Jonah

In my dream last night, you and I were fishing. Your feet were long and brave enough to break the surface, while mine dangled shy above a cold I later reluctantly held in my hands as I helped you remove the freezing fish from the water.

I was the one who offered to slice open the belly of the scared body, wanting to protect and shield you from a death I naively hadn't expected. My chest rose and fell as quickly as the one trembling in my clutches, even as I pretended to be handling the situation with deft and confident incisions.

You looked at me with an expression on your face so numb and devoid of any particular expression, that I wonder now if you weren't appalled at what I was doing, even though at the time I read the look as one of surrender, of consolation, of farewell.

And once inside the fish, still panting though ever more slowly, we saw no innards where innards should be, nor blood, nor signs of any organs to keep any living being alive. Instead we found your father's watch, ticking and still living, as it had on his wrist never needing to be wound.

It was your idea to leave the watch there, to tie it back up inside, to return it and the fish to the depths. There they would forever lie, together and without you, even though we stood looking at our wobbly reflections knowing part of you would never be seen above the surface again.