All This Life

Sara removes the pepperoni slices and plops them down, and the second they hit the bathwater they morph into lovely lily pads, bobbing on a serene pond, with crows cawing in the distance, and she swims through the pond, undetectable. No one knows where she is. Moving anywhere. Moving anywhere she likes. Moving anywhere she likes and nobody can zero in on her and make Sara self-conscious, feel like a loser, a slut. She slaloms between these lily pads and now she dives down, experiencing the depth of this serene pond. Swimming lazily through the kelp.

Is there kelp in serene ponds?

There’s kelp in this serene pond.

This serene pond also has other sea amenities too. Such as jellyfish that don’t sting but Sara can reach out and touch their illuminated shapes, tentacles waving in the current. Such as a gentle orca, a docile and mammoth presence that likes to have her belly scratched like she’s the family’s golden retriever. Such as a whole school of sardines, swimming tightly in a swarm, their silvery bodies moving in fast circles, looking like a shimmering tornado, and Sara swims through them into the center. Existing inside the wave of their rolling bodies. Existing and protected from the outside world.

Sara under the water.

Holding her breath.

Holding her breath for a long time.

A true explorer of this pond wants to experience everything, even if it means working to the very bottom. Where there’s a coral reef, and it glimmers with iridescent life. Sara swims and inspects everything. She is invisible and she is happy and there is nothing that can take that away from her.

And languidly hovering by the reef is Jumper Julie. She’s a mermaid, smiling at Sara. Jumper Julie says, “How are you feeling?” and Sara says, “Scared,” and Jumper Julie says, “Your life will get better,” and Sara says, “I didn’t know people could speak underwater,” and Julie says, “We live in a mysterious and wonderful world,” and Sara says, “Why did you jump off a bridge if the world is so mysterious and wonderful?” and Jumper Julie says, “I regretted jumping as soon as my feet left the bridge.”

For a few seconds, she feels wonderful. Like she’s been shot with a happiness bullet. She feels fixed. She is a good person.

“It’s time to go back,” says Jumper Julie.

“I’m okay down here.”

“Please, go back,” Jumper Julie says.

But why go back to the surface when Sara sees lobsters wobbling along the sandy bottom of the pond? There are seven of them. They march in a single-file line, drunken soldiers teetering in an awkward formation. It’s an experience that no other human being has ever had, being so privy to the militarization of marching lobsters.

“Why aren’t you wearing uniforms?” she wants to ask them.

But then there’s knocking.

This knocking clamors and shakes and creates angry waves on the pond.

The knocking strips this serene pond to a muddy and barren patch of marshland.

Sara snaps back to her unwanted life. She floats up above the bathwater and knows that it’s Rodney knocking on the bathroom door.

“Sa. Ra?” he says.

“I’m here.”

“Oh. Kay?”

“Be out in a minute.”

She takes the helmet off her head and crashes back into this world. Nothing mysterious and wonderful anywhere. Jumper Julie is a liar. Sara’s in a tepid bath, surrounded by pepperoni slices, a film of grease from the processed meat, a sheen slithering on the surface.

The serene pond is polluted. The serene pond is gone.

Sara puts the bucket back on her head, takes a big breath, and slowly sinks under the oily water.

•••

TECHNICALLY, RODNEY GUESSES, this qualifies as a quest. They did leave Traurig, drive off for an adventure. There was the promise of looking for his mom. But that’s as questy as things have gotten. Besides that, he sits in this retched motel, waiting on Sara. He wants to help her, but he doesn’t know how or when or what to do — wants to swoop up close to her ear and say, “Let’s leave this all behind and be happy. We can do that, Sara.”

Many times, he’s hovered by the closed bathroom door, listening to her, working up the courage to interrupt. Sometimes she’s crying, while other times she whispers to herself. For the most part, though, it’s deathly silent in there, the only noise running water when the temperature needs to be brought up. Besides that, it’s as still as a graveyard.

It’s been four days on this crappy quest and Rodney is as confused as he’s ever been, his cabin fever reaching all-time highs. He can’t watch any more TV, nor can he walk around the motel’s neighborhood, a Sacramento armpit, not as merciless as Traurig in terms of temperature but still in the nineties. It’s a collection of stucco strip malls, concrete and asphalt and glass. Balloon Boy imagines his uncle standing in the middle of one of these capacious roads, launching his fly-fish lure, having the time of his life. And he should go home. Call it a day on this sputtering quest. He’s tried leaving for greener pastures and ended up in scenic Sacramento.