A Bottle of Water

CW: drowning and suicide

I first heard about the Bermuda Triangle in grade school. We found it so strange when we discovered it. Our brains were still in the whirlpool of understanding the world. Anything outside our immediate small town Missouri sphere was like uncovering an ancient treasure in a cave. For most of the kids, this treasure was the Bermuda Triangle, for the better part of the Tuesday morning we spent talking about it. That wasn't the case for me. It became a chalice I'd put in the center of my greatest curiosities, my trophy room; fitted with a spotlight.

I was horrified by the notion of ships and planes simply disappearing without any sort of reason or evidence. I'd never been on a plane or a boat. While it was strange to think that such well-crafted vessels could up and disappear so suddenly, that's not what I focused on. It was the people on board who went missing that intrigued me.

And in all honesty, I felt like the main reason why the concept stuck with me for so long was because, while we discussed the triangle, my friend at the time believed the ocean was blue because of the sky. I took a bottle of water outside to prove him wrong. Which it did, at the time. Looking back, I feel a little silly; it wasn't a true test.

We moved on as all kids do. We explored more caves, uncovered more artifacts, held on to our own personalized treasures. Mine remained the same: that three sided anomaly off the coast of Florida. No wreckages, no bodies, no survivors. Only a blue ocean and lost memories.

I found a career in HVAC/Ammonia many years later and coincidentally found a great career opportunity in a town somewhere in between Miami and Orlando. The job was dangerous. Luckily, I'd only sustained a few scars from getting ammonia on my arm. There were a couple larger incidents. Moments that, if I hadn't been prepared, I could've easily died. One of which made me contemplate the job entirely and I almost opted out forever. But, I stuck with it a little longer because the money was good and it was fulfilling enough.

A lot of people don't like this occupation. The danger of it turns people away. Those same people may go off and do other jobs that seem less dangerous, but really, it comes down to chance. A quintillion and more aspects go into what makes a job dangerous, not just one thing. My job being classified as dangerous based entirely on the fact the I worked with ammonia discredited it and likely pushed people away.

Truck driving is one of the most dangerous jobs out there. Pro athletes face innumerable risk every time they compete. Even running; some people drop dead from a heart attack despite leading a healthy life. Plumbing too, or any of the trades for that matter. They're all dangerous, but for some reason this singular chemical was revered with such fear, it sent people running.

I've found better luck taking a bottle of water outside to change what someone believes. Forget logic. The important part is what we do with the information we're given, not the information itself.

PTO stacked up fast over the years. Mine could build up to a maximum of four weeks and it had when I first thought of what I'd do with it. I considered Ireland, since my, not so distant, ancestors had come from there. Truth be told, that was just an excuse. I wanted to try Guinness from the source. One of my coworkers theorized that it was better there. I held on to the notion as if it were an archeological discovery and held on to possessing a treasure like it in the future. But, it wasn't the time for that.

My coworker and I decided to take our PTO at the same time. We planned on heading to the Florida coast for just a week, since neither of us really wanted to stop working, but also didn't want to waste the perks we were getting. As soon as we hit the sand, I remembered my chalice in my trophy room. The spotlight had been off for a while and I couldn't see it. That mystery and the missing people.

I looked over to my friend as we witnessed the waves crashing. "Ever hear of the Bermuda Triangle?"

"Of course I have." The grey of his jacket harmonized with the gloomy dimness of the beach.

We hadn't planned that well and the first couple days of our trip were cloudy and rainy.

"Ever want to go out there?" I asked.

"Why would you ever want to go there? Place is cursed."

"Aren't you curious about what's going on? Why people go missing?"

"Not really. That's the type of thing you hear about and don't go near."

"I don't know. It's just alluring."

"It's your life, man. I wouldn't go with you though. Whatever's out there can't be worth it."

I sat there for a moment contemplating. What he's right? Chances are that these missing people were simply swept away by unfavorable weather. Deep down, I felt like something was there. There was an imaginary compass in the back of my brain with a needle that threatened to break free in the direction of where the triangle was.

We spent that week along the coast, but when my friend took off, I stayed behind. I hoped that my late PTO request would get accepted. I'd already arranged for a vessel to take me out to the ocean. It was actually a service someone provided: a guided voyage to the triangle. It didn't have any reviews. I assumed the service was new.

When I arrived at the dock, it was ramshackled and lonely. The boat seemed deserted as I approached. I saw slow shuffling in the wheelhouse and I called out, "Hello?"

The figure jolted and turned in my direction. It was a middle aged man, sea salt beard and a hat that likely obscured a bald head. He looked grizzled, which off-set my still young appearance. There was something behind his eyes like a clear cataracts that I couldn't exactly understand. "Hey, lad. You can put your stuff down anywhere."

Thankfully, the sun was out. I was able to lay my stuff outside for the time being. I didn't realize how nervous I'd be. It was a dream for so long, a voyage to the center of the Bermuda Triangle. "So, how many times have you been out there?"

He was messing with the boat's rigging. From what I was aware of, we'd be setting off immediately to outpace some undesirable weather that would be passing by. "Ah, um. It's getting hard to say. The waves have a way of hypnotizing me and I usually zone out."

"What's out there?"

"Whatever you want."

"Oh, yeah?" I sensed the same kind of skepticism my friend had. It was slightly disheartening because this person had actually been there. Or, at least he said he did, or it was implied. "How many people have you brought out there?"

"One less than how many times I've been out there total."

"So, what? You went out there once and decided you'd take people out there if they wanted to as well?"

"Pretty much. It doesn't happen often, but when people want to go they want to go, and they'll make it happen. What happens when they do is completely up to them. Some people can't handle it."

I felt very lost at this point. I was suddenly felt scared to visit my trophy room. Was I collecting and holding on to things that I had no business hoarding? My coworker had his own trophy room, but it was full of aliens and governmental conspiracy theories. And even though I thought most of it was nonsense, they all had their own well-lit showcase boxes. Just like my chalice on it's pedestal. "There's nothing there, is there?"

"Hope that's not the case. Otherwise you'll keep going back, thinking you missed something."

We set off thirty minutes later. It took us a few hours to get to our first 'hiccup': fog. The captain insisted that this was normal and expected. The low visibility made me feel slightly claustrophobic in a way I hadn't felt before. I spent most of my time in the fog perusing the details of the boat.

It was a small, motorized boat with an enclosed wheelhouse and a lower deck/living space. It was mostly white with some blue accents along the hull. The fog made it seem bigger than it was, the vastness of the ocean had a way of making anything seem small.

The fog lasted so long, it was easy to get lost in thought with nothing much to marvel at. I thought again about my classmate who thought the ocean was blue because of the sky and the bottle of water I used to disprove him. Even now with the fog, the water was still slightly blue.

It's whatever you want it to be? I wondered if this entire trip would be my very own bottle of water, except this time I was the classmate.

Missouri was hundred of miles away and the memories felt a hundred years old. The fields of crops turned into mystical hills with bugs that glowed a hundred different colors. It was hard to remember what it actually looked like. It's where I discovered a sense of wonder and I felt like, even though I was inching closer and closer to discovering something I'd been milling over for so long, the feeling was fleeting. The magic was leaving.

I looked at the captain every once and a while to see what he was up to. His eyes were glazed over in some sort of auto pilot trance. I wondered what his trophy room looked like. I imagined it was a dingy dungeon with maybe one or two rusty artifacts buried in the corners they were forgotten in. Maybe the look I saw in his eyes was the result of what I was trying to accomplish. I thought I'd have to don a tinfoil hat and adopt an alien or two to keep the room from burying itself.

By the time the fog had cleared, it was night. I settled down below. Surprisingly, there was a lot of stuff laying around. Pictures, some bags, things that looked like they were accidentally left behind. I soon realized that people had left memories behind. Photos of families, bags of merchandise that was acquired on the shoreline, even some electronics. I was lost in them when I felt a funny feeling. There were phones. Why would someone leave their phone? Why didn't this voyage have any reviews?

I seldom slept that night.

Over the next couple days, I'd prodded at the captain with some questions to understand why such valuable items had been left behind. His replies were very matter of fact and felt sincere to me. "Some people just don't want it after they've been out there." I didn't understand. He could tell.

He inquired, "You know why the ocean is blue?"

Of course I did. Water was good at absorbing the blue light from the sun. It was naturally slightly blue as it was. Also, it was partially due to the sky's reflection. I prattled on about it with him.

"And the next step," he added, "the light enters our eyes and it's up to our biology, our nervous system, to interpret those rays as the blue we see it."

What day was it? Had it been two? Three? It would take us four to seven to get to the center, but I couldn't place where we were at in the moment. I felt estranged to my own thoughts and memories. Suddenly, reality felt like a dream. I chocked it up to anxiety and tried to bring myself back. "And then what?"

"It has been seen. Now what?" The captain asked.

I wasn't sure where this was going. In very rare circumstances could the ocean ever be seen as anything but blue based on how our bodies could interpret it. What does it mean to be seen? I tried clarifying the question in my head, but I was drowning.

"Is it ugly, beautiful, vast, or boring? You'll find yourself asking the same question at the Bermuda."

It really was nothing. I was then convinced. This trip is a farce, a waste of a couple thousand dollars. I tried journeying to my trophy room to behold my chalice not knowing that neither existed.

"Want to turn around?" The captain asked.

Every neuron in my brain yelled for me to say yes, but we'd gone too far to turn back now, I thought. Might as well be able to say I'd been there after going through all the trouble. "No, I still want to go."

We continued for what felt like five more days. Of course, I tried to keep track of the day and night cycle, but the on and off sleep, clouds, and fog coverage made a mess of my ability to do so.

"We're here." The captain said as the motor cut out.

It was mostly cloudy that morning. There was still the slight smell of rain from the night before. I looked around; I found nothing. I felt stuck there in the middle of the ocean. Surrounded by so much blue. It took so long to get there, and I knew it'd be a long journey back. There was nothing. I felt lost, betrayed, and scared and I didn't know why.

Being there didn't feel real. Days had merged with one another. Memories morphed into dreams and dreams became the echoes of reality. Everything I was doing before this, my job, my friends, my beliefs all belonged to this trophy room that held nothing. I was there and it didn't care.

The captain sat down next to the wheel, eyes glazed over once more.

I felt foolish for believing. I felt betrayed because I'd imagined for so long that there'd be a chalice in the center of this trophy room; anything at the center of the Bermuda Triangle. There was only me.

I felt dizzy, as if I were spinning.

"Maelstrom." The captain said.

The boat lurched forward and I was thrown to the back of the boat. I scrambled up to see what was happening. A massive whirlpool had formed just ahead of us. My eyes darted towards the captain for any indication of what to do, but he remained seated. The boat leaned forward and I was thrown forward.

I nearly flew overboard, but my hands caught the ledge. I dangled outside the boat. I tried yelling for help and using all my strength to climb back in, but to no avail. We dropped in to the whirlpool and rode it's current around and around as we slowly sunk in. It took all the strength I had to stay latched on. Even then, I felt my right hand slipping.

I was down to my left hand. Is this what happens to everyone? Is this what the Bermuda Triangle is? A whirlpool that sucks everything in? A spiral down straight in to the ocean? Is this what happens to everyone? Everyone except the captain? How had the captain survived? What was that look in his eye? He didn't have the spark, I did. He felt nothing, I did. I looked at the whirlpool and imagined up floating up. The boat floated up until we were almost off the water. There was something there, after all. I knew it and my coworker didn't. What it was, I didn't know. This certainly had to be a dream.

I decided that, if this is what it was and this is what I made it to be, why wouldn't I explore and see what it was I was seeing? I had a choice. Get back on the boat, or fall in. I looked down, there was a gold shine in the center, a chalice. I dropped. I fell in and was torn apart by the current.

Three hundred and seven quintillion particles of water filled my lungs, soon followed by more. All I could see was the blue light absorbed by the water, from the sun, diminishing. Just above, grey clouds partly covered the sky like a tattered blanket. All the while, I stood in an empty trophy room and held a bottle of water. Strangely, then, the magic returned. I saw an image of Missouri and it was a flat field of produce.

I thought I could uncover the mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle without falling victim to it. Turns out, you can't have one without the other and I got both. And I'd do it again. I'd help someone get there too, if they wanted.