafeteria. They believe that they saw you fall out of that boat and disappear. You are not you but someone else. You fell out of the boat. You see them. You hear them. You try to show them that you did not fall out of the boat. You are right here and they have a meeting with you at three. Frustrated you get in the boat. You paddle out to see if you can find you in the lake. You paddle out in that boat. You are going to show them that you did not fall out of the boat. You are going to show them all that THERE IS NO BOAT.
Now imagine for a minute that you fall out of the boat. You flail your arms as you limply fall into the water. You sink into the water slightly; seaweed wrapping itself around your arm. You kick your legs once, stretch upwards as hard as you can. You see the light piercing the murky water and finally you rip open the surface of the water. You breathe out, spewing smelly sulfur lake water into the air. Gasping softly trying to understand what has happened.
After wiping away the algae and muck from your eyes you try to get acquainted.
You look around and the boat is gone.
You turn around again and the houses are gone.
Panicked, you turn again and the lake is gone.
Finally, you are gone.
The next day over drinks you tell them all of how you were sitting on the shore of the lake where you all live and you saw a someone, you perhaps, fall out of a boat and disappear. You cry and order another round so Sue can tell the story.
I’ll give you a minute.
Again, Truly
Ted the Electric.
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