Tarnished Memories

| by Sam Ruehs

I felt it coming, like how a sea captain can sense a storm brewing on the horizon. The subtle aches in my lungs, ever so slowly creeping up my throat. I was lucky that today it came slowly and not instantaneously, for it was starting to be about 50/50 nowadays. Yet I was accustomed to the burden of asthma attacks, especially in these uncertain times.

The aches started to hurt and turn more into a swelling sensation; I needed to do my routine. I closed my eyes and began the process; what do I hear? There was the soothing splashing of the serene current against my raft. The sound was similar to the times I’d spent on my favorite dock that led out into the Chesapeake Bay. The water always lapped against the- no, I can’t do this to myself, not again. Focus on breathing, deep in and then deep out. The cool morning air rushed through my throat and then came cruising back out.

Alright, now what do I smell? I could always pick out the distant sea air. The way it beelined straight into my nostrils and flooded my brain gave me chills. The experience was enticing and maddening, just the way I liked it. There was an encroaching want in the corner of my mind for me to return to that sweet moment. I ignored the rising urge, but I didn’t entirely shut it out. I continued to breathe as the slight pain in my throat leveled out; I continued my routine; what do I feel? I patted my hands around my raft and touched the wooden frame I had fitted on top of the raft, just like how the dock was- no, no, no, no, I can’t! My stance and breathing were faltering, the tranquility of my routine collapsing, and the compressing in my throat was approaching.

I desperately needed to get back on track, so I skipped to the last part of my routine. My heart sank when I realized the question I was on because I knew this question would call to my intruding memories; it always did; what do I see? The war in my brain was intense to conceal the urge of that memory, but like always, I was weak. The memory came crashing in like a wave consuming everything it touched. All the senses of that memory blended into the pure ecstasy of those few moments. I was sitting at the edge of the dock, feeling the vibrations of the guitar strings under my fingers. The cool water slipped through the cracks between my toes, with the breeze dancing with my hair. The water was still and reflecting sunlight just right where there was a set glistening on the entire surface. The music I played glided into the air as nature matched its tune in simple harmony. A smile came upon my face as I took in the salty sea smell. Those few moments of memory faded as soon as it had seemed to have begun.

When I opened my eyes, I paid the price for reminiscing.

As I always did.

What do I see? I am on a raft floating through what was once a neighborhood in Annapolis. The houses submerged, cars rusted, lampposts fallen, and all the other beauties of an American neighborhood ceased to have ever existed. The sky was blanketed with a dark mass of eternal clouds where the sun would never break through, and the world was left forever dim. Yet out of all those things, the water was the worst. What was once a joy of my existence was tarnished by the rubble of buildings, the black of oil, and the death of millions. Never would the sun lay a glistening blanket upon the surface, only remains of this dead world. The pain in my throat lessened, yet that didn’t help the growing hurt in my heart. What do I smell? The smell of the salty sea was gone; in fact, it was merely a façade of my mind tormenting me just so I could remember a high point in life for a second more. No, the only smell left was decay, decay of animals, decay of food, decay of plants, and decay of people. The one thing that lingered in this watery desolate planet was its dying odor. The constricting of my throat went from an asthma attack to choked sobs in my throat. What do I hear? Nothing, not a damn thing anymore. Only ever will I hear my agonizing sobs, feel the sting of my endless tears, and ever regret trying to find life in what’s already gone.