A Short Story
“Take me back,” she said with a wistful gaze, and a hand played over loose strands of hair.
“I cannot,” they said, and dipped the pole again into the stream.
Bent, the wood pressed into mud and pushed them farther through unmoving waters.
“Why don’t they move?” she asked the figure.
“They cannot,” they replied, “for they are dead.”
“Dead,” she echoed, not quite knowing why.
“Yes, dead,” they said again.
“But, why?” she asked.
“Why are they dead, or why are they unmoving?”
“The waters, I mean,” she said.
“There are no more ripples here,” they told her.
The ferry glided through smooth, glassy waters. She gazed over the edge and saw nothing through the black.
“Can I make one?” she asked.
“A ripple?”r
“Yes.”
“No,” they said. “You cannot make a ripple.”
“Why not?” she demanded, suddenly angry. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
They didn’t respond, but rather dipped the pole through the waters again. The ferry shot forward, suddenly speeding. Hot, dry wind hit her face and yet her hair did not move. Her eyes did not blink. She could not feel it, she realized. She only thought she had. She realized they were nowhere.
“You remember what they told you,” the figure asked, “about the phantom limb?”
“Yes,” she said.
“That’s what it is,” they smiled, though she could not see their face.
“How?” She asked again.
“It’s not for you to fix.”
She looked at her hands. The tips of her fingers. The whorls were gone. “My fingerprints,” she realized.
“Why would they matter?”
“Well…” she paused. “They don’t, I suppose.”
“No,” the figure agreed. “They don’t.”
“I never really noticed them before.”
They didn’t respond.
“Can I steer the boat?” she asked.
They said nothing in reply.
“Please?” she asked.
“No. It’s not yours to steer.”
She swallowed.
“You don’t know the way.” The figure said.
“No one does,” she whispered.
“No one does,” they agreed. “Sit back. Close your eyes and rest.”
“I don’t want to,” she said.
“Want,” the figure tutted.
“I am tired,” she admitted.
“Of course you are,” they nodded. They held the pole over the water. The drip drip drip echoed everywhere, even though they were nowhere.
“Are you sad?” she asked.
The figure tilted their head to her.
“Alright,” she amended, “are you here? Really?”
“What is here?” they asked.
“I thought you knew,” she said, angry again.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t ask, or don’t see?” she asked.
“Yes.”
A pause. “Okay.”
“Very good,” the figure smiled, and suddenly she saw where they were going.
“Oh,” she said in surprise.
“It’s never what they expect,” the figure said.
She turned away from it. She lay back and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to see it.”
“Rest, now,” they said.
“Take me back,” she murmured.
“Ah,” they said in satisfaction, “there it is. I see the ripples.”