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Did I miss it?
Miriam’s darting along the beach, asking everyone she sees. They’re shaking their heads, confused. What’s she talking about, they’re wondering. We’re just trying to watch a pretty sunrise. Shouldn’t that be obvious to her?
Sadly, it’s not. She’s panicked she’s missed the sunrise. For god’s sake, it’s my last day on earth, she’s thinking. It’s not like I’m contagious. It’s not like they’ll catch what I’ve got just by talking to me. Their aloofness is a cruel reminder. She doesn’t belong here anymore.
She wanders away from them, down the beach. She’s got that special camara, the one that takes the instant pictures that they pull out for the kids’ birthdays. It’s wrapped tight around her neck, tangled with her rosary beads. She snuck these in with the camping gear. Tony and the kids have no idea. They’re still asleep in the tent, amongst the dunes. They sleep through everything.
Wild ponies ramble along the water’s edge. Watching them nose through the shells, tails switching like windshield wipers, she feels a little more like herself. If this world were only horses and sunrises, she might linger. Homing in on the largest pony, a shiny brown belle, she snaps a picture, thinking yes! This is one to leave behind.
But the photo is nothing like what she sees. The glossy holds dots of surprised eyes against a sooty back drop. It might as well be a pack of dogs roaming some backstreet alley. Frustrated, she stuffs the picture in her dress pocket.
Did I miss it?
It’s not a dumb question. She’s used to being disappointed. And the dawn can be tricky, with its muddled-up oranges, yellows, and purples. She’d been up the night sweating, anxious for one last chance to capture this beauty. Before she’s gone forever.
She plants herself on the edge of a dune and glances straight ahead, refusing to look toward the lighthouse. She’ll be there soon enough. And this will all be over.
Resting her cheek in her right palm, she looks downslope, towards the ocean’s edge where a gull picks at a dead crab. Was it drowned? Murdered? A natural death? She scoffs. All death is natural, in its way. Unlike the journey she’s about to take.
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She and the family had been coming to Assateague beach for years. The kids would waste hours building sandcastles while she and Tony would huddle under an umbrella reading books and drinking beer. A campfire at night, grilling burgers, telling ghost stories. She’d been a happy person back then.
But then, she’d gotten sick. Four years prior, like millions of other people, she’d contracted the Disease of Despair (DoD). Some scientists claimed DoD was a jungle virus activated by climate change. Others theorized it was entirely man-made, the product of some rogue lab. In the end it didn’t matter so much where DoD came from, but what it left in its wake: utter despair that drove those infected to self-destruction.
In the beginning, she’d only suffered mild mood swings and bouts of melancholy. It was nothing like what others had been saying: stuck in quicksand, trapped in a dark fog, consumed by rage. For her, it was no big deal. And her healthy family just left her alone when she was feeling down.
Despite thousands of sick people throwing themselves off buildings, shooting their heads off, overdosing on painkillers, she thought it was all lefty hype. Ever the go-getter, she’d joined the Lifer Movement and marched on Washington. The Lifers believed as a Christian nation, America was obligated to stop suicide, a mortal sin, and protect its citizens from being sent to hell. They’d come to protest the SuiSiders, who were calling for federal programs to provide legal, humane euthanasia.
“My body, my choice,” the SuiSiders would shout through their bullhorns.
“Down with the quitters,” Miriam would shout back, waving a “Suicide is Selfish” sign in their faces. To her, they were just a bunch of pathetic whiners mired in self-pity. After all, she was sick too, but still managed to put on a happy face.
Do you really believe in all this crap? Tony had asked after her fifth protest march in a row. He wasn’t so much challenging her philosophy, as complaining about getting stuck watching the kids again. At any rate, she hadn’t taken his question seriously. Of course, she believed. She’d grown up in the Church of the Sacred Earth, after all. What else was she supposed to think?
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“Did I miss it?” an old man laden with bags and chair has come upon her. Funny, she thinks it really does sound like a stupid question. She shakes her head.
“Mind if I sit here?” Jonah is unfolding the chair an arm’s length from her. He’s come to see the sunrise. Even more, he’s come to watch people watching the sunrise. And he’s come to do his job. A year into his Guardian stint, he’s become a pro at picking out those sagging shoulders, those far-away eyes. Yeah, he thinks, she’s a goner.
She hesitates. He’s got that purple hat on, the one worn by those Guardians. She prefers to leave this world just as she’s arrived, alone. In the old days, she would have told him to bug off. But now she doesn’t have the energy.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, touching the lid of his hat. “I won’t bother ya, if you’re not in the mood.”
She waves her hand with tentative ascent. He seems to her like he’s too comfortable, too lazy to leave. He sinks into his chair.
She looks sweet, he thinks, reminds her of his own daughter, who’s lives in Okinawa with her army captain husband. I wish I could see them more, he sighs. But he can’t travel across the world with his old heart.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, nodding toward the lighthouse, confirming she’s a customer.
“Yeah, on the 7 AM” she replies, flatly.
He pokes his toe under the sand, happy for the company. If it weren’t for this job, he’s thinking, I’d have no one to talk to. But, as always, he’s not sure how to break the ice. If only Louise was here. That’s his dead wife, who’d been the life of the party. He’s more of an introvert. When she’d gotten the DoD, he’d lost his social life. And when she left, he’d joined the Guardians just to fill the void.
I’ve gotta say something soon, he’s thinking, glancing at his watch. Offer her the standard options. Check all the boxes. After doing this gig for a while, he knows no one change another person’s mind. But he can tell by that hazy look in those grey-blue eyes, she’s got something to say. And he can listen.
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Miriam could never have predicted P3. It was so weird, so awful, only the government could have come up with it. P3, short for the (com)Passionate Portal Program, was set up by the feds two years into the pandemic, in response to far-right pressure to address the SuiSider crisis. P3 provided portals around the country for DoD patients who could not or would not kill themselves.
The portals allowed them (dubbed “Flat Leavers” by the Lifers) to take a free-of-charge journey to a “transcendent reality,” to live a healthy life in another dimension. There was little information on where or what this alternate reality was like, how the portals worked, or even if the contraptions were safe. And those who took the portals were prohibited from returning. No one had ever come back from the other side. So, no one knew what to expect.
Despite all the unknowns, P3 had quickly become oversubscribed. In a survey conducted by the National Census Bureau, over 65% of DoD patients reported that they were planning to use the portals. This had the Lifers up in arms. Yes, killing oneself was a terrible sin. But to completely jump ship? That was pure nihilism, straight from Satan and his godless liberal cronies.
When a portal popped up right next to the Assateague lighthouse, Miriam was furious. That massive light-beam gate that flickered open every hour. Those whizzing pops and crackles of fanning mirrors along the gates. That bursting silver-green light blowing sulfur. All those poor people lined up to get inside, like so many slaughterhouse pigs. It terrified her.
Tony, however, thought it was like some cool carnival show. He’d never been one to face reality, she’d known. And every time they took the kids up to the top of the lighthouse, they’d fight about it. She remembered one fight in particular.
“Don’t you dare look at that thing,” she’d shoved the kids behind her, as the portal gates sparked.
They’d laughed at her.
“You think it’s funny, this heresy?”
“What’s a heresy?” they’d asked.
“C’mon Babe, don’t be such a downer,” Tony had interrupted. “It’s not like they’re gonna turn to salt, just by looking.”
“Tony,” she’d seethed through gritted teeth. “God placed us on this earth for a reason. We’re not supposed to be poking around in other dimensions.”
He’d laughed her off. It killed her, his blatant denial. She’d always been the brave one. Hanging over the lighthouse platform rail, the kids cheering him on, she recalled him saluting at the portal gates bursting open. It killed her, his not taking her side. How she felt didn’t seem to matter.
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“It’s such a lovely morning.” That’s all Jonah can come up with. He offers her a cup of coffee he’s just poured from the thermos, and she accepts. It’s not my job to save her, he’s thinking. And anyway, save her from what? Like the rest of the Guardians, he didn’t prescribe to any particular faith, nor believe in any particular god.
“Yes, indeed,” she replies, sipping the steaming liquid. Oh my God, she’s thinking, it tastes so good. Pleasure. She hasn’t felt pleasure in so long. She scoffs, recalling she’d once been such a foodie. This old man isn’t so bad, she’s thinking. So long as he doesn’t try to save me.
He watches the smile opening her face up as she sips. So warm and lovely, surely this world will miss her. He wonders how she can smile, recalling what his wife had suffered and the stories of the other portal travellers he’d heard.
A warm breeze rustles his paper bag that’s full of apple cinnamon donuts. He passes the bag to her. “Please,” he says, as she waves it away.
“Thank you.” She pulls out a donut, warm and soft in her hands. She hasn’t had an appetite for so long, she didn’t even bother with a last meal. She looks over at him, thinking how nice it is to be here, to just sit quietly with a kind human.
“My pleasure,” he chuckles, as she devours it. He feels useful, at least. Watching her eat, he’s struck by her calm. No sweaty palms. No nervous laughs. Most of the leavers he’s met have been total wrecks.
She’s done eating, a few crumbs sticking to her chin. Her eyes drift out to sea now, her hands clasped together as though in prayer. That’s when he notices the rosary beads around her neck, under the old-timey camara. A bell goes off in his head. He wonders if she’s one of the religious ones. It’s a good place to start at any rate.
“Are you a Believer?”
“Sorry, what?” She’s startled out of her daydream. He tugs at an imaginary cross around his neck, “A Christian? Religious?”
“Used to be,” she replies.
“Yeah, I understand.” This is one of the boxes he must check. “Though some say faith can give us the strength and hope we need to make it through another day.”
Her right lip curls as she exhales an amused-tinged breath. He seems like he means well, she’s thinking. “Yeah, religion’s kind of a habit for me,” she’s touching the cross. “But I don’t believe in anything anymore.”
She surprises herself, confessing that to a stranger. She’s never said it out loud before, but it was true. The DoD had stolen that peace, love, and faith she’d always gotten from church. She no long believed in any god, at least not a god that cared about her.
“Oh, you have kids?” he changes the subject. Kids are a better angle than gods, he’s thinking, at least I can relate to them.
“A 10-year-old boy and 12-year-old girl.” She pulls a picture of them out of her dress pocket, handing it to him.
Jonah examines the photo, gritting his teeth, feeling bitterness creep in. What kind of mother would leave them like this? But then he recalls Louise. She’d been the best mother in the world before she’d gotten sick. Then, she’d become a mess, leaving without even saying goodbye to their daughter. He knew she couldn’t help it.
“They’re beautiful,” he says, the judgement subsiding. “You know, there’s this new nanny program I heard about, experimental. They’ll send in someone to help with the housework and babysitting.”
He’s supposed to mention how traumatic it is for children at that age to lose their parents. But, seeing how her eyes fall, how her lip trembles, he doesn’t have the heart.
‘Yeah, I heard,” she takes the photo back from him. “It won’t help me. Might be something my husband could use.”
She hasn’t told Tony of her plans; afraid he’d try to stop her. She hasn’t told the kids either, they wouldn’t understand. But she’s left them long goodbye videos, letting them know they’re loved. And she will leave them these pictures she’s taking so they’ll remember her as she was before the sickness, vibrant, joyful, and full of life.
He remembers that brochure, the one last box to check. Electric shock therapy, meditation, tapping– it outlines these and other treatment options. He pulls it from his bag, faltering, wondering if he’s being too pushy.
“Have you ever tried ayahuasca?”
“Yes, it was awful.” She doesn’t take a beat. “I purged every which way possible. But nothing changed.”
He nods, having heard this from other portal travellers. Where hallucinogens had helped cure PTSD, severe depression, anxiety, they had no curative power for those with malignant DoD.
“But maybe there’s something else here that might be of interest?”
She takes the brochure from his hands, gives it a cursory look.
“Breathwork, cold plunges, ecstatic dance, acupuncture...” she reads off the list and sighs. “I’ve tried them all.”
He expected she’d say that and relaxes, having done all he could. He turns his eyes toward where she’s facing, toward the enlarging pink sun stretching from the sea. She’s put down her coffee, taking up the camera from around her neck. She’s snapping pictures every few seconds, stuffing them in her pockets without looking at them.
A line of dolphins jumping along the break. A giggling child chasing a group of terns and sanderlings. The ponies returning, brightening with the sun. Forgetting he’s there, she snaps away. Too fast, too fast, she’s thinking. My family needs to see this as I do. Maybe then they’ll forgive me. Maybe then they’ll think kindly of me when I’m gone.
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About a year ago, she’d noticed the change. It was a day quite like today, at Assateague, warm breeze smelling of lively sea spray, warm sand under her feet. Where before she’d felt peaceful, content, now she felt numb. This was the first symptom of the DoD metastasizing.
That numbness had quickly grown into an all-consuming ache. The woman who once had it all quit her big-time job, her friends, her hobbies. She lost her appetite for food, for sex, for prayer. She stopped marching on Washington. She now hid in the house with the blinds drawn, wanting to do nothing but sleep.
When the doctor asked her, what kind of pain? She couldn’t find the words. It was neither sharp nor searing, but more like a profound void, a heaviness in the gut, a clambering mind.
The doctor wrote prescriptions for the remedies in Jonah’s brochure. She’d tried them all, even ayahuasca, despite her friends warning her it was dancing with the Devil. Nothing ever worked.
She confessed to Tony; that she’d been thinking of offing herself. But we have such a great life, let’s just be grateful, was his response.
She knew they’d had a good life. She had the dream family, a good job, nice friends. And yet, she felt like she was drowning.
You’re selfish, was his next response. Think of the kids. What would we do without you? A tender embrace, a kiss on the forehead, a muss of the hair and shhh let’s not talk about this anymore.
Why’d I even tell him? She wondered. She was too afraid of hell to really go through with it anyway. Funny, she mused, I don’t believe in God anymore, but I’m still terrified of hell. Religion sticks to the bones like grease.
The way she felt though, she knew she couldn’t keep going. That’s when she started to look at the portals from a different perspective. A new life in an unexplored dimension, that had to be better than what she was dealing with on earth. Maybe she could find a new way to live. Maybe in this new place, she’d find herself again.
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She must have a lot of film stuck in up in that gizmo, Jonah is thinking. He watches her snapping away, stuffing photos in her overflowing pockets. He looks down at his watch, thinking she’ll need to leave soon to make the 7 AM. He’s running out of time.
“Can I see?” he asks. She startles and drops the photo from her hand. He picks it up before she can swoop down.
It’s a picture of an Aussie mutt pulling on the leash held by a middle-aged woman. The dog looks like it’s trying to get at something outside of the frame. The woman and the dog both appear to be laughing at an inside joke.
“They’re having loads of fun,” he hands it back to her.
She swallows and takes the picture back, stuffing it in her pocket. “I’m glad that comes through.” She wants her family to remember who she really was: lots of fun, a nature lover, a people person.
She’s so relieved that he can see what she sees. Glancing at her watch, she pulls all the photos from her pockets, handing them to him in a rush. “Hurry. Tell me if I’ve missed anything, would you?”
He thumbs through the photos, amazed at their beauty. “No, Ma’am,” he whistles. “You haven’t missed a thing.”
Proud horses poised on top of sparkled sand, swarms of mixed flocks of seabirds chasing waves, the back of an old couple holding hand, looking out at the ocean. The rising sun, in new positions, larger, changing colors over a diamond-speckled sea. Ahhh, I love this life, he’s thinking. The closer I look, the more it becomes.
“They make me feel so, so...” he’s reaching for the exact right work. “Expansive.”
She stops snapping for a moment and seeing him, feels her heart for an instant. “Right!?” she smiles.
He doesn’t respond, senses she has more to say.
“I’m leaving them for my family. So, they remember who I really am...was...before I got sick.”
These leavers, he’s thinking, they’re the brave ones. This woman here has not given up. Despite all she’s lost, despite all she’s leaving behind, she still hopes.
“I’m sure they will,” he’s trying to hand the photos back to her.
“Can you do me a big favor then?” she’d had it all perfectly planned, but in her preoccupation forgot the most important logistical detail.
“Of course, anything.” He is glad to be of use.
“Could you please give these to my family?” She points towards their tent. She takes her rosary off and hands it to him. “And these too,” she chokes up. “When I’m gone?”
“Of course,” he says, touched. He notices she’s not in any of the photos. The sun is almost full in the sky now. It is just about time for her to go. He doesn’t want her to leave. He doesn’t want to forget.
“May I?” he asks, pointing towards the camera. She pulls it off her neck, handing it to him.
“I just noticed, you did miss one thing,” he motions her to stand by the water’s edge and face him. She’s not sure what he’s after but complies, feeling like he’s practically a friend. He looks through the camara lens. The sun behind her makes it appear like sparkles shoot from her body. Birds surround her head, like a halo. Her face is perfectly balanced, serene, a beauty.
“Smile,” he says. And as she does, into the frame come a man holding a baby on his back and a woman holding the hand of a toddler girl. This feels just right to him, and he takes the picture.
“I’ve got to get going,” she’s hurried, glancing at her watch. “You can keep the camera. Thanks so much, for everything...,” she realizes that she doesn’t even know his name.
“Jonah,” he replies. And suddenly, he feels compelled to embrace her. She hugs him back.
“And I am Miriam,” she looks into his eyes, letting her arms fall. She turns and walks down the beach, toward the lighthouse.