Down to earth

First there is the dull smack on the dark water of the forest pond. Frightened birds fly from the dignified reeds into the brutal woods. I notice the ripples in the murky water. Followed by burnt feathers that seem to fall from the sky like black snowflakes. Only then do I observe the flat body floating on the water. A giant deformed bird. A normal sinewy corpse of a man whose arms had once sophisticated wings tied to them. Before they got burned.

I am hesitating. Those few seconds in which I am back in the safe world before the sudden bang. How free and carefree I walked through this forest. How the trees rustled, the squirrels jumped carelessly from branch to branch, the dry leaves crunched under my perky shoes. I still had no idea where I wanted to go. I had no idea what awaited me. But life pushed me in a direction. That's how it felt. That's how I believed my days should be spent.

I come to realize that everything is different now. I'm not alone anymore. I can't hide anymore. I can't pretend nothing is wrong. But what to do? Jump into the water and swim towards the body? And then? Am I able to drag the heavy body to the side? You can call me intelligent, smart, brave and maybe even funny, but I’m definitely not a broad-shouldered man, not a male putter.

The body in the forest pond moves. One of the deformed wings seems to shift. I know it's serious. Speed and decisiveness seem to be the necessary virtues at this moment. Further up in the reedbeds, I discover a rowing boat. Creaky, moss green, forsaken. Without any dawdling, I push the craft into the cold water. It floats. I scan the bank for oars. Then I decide to take a sturdy branch.

Very, very slowly I move towards the dark body. Honestly, I don't like boats or rafts. I prefer solid ground under my feet. Water is too unpredictable for me, too unreliable. Like she's constantly challenging me, playing with me, provoking me. So that I can't trust my steady intuition, my sure thoughts, my quiet routine.

The man in the water is not a man. He's much more of a boy. Despite the bloody and filthy soot on his face, the eyes are bright and alive in his ramshackle face. The lips are small and stiff. Now that I'm so close I can see the mangled construction of broken wings. What purpose they had, it makes the body float anyways.

Of course I should wonder how this boy ended up here. And why on earth he appears not to be dead. But if life has taught me anything, it's that she's everything but logical. Sometimes it is better to accept what is happening, what has happened. Open-minded, bold. Like seagulls braving autumn storms in November.

After some maneuvering I manage to get the boat close to the body. And just when I'm about to think about how to drag the wet corpse into the thin craft, the boy lifts his head and starts treading water. He tries as best he can to pull the structure off his arms. When he thinks it's sufficient, he still finds strength to swim to me.

I reach out and feel the strong but icy fingers of the boy in my hand. The swimmer waits for me to find the right balance. Then he slowly lets himself be pulled into the boat. After which he lies exhausted on the muddy bottom of the vessel. A lost and knackered superhero.

It starts to drizzle. Fine raindrops fall softly on our pale faces, cover the burnt feathers, are touching the surface of the naked water. The splash of the heavy branch breaks the silence of the rising twilight. I look at the boy. The boy looks at me. We are nodding to each other. Without words we seem to understand each other.

When we manage to get ashore, the young lad is searching for words. But his lines are short, measured. Like he is quoting a text message. I would love to hug him. The failing hero, the unsuccessful daredevil. I would like to the whisper in his ears that life is not about apology, about mercy. That despite all our failures, our misgivings, our downfalls, we can wipe the snot, sweat and blood from our faces and decide to start again, to take another leap.

But we stand side by side in silence. Small, down to earth. Like two stand-up comedians waiting to finally take the stage.