by Suzie Carr
That question poked at me, reminding me how little I had lived in my short thirty years. I hadn’t done anything remotely close to that type of thrill and adventure.
I just shrugged, clinging to my comfort zone.
“We’d have a blast. Look at that water. The world is comprised of seventy-one percent of it. The vast amount to be discovered boggles my mind.” He propped his foot up on a stone and sniffed the air.
“I’m a fan of the twenty-nine percent land.”
“Oh come on. Picture scuba diving in the Caribbean and getting right up close to a school of tropical fish. Picture how exciting it would be to swim alongside a large sea turtle.” His eyes grew large. “I’d be in heaven down there.” He leaned against the fence separating us from a large twenty foot drop down to the rocky shoreline. “I heard they have these vacation packages where you live onboard a ship for a week or two, they call them liveaboards, and you can dive right in the middle of the ocean. You jump off and descend sixty to a hundred or so feet and hang out with the sea creatures. Then, when you ascend and get back on the boat, the crew feeds like you are a king.”
“Sounds like someone’s been doing his research. How did I not know you were this much into scuba diving?”
“I’ve dreamed of it since the first week I landed in America when I saw a video of a scuba diver holding hands with a grey seal. The seal gripped the diver’s hand and affectionately cradled it to his chest,” he said, animating his voice. “Whenever the diver stopped moving his hand, the seal wiggled his flippers until the diver touched him again. I’d never seen anything quite so brilliant. I instantly wanted to take up scuba diving.”
“Well do it then.”
“I need a dive buddy.”
I backed away. “Don’t look at me. That’s not on my bucket list, nor will it ever be.” Bucket list. I didn’t even have a bucket list. I really should have a bucket list.
“Which is why I never asked you. You’re not very adventurous.”
“I’m adventurous.”
“Climbing the rock wall at Bass Pro Shop is hardly adventurous.” He smirked and began walking back up the walkway.
“That rock wall was extremely tall, and I slipped. If that’s not adventurous then what is?” I followed him.
“Not that.”
“I could’ve killed myself dangling from the ropes. And you had the nerve to laugh at me. You stood below me, my buddy, looking up at me while munching on Moose Crunch popcorn. Meanwhile I dangled all the way down until I hit the ground.”
“No. You slipped and the safety harness and rope eased you down.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
We bickered like that through the rest of the walk, through eating ice cream, and through our drive home. I loved every bicker that he launched because it kept my mind off my morning with Willow.
Later on that night, I brewed a cup of tea, sat down with it on my couch, and contemplated my lack of a bucket list.
I didn’t have grandiose dreams to hold hands with a grey seal, ride around a race track going a hundred miles an hour, complete a marathon, backpack through Europe, or write a book like other people did. I just wanted to expand my business.
I probably should’ve had grandiose dreams. Everyone did, right?
What would I want to accomplish if I knew I would die soon?
I stared at my tea, dunking the tea bag in and out of it as if that would release a world of adventurous ideas.
I already accomplished my dream. I wanted to open up a business, and I did so.
What now?
I sipped my tea and closed my eyes.
My life consisted of getting up, working out, drinking a cup of coffee, showering, driving to work, slaving over work, getting dinner, watching the news, and going back to bed. I left myself no time to dream of doing anything outrageous and fun. I wired my world so tight, that nothing else could cram into it.
I couldn’t just take off for ten days and sail the blue ocean, jump in and catch my dinner, and resurface to enjoy the sunset. I couldn’t just tell my clients that I had more important things to do like hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, climb a mountain range, go kayaking around Bar Harbor, or fly over a volcano in Hawaii.
Even if I listed those things on a bucket list, what the heck would I do with it? Pin it to the wall and pray by some sheer miracle that suddenly my days lengthened from twenty four hours to thirty?
I sipped my tea again.
When did I become such a dud?
Even Dean had grandiose dreams.
When I was younger I wanted to become an archeologist so I could explore cool caves in search of primitive pans, dishes, and silverware used by ancient civilizations. I would spend my summers down on my hands and knees, digging the rocky soil for special rocks, imagining the discolored ones were really precious gems. I would pretend I led an expedition with a team of archeologists, where we dug in the hot sun, using specially designed instruments that NASA astronauts used when digging in the lunar soil on the moon. I imagined I was a famous archeologist who landed on the pages of National Geographic, lifting up clay baskets with my team right by my side, smiling just as wide as me. I also imagined the look on my parents face when they saw me on the cover, and again when they read the full spread and looked at all the photos with captions like “Lia Stone does it again.” I would picture them sitting on their front porch bench, holding hands and admiring the work of their daughter.
That childhood dream faded as I entered high school. Turned out, I liked marketing a hell of a lot more than I liked digging in the dirt.
I enjoyed a good life.
I fulfilled a lot of goals. I graduated college. I opened up my own business. I turned it into a success. I owned a cute place. I drove a nice truck. My furniture was top-of-the-line, soft Italian leather, solid maple, and designer showcase quality. I even owned a star.
I did alright for myself.
I wasn’t a dud. I was a hard worker, and I was happy in that role. Not everyone needed to climb Mt. Everest or scuba dive in paradise to die a happy person. That kind of stuff just set people up for disappointment anyway. Scuba dives would end. Climbs would stop at the top of the mountain. And then what?
I stood up and headed to my bedroom. “I am happy with my life,” I said out loud to my naked condo.
I fell asleep that night affirming that fact.
As the days of the work week piled on top of each other, I continued to affirm the fact that I was a happy-go-lucky woman. As I woke up, worked out, showered, drove to work, worked, ate dinner, and returned to bed each evening, I reminded myself, “Yes, I am happy.”
When I doubted myself on that, I’d go through my laundry list of things I had to be happy about: my business, my rental car, my soon-to-be repaired truck, my flowing bank account, my comfy home, my new patio set and my wardrobe.
What more could I ask for?
Well, I’d love to get rid of the bad taste I left behind with Willow. I hadn’t been able to focus since I kicked her out of my office. I just kept seeing the shock settle into her eyes as I insulted her.
I had overreacted kicking her out of my office, and quite frankly, wanted to kick myself for being so foolish. What if she really did just want to help me?
What if she saw something more than just an imbalance, but feared to tell me the truth?
Imbalance could mean anything. I could have a cold virus hanging out in the back of my throat, waiting for the right moment to attack me. Maybe that’s what Willow saw. Or maybe the imbalance referred to my tight hamstring muscles that I failed to stretch after my workouts. I didn’t have the time to lounge around the gym stretching my hands to my toes. I had a business to run.
Imbalance. What an elusive word.
To me an imbalance meant something snapped and became misaligned, fighting my system, and rendering me helpless to becoming needless suffering’s next victim.
My imagination roll
ed.
I got a vision of my cells rallying a meeting in the pit of my stomach. How do you want to attack this body boss? Should we do an all-out assault or just leak a few dormant cells and pull the trigger on them once they enter the bloodstream? Or, if you prefer, we could place markers in all of the cells present at today’s meeting, let them hunker down as they gain strength out in the live system, and at a predetermined date, we signal for them to release their toxins and see what kind of chaos they can emit.
I needed to get in touch with Willow.
Stat.
I somehow drove myself home on autopilot from dinner with my parents. I pulled into my parking space, and with my engine still idling, I called Dean. “I know it’s late.”
“For the love of God, you’d better be calling to tell me you just found a million dollars and need to unload it on me.”
In no mood to banter, I cut to the chase. “I need Willow’s number.”
“Willow?” he asked. “As in, I never want to talk to that woman again, Willow?”
“I want to hear the whole story from her.”
“No you don’t.”
“Give it to me. That’s a direct order.”
“This isn’t the military,” he said. “You can’t issue me a direct order.”
“Please,” I begged. “My mind is jumbled up and getting more tangled by the second.”
“It’s not a good idea. You’re messing with the natural order of things.”
An unreasonable jolt of panic flew through me. “She told you something, didn’t she?”
“Good God woman. When did she have time to tell me anything? She stood before me for a mere five seconds before you pounced out of your office door and over to her personal space, which by the way, you need to work on that. You invade people’s personal space.”
“I do that on purpose.”
“You do not.”
“I do too,” I said. “Her number, please.”
“What if she tells you something terrible? You’re going to freak out, and then I’m going to freak out. It’s just not a good combination.”
“If something is ever wrong with me, you don’t get to freak out. You’re going to let me freak out, and then you’re going to calm me down.”
“I can’t guarantee that,” he said. “You know I stress over watching Titanic, and I’ve seen it twenty times already.”
“Well, at least I don’t usually get stressed.”
“No, you get weepy-eyed.”
“Well, at least I get weepy-eyed, which is more than you can say Mr. I’ve-Never-Cried-Once-in-My-Adult-Life.”
“I can’t help that my eyes don’t cry.”
“Enough about your eyes,” I said. “I just want to talk with her. I promise whatever she tells me, I’ll spare you any ugly details and just proffer the rosy version.”
“You can’t do that. See now, when you call me back and tell me everything’s fine, I’m not going to believe you.”
What if everything wasn’t fine? Panic gripped me again. “I’m a little scared.”
“Lia,” he paused. “Nothing can happen to you. Understand?”
His sincerity pinched at my heart. “As long as you understand the same goes for you.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a few long seconds. Then Dean broke it, “I’ll text you her number.”
“And I’ll tell you the complete truth.”
We allowed the comfortable silence to swaddle us for a few more seconds, then, “You know,” he said. “We should devise a promise right now, before we hear anything from her, that we will create a bucket list together and start checking items off of it.”
“I don’t know what the hell I would put on it.”
“Maybe we could start off with something easy like roller skating.”
“Rollerblading, you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t be a grammar guru at a time like this,” he said.
“When am I going to fit in rollerblading?” I asked. “You’ve got me so overbooked, I’m not going to have time to eat lunch, let alone skate down a path and break my neck.”
“Scratch the rollerblading, then,” he said.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ve got too much going on right now.”
“I’m not talking about your overbooked schedule. I just want to keep your neck on straight and your body in one piece.”
“What if that turns out to be the least of my concern?” I asked, swallowing past the instant lump in my throat.
“You’re freaking out way more than is necessary.”
“Okay, Mr. Already-Bought-an-Inhaler.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
After I heard the click, I just sat still with the engine running, contemplating my life with no filter. If I only had three hundred sixty five days left to live, would I care if my carpets were white, soft and luxurious rather than beige, practical Berber carpeting? Would the fact that my floors were honest-to-goodness real wood and not Pergo really matter in the grand scheme of life?
Things enriched my life. When did I become such a wealth seeker? Did I spoil into that trait before or after my father beamed with pride over purchasing his first brand new vehicle or when my parents were able to move us out of that three bedroom, third floor apartment and move us to the town of Lincoln where politicians and business owners lived? I loved the rush of my parents buzz and wanted to experience it for myself. I didn’t want to end up living life in a dilapidated apartment on the third floor of an old, broken-down building with horsehair plaster for walls and frosted windows in my shower stall.
‘Things’ were nice. Even though they could be stolen or burned, they were easier to replace than the loss of wasted time, effort, or energy.
Acquiring things brought me comfort, admittedly.
If I died, and Dean wrote my obituary, what would he say? She acquired many great items in life. That convector oven of hers was her pride and joy. She honored the things in her life by polishing them up to perfection so they shined brighter than anyone else’s. Lia Stone knew what to buy and how to buy it. We will miss her greatly.
I suddenly wanted to dismantle that comfort zone I created.
Imagine a eulogy? I left nothing worthy for Dean to highlight. He’d have to stutter his way through my life’s accomplishments and stumble over the fact that I had yet to experience black Hawaiian sand between my toes, a cross-country drive in an RV, a vigorous climb to the top of Mount Everest, an afternoon sailing in the ocean, a vacation in The Alps, or the power of flying an airplane.
I would’ve died a person who failed to achieve any of those things.
My heart started to beat erratically.
Could Willow see my death?
Would I have to endure a long, messy drawn-out saga one day?
I wished I could choose the way I would die, like ordering takeout from a Chinese restaurant. For an appetizer, I’d like an extra-large order of healthy blood platelets, some badass immune protectors, oh and can you also toss in some of those brain chemicals that ease pain naturally? And for my main death entrée, I’d like to order menu item A-1, Fall-asleep-and-never-wake-up. And can you delay that until I reach ninety-two? That should fund me with plenty of time to get through a few things before the order goes through, no?
Hell. Why did she have to plant such nonsense in my mind?
I needed to understand the imbalance.
# #
I poured myself a vodka and cranberry drink with a splash of lime, then sat down on my couch with my cell phone. I kicked up my feet and placed them on the coffee table. I leaned back against my soft Italian leather, sinking into its comfort.
Just one quick phone call to ask her one quick question. Then, with her answer, I could get on with my life. I could stop obsessing over the details of an imbalance I probably didn’t even have. In and out. Just like going to the dentist. Go in, open up the mouth, get the teeth scraped, and get out. No big deal.
I stared at my cell, darting my eyes
around the numbers I would enter on the keypad. Just seven quick taps, press send, and you’ll be on your way to clearing the path back to your sanity.
I sipped more of my drink, waiting on its courage to take up root in me. My hands trembled around the glass. My tummy did those flips again.
Just do it. Just jump in there, get wet, and get back out. Worry about drying off later on, once the sting of the water on your prickly skin fades.
I tapped out her number and pressed send, then tensed. My chest pounded and my teeth chattered.
Her voice message picked up. I exhaled, temporarily relieved. I sat tall, exhaled sharply again and left a message. “Hi Willow, it’s Lia. Lia Stone. Could you please call me back when you have a chance? My number is 555-345-5698.”
I hung up, steadied my erratic heart, and laughed at myself for being such a nervous geek. What would she tell me that would change my life? I see a future where you have some health issues. Well didn’t we all have some issues? I survived many health scares over the years. I’ve had my appendix burst in me, a mole removed from my back, and countless flus and colds. And, hey, I was still alive.
“Imbalances are part of the human experience,” I reminded myself as I passed by my full length mirror. “Get over yourself. You’re going to be fine.”
I marched into the kitchen still laughing at myself, swallowed the rest of my drink, and washed the glass. Then, I popped some microwave popcorn, salted it, and gobbled that down while watching Wipeout. I laughed my butt off at some dude who flung himself against a buoy so hard, I nearly peed my pants watching him.
By the time I showered, read the newspaper, and turned out the lights, my senses were back in check and I decided I’d just ignore her callback. I didn’t need to know any more than I already did. I was alive right now. That’s all life guaranteed.
I turned over, hugged the comforter tightly around myself and closed my eyes, ready to embark on some good dreaming.
Before long, I drifted into a field of wildflowers, tore off my sandals, opened up my arms nice and wide, and ran into the wind, inhaling its life force and sweet flavors. I closed in on a big maple tree when my phone rang.