On Thin Ice

On Thin Ice

There are two things that I am an expert on. The first thing is the dangers of walking on thin ice, and the other is about how boring the afterlife can be. I am absolutely not an expert on relationships.

Let me explain. About two weeks ago, I can't be exact because I find it difficult to measure time, but I am willing to guess that it was roughly two weeks ago that my adventure began. It all started when I agreed with my friend that I needed some time alone to get over the breakup with my girlfriend of the last three years.

Sitting in the apartment that we had shared for two of those years was morbidly depressing because although she had left me for somebody she had recently met at the Twinbrook Library, every thing in the apartment reminded me of her. The second hand couch we had found together, the thirty-two inch TV the two of us had lugged up the stairs, the toaster that sometimes tossed the toast on the floor, the plastic Tiffany lamp that she had brought home one day, my Chicago Bulls sweatshirt with the bull logo that she slept in, all kept me immersed in her memory.

My friend, worried that I would lose my job stocking shelves at Costco if I didn't pull myself together, convinced me that I should spend a week in his parents cabin located on a pond near Deep Creek in Western Maryland. Since it was winter, it was vacant.

My supervisor at Costco gave me the green light to take a week off without pay. With written instructions and the help of WAZE on my android TracPhone, my eighteen year old Toyota delivered me to the cabin on the pond. I was looking forward to immersing myself in the five library books I had checked out from the White Oak library - I refuse to patronize the Twinbrook Library - and if needed, I had downloaded an extra three books from the library using my Libby app.

Finding the key to the cabin secreted beneath the bird feeder to the right of the door, I moved into the cabin. First I turned on the oil fueled heating system, put foodstuffs I had bought at Aldi's into a cabinet and into the refrigerator. The case of Shiner Bock beer I had splurged on, I put outside by the back door to cool, putting only a couple of bottles into the small refrigerator.

It was a cozy cabin, obviously loved and used by the owners. When it warmed up, I opened up Kellerman's "Museum of Desire'' and a bottle of Shiner's. Settled in, I read less than a chapter and drank less than a third of my beer before falling asleep. I hadn't realized how exhausted I was from the long drive.

The next morning, not feeling energetic enough to prepare a proper breakfast, I settled for a couple of pieces of toast, a can of Vienna sausage, and two cups of instant Folgers coffee.

Outside it was beautiful. A light layer of snow hanging on the boughs of pines and oaks and the panorama of the frozen pond was like walking into a Christmas Card.

My friend was right. This was good for the spirit.

I put on my hooded down-filled winter jacket and Wellies that I had bought at Goodwill, and walked down to the pond. I was feeling better and better about myself and the world as I soaked up the winter forest atmosphere.

At the pond I tested the ice and was pleased to find it was solid, so I ventured out onto the ice to get a pond's-eye view of my home for the week. Thirty or forty feet from the bank of the pond, I heard a crack. I ran three steps before the only footing I had was very cold water.

In a warm water pool I was a good swimmer. In freezing water, wearing boots and heavy clothing, not so much. I tried to get back onto the ice but I couldn't. I shed my coat and boots, but my numbing body did not respond as it should. Desperate, I swam to the bottom and kicked off from there to have sufficient momentum to breach through the hole onto the ice. I missed the hole and banged up against unforgiving ice.

I don't know if I froze to death or drowned. I guess it doesn't matter which. Strange thing is that I know I am in my afterlife. It is actually kind of nice, suspended here between the ice and the bottom of the pond. I wonder whether I will be here until the thaw. I might be missed and tracked to the cabin, but there is no reason for anyone to think that I was fool enough to walk on thin ice.

I hope someone thinks to return my books to the library. I wish I could read one now. For now my only entertainment is an occasional fish. Hmmm. Seems I'm getting sleepy.

Goodnight.