I’m terrible at diaries. I tried to keep one a couple of times when I was a kid, even had one with a lock on it, and I got exactly two entries into it before it ended up in a box in the back of a closet. Keeping a written record just isn’t really my thing. So look at me now, with a job that’s making me do it. I feel like a twelve year old girl.
I don’t have any idea how to do this.
So I’m on the boat today, and it’s been pretty quiet so far. Not that there’s usually a lot to do. Sometimes we drop things down to Sebastian, sometimes we haul things back up. I did a little maintenance on the air pump, then spent a couple of hours napping on the deck. Am I supposed to say that? Napping on the job? I could delete it I guess, but I’m not really about the take-backs.
Let me see. The Focus is out of commission, but I’m pretty sure it’s the alternator. I’ve got to get the funds together for that, but then I can switch it out pretty quick. I was thinking about asking Ziv if he wanted to go in halfsies on it. I’d let him borrow the car for a few months in trade, whenever I could. He’s a pretty easy going guy. I should ask him about it when he wakes up.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be writing here. Something about school? I’m pulling straight C’s, which is pretty good for me. College is easier than high school ever was, but not by much. I’m still getting blackouts, and that doesn’t help anything. Like the other day I was coming out of McDonald’s with a Big Mac and a Coke for lunch, and next thing it was night and I was in a lake with this really cute girl and neither one of us had any pants on. Don’t know where I was or how I got there, which used to scare me when it would happen, but now I just roll with it. Maybe it’s a tumor, but you think I’d be dead by now if it was.
I hitched a ride with a guy in a pickup truck the next morning. I didn’t find out the name of the lake, but it was up in the Sierra Nevadas somewhere, and hell if I know how I got there. I don’t know where the girl went. I laid down on the beach for a while, and when I woke up, she was gone. I never got her name, which is weird, but that’s okay. I take weird in stride anymore. Least I’ll recognize her if I see her again. She’s got a crazy birthmark on her face, so I’d know her anywhere. Must have been hell on her in school, birthmark like that.
I’m ready to get off this boat. It makes me nervous being out on the water like this. Like anything could happen and there’d be nothing I could do about it.
Sometimes I like to have a little control over my own destiny, you know?
A little control never hurt anybody.
I wonder what that girl’s name was?
I had a peculiar dream in the bathysphere last night, and it has left me feeling very unsettled. In the dream, I was in a Japanese tea house, on the edge of a small lake. I was sitting at a table by the open glassless windows, and the smell of jasmine floated in from somewhere outside. The buzzing of bees could be heard, but I saw none of the insects flitting about.
Seated at the table with me were two old Japanese men, who appeared to be identical twins. Both had their hair cut short against their heads, both wore brown sweater vests, and both had faces lined with creases and folds which clearly illustrated their advanced ages. Neither man spoke, but merely sat to either side of me, with their arms resting on the table, their tea cups empty in front of them. My cup was also empty, and I looked to see if there was someone who would bring us a pot of tea.
At the rear of the shop was a flight of stairs, and suddenly I found myself at the top of them, looking down at the table where both of the old men sat, and I saw that I was also still seated there, while at the same time at the top of the staircase. Such is the logic of dreams.
“Why are you here?” The voice came from behind me, and it was a voice I know well in my heart: Anastasia. I tried to turn to face her, but my body was immobilized by some force stronger than my will. There was a shift in the air beside me, and warm breath blew across my ear as Anastasia leaned in closer to me to whisper, “Why are you here, Sebastian?”
At that moment, I was overcome with the smell of oranges, and although I had not eaten one, I could taste the citrus on my tongue, fresh and cold. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but found those muscles as unresponsive as were my arms and legs.
“There is a fog coming, Sebastian,” Anastasia continued. “You will not be able to see into it, but you must enter it in any case. All things are hidden within, Sebastian. All things are hidden without.”
At the bottom of the stairs, the air surrounding both old men suddenly combusted, and they were both consumed in flames. Neither man moved nor gave any indication that they were in distress. My own body at the table rippled to my eyes in the heat of the fire, but it did not move either.
“Look for the woman, Sebastian,” Anastasia said. “Look for the woman with glass arms. She is your salvation and your end.”
The stairs before me began to creak and twist, and long shards of wood began to break free from the whole. Instead of breaking loose however, the shards began to grow, like branches from a tree, splitting into two and threes, twisting and pushing their way toward the ceiling. As I watched, leaves began to appear in the branches, but they were not true leaves. Instead, they were leaves made of green glass, and although I could not move to touch them, I knew that if I could, I would find them to be as sharp as razors or dragon’s teeth.
“Look for her in the water, Sebastian,” Anastasia whispered. “Not in your sea, but in one not yet arrived. Look for her, and look to her.” The branches advanced upon my position, and began to loop around me, creating a shell of wood and glass. The buzz of bees grew louder, and my skin grew cold where the leaves pressed against me, as cold as the bottom of the ocean.
“Find her, Sebastian,” Anastasia breathed into my ear. “Find her in the future sea.”
With that, the glass leaves covered my eyes, and my dreamworld fell into darkness. The leaves caressed my cheeks, moving down over my face, and I shut my mouth against them. They pushed themselves harder, forcing my lips apart, and then poured themselves over my teeth, digging down into my throat like icy fingers. There was no air, nothing to sustain me, only a crushing suffocation, being smothered beneath a wave of frigid emptiness…
I woke then, throwing back my thin blanket and leaping immediately to my feet, fists raised, ready for attack. The bathysphere was of course empty, as it should have been. However, there was a glow coming from outside the main window which lasted only a few moments, a faint green cloud which dissipated the moment I looked toward it. I want to say that it was a wispy remnant of my dream, dancing for a moment or two before evaporating, but I also am not fully prepared to accept that this is the fact. Here below the waves, I believe that nothing can be taken on face value. There are messages found in dreams, and they are not always just sent from the subconscious mind. It would not be the first time Anastasia has spoken to me in such a fashion.
After all, the hand of madness opens as many doors as it closes, in the end.
I must meditate on this.