Beneath the Surface

Tag. Mein Herr! Serene, isn’t it? The clouds casting the wet stone and moist earth in a whole new palette of livid, pensive beauty? On days like this, my windows are always open, the damp, heavy air filling the lungs of my flat. There’s no better way to wake on a day of rest… oh? I’m not surprised. I’ve found that most people prefer the vivacity of sunlight’s ardor, and you give additional weight to my theory. I, however, enjoy night more than day. The air is electric, filled with sensuality, intrigue, possibility. Why, if you ask me, the art of human existence is born in the mysterious throes of the night.

I get carried away…Anyway, I had thought we could take a bike ride to the lake outside of town…The one with the benches that overlook the western horizon. It’s so beautiful on days like today. The lake becomes a mirror, especially when there is no wind. The trees that are over the shoreline become reflected perfectly in the looking glass of the lake. Would you mind riding there with me? Oh, good. I figured you wouldn’t mind. Come on up to my flat; we’ll figure out our dinner.

Have a seat; I’ll just be a moment. You see what I mean about the light? Along with the languid air, it almost makes the place feel mystical. The wood of the table you’re sitting at is richer and deeper in color, and the red of my kitchen is more calming than on other days you’ve been here, isn’t it? It’s all in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.
Ham and turkey on wheat sound alright to you? Uhh, cheddar, Swiss, and Monterey jack…all of them? Fine by me. You Wisconsinites and your cheese…ha, ha. I just so happen to be out of muenster, actually…You don’t think I deserve to be called a German? Well, my sauerkraut, wurst, and lager beg to differ…we’ll bring some wurst along, then…don’t make me get my lederhosen…ha, ha, ha! Ok, I’ll spare you the horror. I knew about you Wisconsinites and your cheese for one reason; your famous co-eds sparked my interest. What do you call it: “U-Dub”? You went there! I hear that’s quite a school. Is it like they say? Are we like they say? Ha-ha-ha! Stereotypes are garbage, anyway…Oh, how does wine sound? Alright, let’s go.

          We can chain our bikes here. Ah, the sun is peeking out. I suppose you’re right. The sun can be beautiful. Look at the man and boy fishing. It’s so quiet you can hear their voices. I love the water.

Have you ever been fishing? Good. No man should die without going fishing. Oh, look, the boy’s got a bite. I’m reminded of when my father first took me fishing. He set me up with a bobber, but nothing caught. I was bored – very bored. So, I asked him to cast my line somewhere else. He handed me his rod, took mine, and was just about to cast when I felt a sharp tug. I was so startled that I almost dropped the fishing pole into the water! But, I caught it just in time and gripped it as if my life depended on it. “Reel’er in!” he shouted at me, and I ended up catching my first fish that day. I never let him hook me up with a bobber again. I fell in love with it; the luring of my prey into my trap. I remember feeling so powerful.

Later on I took up boating. It was my escape from the world. Oh, forgive me! I’ll pour you a glass. Here you are. Anyway, I’d take people out on the boat occasionally but the best times were when I was by myself. I’d see marine life, and when I’d be on the ocean I’d sometimes see foreign trade ships with their freight. I’d have dreams of stowing away to their unknown exotic port and starting life over again. That dream has lost its luster, though.

All of this talk makes me think of my father. I haven’t spoken to him or my other family in years….Well, I’d say a falling out. Both he and my mother didn’t like the direction of my life. They didn’t like my career, my girlfriends…my entire lifestyle really. I grew up in a strict Baptist home and it was too stifling. I had to hide my music, my friends, most of my life from them. It was torture pretending to be someone I wasn’t, lie after lie after lie. As soon as I could, I left home. I was 18, fresh out of school, and saw the world. I met the most interesting people, tried drugs, lived in the wild for a month, went to Canada…such a little rebel, a beatnik. They were some of the best years of my life.

Eventually I settled down a bit, went to college, met some women, and after sometime had passed, I approached my family again. They were less than thrilled by my re-emergence. Surprised; yes. Pleasantly surprised; far from it. I was rebuked for hours. They disapproved of my girlfriend and found our living together utterly deplorable. It felt as if they only had become more bitter. I attribute it to a form of jealousy up against blind faith and ignorance.

I left very despondent in spirit. I tried contacting them, sending them cards for their birthdays, Christmas, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day, but I never heard a thing. I suppose it might have been my flagrancy. Maybe I was too forthright about my disagreements. My siblings eventually drifted away, as well. I don’t know. They still loved me, but they didn’t show it. I learned that sometime later.

Oh! Look at the sunset! The fishers have gone, and the water is so still. Watch how the lake reflects the sunset. I love mirrors; they never fail to tell the truth. To be honest, I’ve really been missing my family lately…I haven’t mentioned this before, because to convey the whole story would take some time…If you want me to, I will, but do you have anywhere to be tonight? Okay, but first, some wine….There you are. To life! Ah…Good isn’t it? Don’t let it go to waste; it’s rather pricey.

Well, I suppose I haven’t talked about this before because I feel such a great deal of shame for what I’ve done to my family. I’ve certainly done some sordid things in my life. Before I dropped communication with them, I was filled with such hate. My parent’s bitterness infected my heart. I became angry, deceitful, spiteful; my actions became increasingly offensive. My girlfriend of seven years left me. She said I’d changed, that I wasn’t the man she fell in love with.

I was so angry with them all. It felt like nothing that came with sincerity from my heart would make them happy. I started writing them awful letters. I mocked them. I told them they were garbage, that they were horrible, hateful, ignorant parents who took out their failings and shortcomings on their kids because we were easy targets. I openly slandered their names in an exaggeratory memoir. I embarrassed them, made up horrific stories of abuse and infidelity, and humiliated them in front of their church who I blamed almost as jealously. I remember traveling two hours our of my way once when I was in their region just to vandalize their house and cars….Hmmmmh.

My relationships with others died off as well. I stopped trusting people, used them, disposed of them when I was through with them. I contemplated suicide….I’ve never told anyone this, but I faked my own death. It was a disappearance that has kept people guessing for years. A few months ago, someone wrote an article about it in my hometown paper. Isn’t the internet amazing?

Anyway, I sliced my palm while out on Lake Michigan. You can still see the scar…faded a little, though. I swam to shore after dressing my wound, and then I fled to Mexico. Some facial reconstruction, a dye job, and a new identity can do wonders. But, I needed more. I still felt like I needed to do something else, that I wasn’t finished. I realized I could see their reactions to my death if I went to my own funeral, and against my better judgment, I went.

It was strange. I was surrounded by people I knew intimately, but I was forced to pretend not to know them. Not many people were there, really; my family, some friends, a couple ex’s. By that time, I had the impression that I wasn’t missed, but that wasn’t exactly true. They missed the old me, the one who loved. I suppose they’d already mourned over me when I let myself be transformed by hate. I was already dead to them.

Yet, they still spoke of me in fairly positive terms. It may have been a modest funeral, but the eulogies were revealing of what was in their hearts. I had made positive impacts on my friends and family when I was on better terms with them. It seemed as if they had become more loving. They felt guilty; like I wanted them to, and they openly wept at the funeral. My parents barely ever cried, and when they did it was never in public. I finally saw how much they loved me.

         Isn’t it funny? I left them because I thought they were hateful, intolerant people, and consequently, I took on all of those parasitic characteristics and more. So with revenge in one hand and self-loathing in the other, I started a new life here in Germany. You know what I learned? Revenge slips away quickly, but self-loathing and guilt grow like weeds in the soul that harbors them. I hoped I’d move on, but to this day I’m still trapped in a shame that blocks my way to happiness.

         But you knew some of that already, didn’t you Blair? Or, should I say Michael? Surprised? Have more wine…You were a little obvious for a private investigator, or maybe I’m just that paranoid. In either case, I noticed you following me around and so when we met I researched your name. The history came up short, so I dug deeper and found out that Blair was an alias. You’re probably curious why I confessed this to you when I knew you worked for my sister? That’s complicated. To begin with I’ve never told a soul about what I’ve done, and I really needed to get this off my chest. I also wanted to know if I was right in how you found me. Was it because I signed the guestbook in my new name? I knew it! I regretted that right after I signed.

        You must have thought I was the killer, right? I thought so. They say a criminal makes numerous mistakes that give them away when they commit a crime. I guess that’s true. I know you work for Shea because I hacked your computer. At first I was flattered to think that she cared so much, but I figured she may have just wanted closure or, simpler yet, to satisfy her curiosity. Finally, and this you don’t want to hear, but you will anyway…finally, because you aren’t going to tell anyone….Sorry, but I don’t believe you won’t by your own volition…I believe you won’t because, well, I won’t let you. You see, I slipped something into your last glass of wine. Try moving your legs. The paralysis should reach your arms any second now.

        Don’t move, or I’ll shoot. I’m sorry it came to this, but you got too close. I can’t be exposed for my lie. I’ve worked too hard at this deception to be uncovered by some gumshoe. Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed? Do you have any idea what it’s like to live everyday pretending to be someone you aren’t? This isn’t just hiding interests from your parents. I had to fake everything! Everything! I left because I hated hiding, and hid because I left. We create our own hell, don’t we? What skeletons lurk behind your eyes, Michael? The truth is, I’d rather die than let them discover the truth. I’ve hurt them enough. If there’s anything I can do for my family now, it’d be to maintain my guise.

And so, here’s what’s going to happen. Since you can’t move, I’m going to bind your wrists and ankles, loop this rope through the bindings behind your back and through the cinder block, and dump you into the water. You see, I planned this more than a week ago. I think I’m going to move to Ireland. I loved it when I travelled there. The hills are so beautiful.

Now I want you to know that I like you Blair, I mean Michael. You’ve truly been a good friend while I’ve known you. Because of that, this gun doesn’t contain bullets. It’s a tranquilizer gun. I just realized…I’m hiding the truth inside of nature’s looking glass. Mirrors always do tell the truth, though the truth sometimes lies beneath the surface…anyway, when I drop you in, you’ll be unconscious. No pain…like dying in your sleep. That’s how I hope to die, like falling into a dream. It’s the least I can do after all…..