It was mesmerizing, the patterns on the surface of the water. Dave felt that there were shapes here that his geometry teachers had missed all those years ago. He peered into the depths and wished there was a way he could get the waters to rise and envelope him, to end the agony, instead of his having to take the plunge and go to them. He knew that it was only that single, final step from his side that needed courage...but he did not have that courage. The water looked menacing and inviting at the same time. It was still, from a distance, but on closer observation there were tiny vibrations making the shapes he had missed learning about in school.
And that was not all he had missed. As Dave brooded on his life, the wretchedness of his existence, the task that was ahead of him seemed less and less daunting – this seemed to be the natural, obvious, unavoidable thing to do.
The door opened and in came Sheila.
Oh for God's sake, Dave! The water was already warming up when the power went out and it's not even winter yet. What's with you and cold water? You had the same problem last year when we were at the lake, IN THE SUMMER. Mulling over that first jump-in like you were entering a river full of crocodiles...while the rest of us couldn't wait to plunge into the cool water!
Dave looked up and smiled sheepishly. He did not like his writer-moments to be disturbed but he also knew that they were both bankers first and it was Monday morning in the week when the financial quarter was closing.
Dave, sweetheart, I'm late for work. I need the bathroom in five minutes. And please, stop writing dark, macabre stuff for that creative writing group of yours. That's the reason why you keep having these ‘moments' when you are trying to imagine a sad life and history that has nothing to do with the real you. Such a nuisance!