Page 43 from the series Before the Pirates Came*
Miranda saw the broken lock on the door, the wood splintered. She stepped down into the cabin and saw hopelessness hovering about. Despite the chaos of cushions overturned and her things strewn all around, she felt a strange sense of calm, a ship on a quiet sea. Miranda took a long drink of scotch to enhance it.
As the whiskey burned in her throat, she dropped down to the next level of her depression. Though still afloat, still aware of her surroundings, she embraced the sensation of the journey, the sensation of sinking. She should call someone while she was still able. She couldn’t remember Harry’s phone number. More alcohol, not like a lady on Worth Avenue, but like a drunk under a bridge, the girl she swore she would never be.
She took a deep breath, descended to a darker place. She exhaled threw her nose, watching the imaginary bubbles come out and rise to the surface. She shuddered and took a Xanax. It would help her on the way down. Miranda remembered Harry’s number and dialed it. A girl answered. She decided it was the cleaning lady and hung up.
Another breath… deeper this time.
She thought she was so clever, thought an empty box of Tampax was a great place to hide her money, that a burglar would never look there. She exhaled… more bubbles. Surrendering to the depth of her depression was beginning to bring some relief.
Tomorrow she would wake up and remember that all her money was gone. There was no one to bail her out this time, she had burned every bridge. While Miranda drifted briefly in that silent place, she took another drink, looked around at her boat. The joke was on her. The winter boating adventure was the making of a bipolar mind seeking an imaginary thrill. She looked into the murky haze, drank, and watched a fool take in more air. The weight of the water against her body pinned her down against her deepest grief.
Sinking was clean and painless, the depths were quite beautiful.
The bottle was empty, she was numb to the taste. Take a breath, hold it… the sound of her heartbeat was somber and dim. Blow Miranda, blow! You must empty your lungs to go all the way down!
On the bottom there were stars, a flickering light… but no one else could see them. The colors embraced her, distracted her from her troubles. The long descent was complete, one last breath. Her heartbeat slowed and faded.
It was her sea of tranquility, a dark lullaby.
“You, LORD, are my lamp; the LORD turns my darkness into light.” 2 Samuel 22:29 (NIV)
To be continued…
*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.