Sort of Dead

44 - By The Lakeside

It’s dirty. Dirtier than a pool made out of sewage water that you set up in a village would be. And it stinks. The water is dank, filthy and color-shifting. One moment the lake's surface is a happy teal, the other a turquoise bloom.

‘How are we supposed to cross it now? I am not swimming in that thing,' Aar says.

Mr. Om and me don’t know how to float – let alone swim – so I bet he has something else in mind. He seems to be looking for something.

‘What is it, Mr. Om?’ Bee words what I think. Sometimes I think she’s got super-speed like Quicksilver or Barry Allen or something. You know them, right? Nevermind, doesn’t matter.

‘It was supposed to be right here,' Mr. Om is muttering.

'What was?’ I ask.

'The boat.’

'A boat?’ Aar shoots. ‘Why would there be a boat in this godforsaken place? It’s not like the witches were waiting to welcome us or something.’

‘Shut it, kid,' Mr. Om says. ‘One more word outta you and we’re not taking you with us.’

‘If you find a boat, that is,' Aar retorts, and perches himself on a jagged, very uncomfortable-to-sit-on boulder. ‘Which you won’t.’

He picks up a pebble shaped like a rotten heart and starts playing catch with himself. He is mumbling loudly – loud enough for Mr. Om to hear, anyway.

Ah. That’s what I love about Aar. His unwavering quality of never giving up. .

Moments pass, and Uncle is visibly tense by now. He is using his one hand to wipe the perspiration off his face. He doesn’t know what to do, I can tell by the look on his face. I’ve seen that look on children's faces while dealing with algebra.

Then an idea strikes me. ‘Hey, Es!’ I whistle. ‘Come on over here!’

She does, in one flying sweep. She’s elegant, I’ll give you that. ‘Yes, Marru-parru?’

I roll my eyes, let the name pass. There are more important things at hand here. ‘Could you maybe look around? Explore and stuff?’

She sticks out a tongue. ‘But you just told me to stay with you.’

'I take that back-'

'Wee!’ she exclaims, frolicking in the air. ‘Wee-woo-!’

'But on one condition!’ I add.

'Tell me, tell me!’ she says excitedly. She’ll do anything to get back her liberty to roam.

‘While wandering about, I need you to have a specific aim.’

‘Well, that’s not exactly wandering then, is it?’ she says in a low tone. I'll admit she looks cute.

‘It is if you wander.’ I don’t know, I’m just saying whatever will get her to help us. ‘So when you’re “wandering,” why don’t you keep an eye out for a boat?’

‘Like the thing you make out of paper when it rains?’

‘Kind of, but bigger than that. A lot bigger. One which can fit us all.’

‘They come in that big sizes?’ She sounds like a kid who’s just discovered Santa Claus is a myth.

‘Yes, Es, they do. Now, can you do this for me?’

She seems doubtful.

I use her own nonsensical quote from earlier on the plane on her. ‘Always friends, right?’

She perks up, gives me a salute – or maybe it means something else in spirit language, I dunno – and cartwheels away into the wild open air.

Oof, the air. It’s sultry. Probably the sultriest air I’ve ever had the obligation – or displeasure – to experience. I’m sweating almost as much as Mr. Om is.

Bee is examining the voluminous tree roots jutting out from under the ground. She finds them very fascinating. Botany is one of her main subjects of interest, if I remember correctly.

Meanwhile, Mr. Om is gazing into the depths of the dirty, smelly lake. For a lake, it’s pretty deep, that’s for sure. I’ve never really been to a lake before, and this is not how I imagined my first time would be.

I’d imagined to go out to a valley in the hills or something, with my Mum and Dad. Don’t always get what you want. In fact, you rarely ever do. Ah, well.

I get so bored, I start playing catch with Aar. After all, he must’ve gotten bored playing with that rotten-heart-rock all by himself. After we get tired of catch, he starts mimicking his favorite characters from some stupid cartoon show. He does make me laugh, harder than I’ve laughed since that . . . You-know-what night. Since my second birthday, the Witch/Ghost Moon. You know. Let’s change the topic, shall we?

I offer one of my special poem pieces, but Aar refuses. ‘Pardon me,' he requests. Whatever. His loss.

Bee had packed some snacks in her backpack before getting on the plane. So had Mr. Om. Some nuts and other non-perishable eatables. And you know the thing about non-perishable stuff? It sucks. And it doesn’t fill your stomach.

Anyhow, it is starting to get real dark around the lake. The sun is nowhere in sight (I'm beginning to suspect if this place has a sun), but yeah, it's getting pretty late and we’re all losing hope.

We’ll probably just have to turn back and climb that jet, defeated by-

Wait, wait, wait, wait. Hold up.

‘What’s that?’ I say, sensing something.

Ripples in the lake.

Aar and Bee and Mr. Om and I all take a few steps back. See, who was drinking the contaminated water from the lake up till now, backs off with us.

The rippling grows. Something is in the water. And it’s coming closer.

My lips are sealed.

I just wanted to say that for no subjective reason. So I did.

Stay tuned. Stay safe. Stay alive. Stay happy. Stay with me. Stay with Marra.