It was a Sunday

[It was a Sunday—not a day, but rather a gap between two other days.] I could have sworn I’d lost my mind on that gap of a day, a little psychosis would have explained everything. I visited the doctor that day and he assured me everything checked out. To anyone else that would have been good news—not so with me. That means I really wasn’t hallucinating when I thought I saw the swan lying motionless on the riverbank. Which also means I really did meet her.

            It was the first swan I’d ever seen. I was expecting something different—a beautiful, majestically white creature of grace that would remind me of hope and love. Instead I saw a poor, misshapen bird—its white feathers now dirty and brown, its neck twisted in such a strange, sad way, its head dangling without hesitation or reason. I wished I could have seen it in life, in glory, beauty, and grace. This swan might have inspired me, instead it only sickened me.

            I suppose it was foolish to think I might be insane. That bird though, that dead swan. Damn that swan. It killed me to see something that was once so beautiful lying in the dirt—brought down from majesty to a harsh reality that those with wings need never know. I hated to think that something would dare to bring such a beast down to the ground, rolling and fighting for life in the mud.

            That’s where I belong. Down in the mud.

            That is the thought that compelled me to go outside and lay down in the mud. The swan was gone by now—midnight hunters had carried it away, bit by bit.

           

            Do you ever wonder what is happening behind you? I do. I think about what person might be walking behind me—the color of their eyes, their siblings, lovers, and failures. I wonder if they ever think about me as they walk past.

            This is what I thought about, down in the mud on the riverbank on a murky day in September. This and the swan. Do the people that walk behind me have time to stop and think about the swan? If they had the time, would they get down here in the mud, trying to see what the swan saw in its final moments?

            I’ve got time. Even if I didn’t, I like to think that I’d make time—

            “What are you doing?”

            “What?” I asked when I realized the question was directed at me.

            “I asked you: what are you doing? Are you OK?”

            I twisted around to see her. She looked plain, dark hair—flat and long and a few strands hung in her face, pale skin and bright red lips—she was made for winter. She was beautiful. She was my swan reincarnated.

            “I’m lying in the mud,” I blurted out.

            “So I see. Are you OK?” She raised her eyebrows a little as she spoke.

            “Huh? Oh—yeah,” I said, stumbling over my lips and staring at her eyes. She was too far away for me to see any color in them.

            “Great,” she said simply. To my surprise she started walking off the path, down the little hill and into the mud I had immersed myself in.

            “What are you doing?” I asked.

            “There must be a reason you’re lying there. I intend to lay with you until I understand exactly what that reason is.” She came down to my level. Her arm was touching mine. Her eyes were green—I could see now.

            A moment of silence passed. “I’m not getting it,” she said.

            “I’m Michael.” My voice was a few octaves higher than usual and startled us both.

            “Beth,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, Michael.” She extended her hand and shook mine, still gazing up at the gray sky. I was gazing at her.

            “There was a swan here last week,” I said.

            “I remember.”

            “I wanted to… I don’t know… understand, I suppose.”

            “I’m getting it now,” Beth breathed.

            I could smell her. Sweet and soft, she reminded me of spring in the suburbs.

            “It’s gray,” Beth said, breaking the silence. She was still watching the clouds.

            “It’s pretty,” I said.

            She smiled. It was a smile so simple yet so beautiful, more wonderful than anything I could have imagined. Her eyes darted to the side, catching mine. I turned away and searched the clouds for the right words.

            “That one looks like a blob,” I said.

            “Hmmm, yes,” she answered.

            Neither of us spoke again until the street lights came on. We were still laying there, in darkness.

            “It’s dark,” Beth whispered.

            “Hmmm, yes,” I answered.

            “Are you hungry? I know a nice little hole-in-the-wall place with the worst food you’ll ever try.”

            “Starving,” I told her.

            We got dinner. She was right; it was a tiny restaurant with horrible lighting and even worse food. We sat in silence, ate in silence, paid in silence, and left swiftly. It was raining as we started down the street. Beth jumped in puddles and laughed. Eventually she’d had her fun and we sought refuge in a coffee shop. She talked and I listened until the baristas had to close. She was an artist in her spare time, a giver in her share time, and a friend to anyone in need. I was nothing more than the man she found laying in the mud.

            As we moseyed down the street the subtle undertones of the sunrise lit the sky. She asked me to walk her home and we crossed the street. I noticed my shoe was untied and bent to retie it when I heard her scream. I looked up and saw her lunging towards me. She hit me with all her might and pushed me out of the way. Then she was gone—instead of my beautiful swan girl I saw an old pick up truck.

            “Beth!” I shrieked. “Beth, answer me!”

            All I remember after that was the feeling of my heart pounding so fiercely in my chest it was hard to breathe. The fluorescent lights of the hospital were dim and the waiting room smelled like stale heartache and worry. I’d been there for nearly three hours before a doctor finally approached me to say they’d done everything they could, but she died of internal bleeding despite their efforts.

            I dragged my feet down the hallway and out the door without another word. It was bright outside, a beautiful blue sky, cloudless, with yellow sunlight everywhere. Mockingly nice for this time of year.

            I moved on, letting my mind wander ahead and drag behind. My feet stopped on their own accord and I realized where I was: our riverbank. The imprint of our backs still looked fresh in the mud. I was about to lay back down in the mud, where she’d first found me, when I heard a flutter of wings. Turning, I saw her.

            She was everything I could have hoped for. She was clean white, like a new shirt, and she stood tall, proud. Her eyes were black marbles with the most magnificent glow of life. I stared at her and she stared back. After a moment she stretched her wings and flew away, into the sun. I watched her go.

            There she goes. Beth, my swan girl. I wish I’d met her long ago. I could have loved her. But now she’s gone. She’s back in the sky. Exactly where a creature like her ought to be.