Avoiding Water

The river beneath us is quiet and rolling. Looking out onto the vast, shimmering waters, my instincts beg me to crouch down. For I have an odd impulse to throw my precious belongings into the peaceful water below. I am on a bridge with Seth, my fiance, who chuckles at me. He knows what I'm thinking.

"Do you need me to hold anything for you?" he asks playfully.

I think it's silly to give a man a lightweight purse to hold--yet I want to throw my coveted Chanel into the water below, watch it surface for a second, and then sink below to the depths. Just to protect myself from myself, I take my phone out and slip it into my pocket. I hand him my purse.

"For a sharp-minded, take-charge woman, I am surprised that this is an issue at all," he states. "You run a company of 100 individuals, but can't stand on a bridge without losing it."

"I am not losing it, Seth. Come on, let's keep walking."

"I'm just kidding, Lorretta. Dang!" His good mood is often temporary, and what started as an enjoyable walk has now become frosted over in his silence. We walk towards our paddleboat without talking further. Even so, I hang onto the hope for an enjoyable weekend with his family. For the first time, they are inviting me on their yacht. This is very important to Seth, so I attempt a cheerful disposition.

I have recently become uncomfortable around water. But this will not get in my way. I am going to get in that paddleboat, and then we will paddle across the lake to his family's dock. From there, we will board onto the "Cleveland Rocks Me" and embark on a day's adventure. Seth has been raised on canoes, yachts, and sailboats. I am intrigued and nervous for what awaits me. (((Later on, between sips of crisp, white Sangria and clam chowder, he leans over to me.)))

"When we get home, you should find out what's behind your impulse to throw expensive, non-sensical items into the great watery abyss. I've given you rocks, sticks, all sorts of normal things to throw. But it doesn't help," Seth offers. I give him my hand as he pulls me into the paddleboat.

I shake my head. "Oh, Seth," I say, slightly exasperated. "I think we have real ground to cover. There are more serious things than how I act around large bodies of water." As I say this, I take a long visual account of my unfamiliar surroundings. This lake is a small part of his family's property.

I'm sure he doesn't want to talk about his fear of me throwing my engagement ring into a random body of water. But shall we talk about his loose temper? His reluctance to talk about finances? Those are my fears. My aversion to water is more of an odd thing--something I'm trying to work out in myself. Less of a fear, and more of an avoidance.

Because I am troubled by it, I went to a psychic over the matter. Madame Cerlea did a past life regression session with me. But I don't share this with Seth, because it sounds insane. It conflicts with our Catholic upbringing, and I may as well suggest voodoo while I'm at it. Seth will not entertain such foolishness.

Yet, how do I avoid water? The greatest compound on the planet? Before our hike today, I reviewed my last session with Madam Cerlea, located in an email. As I started reading, the memory of her voice found its way into my head. Oddly comforting, despite the unpleasant revelations. I'd rather hear this distress from her than from anyone. However, as I continued reading our session's notes, it was my voice that I heard, instead of hers. She is but a guide, it's my memory that I tap into.

"I scrambled for it...the ring. It's a large diamond, or maybe a sapphire. Rare in its color...in doing so, I jumped in. The water was freezing. Efforts to get me out were not successful...that's how I died, I guess. The memory seems to end right there, in the water."

"Yes, an accidental drowning. So odd for an athlete." The light shone on a few of her silver hairs, mixed in with the dark red. Her brown eyes wash over me.

"I, and the ring. Both gone." I asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yes. But our time is up, and we can schedule a follow-up," She mentioned, and we set a date for our next meeting.

I come back to the present moment. The calm, clear water, the bright green leaves above me.

"I appreciate this time with you," I whisper in his ear. "Thank you for taking us. I can't wait to meet your mom!"

The strong sunshine beams into our paddleboat as we push through. I'm sipping a lemon latte and he is drinking hot, black tea. I feel relaxed, and happy in the moment. It's become so rare, I forgot how nice it feels. I smile at him, but he looks past me.

"What's your mom like?" I ask, often concerned that he speaks so little of her.

"Can we not talk right now? I'm having a lot of anxiety. I just want to hear the water, and the trees." His tone reminds me of my teenage nephew. I try not to laugh at his immaturity.

Instead, my thoughts drift back to Madame Cerlea, and our follow-up. I give my legs a break from paddling, and soon, Seth does the same.

After a long day at Jennifer's, a boutique I consult with, I drove out to Madame Cerlea's mansion, located on Fairmont Ave. in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. I brought chicken sandwiches for both of us. "Thank you for the sandwich." She took it out of the bag and began taking small bites.

"I started some research, but I haven't done enough," I admit.

"Careful, Loretta. Some people focus too hard on their previous life. Please don't. Past life charts are a guide: not some divine truth. It's to help explain where you are today, especially in your struggles," she suggests.

"Did you ever look up the case on Kelly Mayberry? Quite an inspiration for my loose memory." I ask.

"I'm going to make a suggestion that you need to think through: if finding out about a past life is going to cause you distress, then don't do it. Do not use your past life to figure out deeper issues. Am I onto something?"

Madame Cerlea lit her cigarette and gave me a long and direct gaze. How persuasive she was! I sat down on the chair at her round table. There is no crystal ball. Just star charts.

I indicated that I was ready to listen, but I didn't admit to distress. Her suggestion hangs limp in the air between us, uncomfortable and weak.

"So--I don't know a thing about Kelly Mayberry. But I do know about a 31-year-old woman that you spoke of the other day. Tall, athletic. Lake Erie. This lake has had so many drownings. An engagement story turning tragic. The athletic woman ends up in the lake, with the ring. And that is when you stopped speaking. Have I confirmed this through old news reports? No. Should you? No."

I roll my eyes. "What is her name?" I ask.

"It's not important," she answers, crushing out her cigarette.

I anxiously ended the session, and I went straight to the library. Seth called and wanted to know when dinner was going to be ready. I told him I wasn't cooking tonight. I got comfortable at one of the computers, and I started researching all the local drownings from the past 40 years. I put in keywords such as engagements on a boat and drowning after a proposal. I read through many such articles, inserting my sense of discomfort, and also a very uncommon relatibilty. These young women were like me...dating their boyfriend for a length of time, excited about spending their life together. There is the nursing student, Marika Spanetti. The beautiful painter, Anna Nellie. I read at least ten articles on these young women when I felt someone staring at me.

I looked to my side, and there Seth stood. He looked angry. His glare sharpened upon seeing my concern. He tracked me on my phone.

"I thought you were meeting one of your boyfriends here," he laughed. "But no, you are looking up spooky drownings instead. How boring."

"Why would you say that?"

"Which part?" he asked.

"The boyfriend part. It's mean."

"Look, can you come home? You reading articles on drownings makes me uneasy," he begs. I made a few notes, and I agreed to leave.

I start paddling again, hoping the tension between Seth and I will clear. But with his silence, it hasn't. I decide to tell him about Madame Cerlea.

"Look. I need to come clean. I recently met up with a psychic about my past life. I'm trying to get over my fear of water." My voice sounds like the breaking of ice in the stillness between us.

"That seems silly and could be a big waste of money. If you really want to get married, I want to see you spending money and time wisely, not on some psychic. We should agree on this."

"Oh? Should we agree on your gambling?" I ask, only for him to ram the paddleboat roughly on the dock. My neck jerks slightly. As usual, he and I cannot have a healthy disagreement. This has been since I have been with him. Therefore, nothing ever gets resolved.

I have made weak excuses for him in the past two years: he is from a wealthy family that spoiled him in many ways, his past broken engagements have haunted him, and his job as an investment banker is anxiety all day every day. His family belonged to a yacht club, none of them can relate to my fear of water, nor will he. We get out of the paddle boat, and I see the impressive vessel in front of me. We walk towards it, and I notice there aren't any cars in the parking lot.

I get a text on my phone. From Madame Cerlea.

"I must talk to you in person. It is very serious," her text reads. Confused, I text back. "I can't talk right now, but can you text? What's going on?"

"You were right to research local drownings. I normally don't condone this--but your instincts were telling you to do so. Your fiance has been connected to several local drownings of women and men." Her text reads. I take a long blink, unable to control my facial expressions.

"Who are you texting?" Seth snaps.

"My psychic. Who cares?" I snap back. "Where is your family? Why is it just us?"

"I'm calling them now. Give me a minute. What's wrong with you today?"

"What's wrong with you every day?" I mumble under my breath. I turn my back.

I take one last glance at my phone, and I see the words "Get away from him asap..."

I can feel a hint of his breath on the back of my neck. "Get away from who, Lorrie?" he asks. I inhale sharply and I feel a sharp blow to the back of my head. My body hits the worn, wooden walkway. He roughly flips me over.

The last image I have of him is his angry face looking down on mine. "You weren't supposed to find out anything, you aren't from Cleveland. That's why I chose you, Loretta. You aren't even my type." His words trail off, and my head hurts like nothing I have known. In the distance, I hear the crunch of gravel. Someone has arrived.

I am aware of being dragged and lifted onto a floating object. My eyes are closed, but I still sense movement. There is another person present. Someone he trusts, but who? His father? I hear the sloshing of water, and my heart quickens. They give commands to each other. "Take her ring off! It will identify her!" I feel a terrible tug on my left hand, and my gorgeous, lilac sapphire engagement ring is removed. It's the least of my concerns. I hear the boat engine fire up, and I pretend that I'm dead: I don't startle at all the rackett. I can feel Seth's eyes on me as if mine were open. He's studying me, looking for signs of movement.

Yes, he preferred me for my New York roots--I was never supposed to know about his past. I wasn't from Cleveland, and never looked up his old girlfriends --it made no difference to me. I figured they couldn't work it out, and each had moved on with their life. Perhaps this is why I developed a fear of water so recently in my life. I was picking up on something. Something in his past wasn't right, and worse, had been covered up.

As I lay there, I make a plan. They will not tie me up. No! I will jump into that summer water. One attempt at so much as a rope on my ankles or wrists, and they will have a surprise coming to them. My ears are on alert. Their voices have been reduced to whispers, and I cannot hear them above the motor.

I sense their footsteps fading. I'm getting cold on the floor of their boat. I can wait no longer. And yes--I have an awful headache, but my limbs are free. I force myself to stand up.

I see the vast, shimmering waters in front of me. I grab a life jacket and stand on the edge of the boat. I jump, welcoming the warmth of the water. I feel my Gucci shoes slide off my feet, and all my swimming lessons come back to me. They don't yet know!

Time blurs. I hear sirens. Out of nowhere, a young man with red hair throws me a lifesaver. He pulls me to the safety of a large police boat. How long had I been on Seth's boat? How long was I clinging onto this life jacket? I can't answer the questions yet.

After the shock, I tell the police that Madame Cerlea saved me. I call to thank her, but she cannot be reached.

I visit Seth in jail. "You aren't forgiven," I say with a deep bitterness.

His eyes widen.

"This runs in your family, right? You will all share a cell."

"Lorrie!"

I stand up and say to him: "I have secrets too. Too bad you weren't nicer. I might have helped you."

"Please, Lorrie," he whimpers.

"It's too late, Seth. And like you said: I'm not your type. Too bad for you, huh?"

I walk down the jail hallway, hearing him scream for me to come back.