Everything Was Fuzzy

I was walking on water. More accurately, I was walking on a path next to the water. The tide came in and then I was walking in water.

The path disappeared and I was swimming. More accurately, I was flailing in an attempt to swim. I was flailing and failing.

By the time I woke up everything was fuzzy. Park benches were all in the wrong places. I couldn't tell the difference between a thing and its reflection.

“You look confused.” A woman's voice, from behind me.

“Seems reasonable, that's about how I feel.”

I turned to face her and she was gone. I could see shoe prints where she had been, and there were people jogging on the sidewalk toward the hotel with red Spanish tiles and palm trees out front. There was evidence of her, but no her.

Still, the voice had been clear. Many things confused me, but she did not. Except for her escape, of course, which I was at a loss to explain.

The sun would soon arrive, adding heat and light to the mixture. The rest of the world would be as clear as her voice had been, as the shoe prints still were.

Maybe. Clarity is a fantasy I cling to despite all evidence to the contrary. It's the lie I tell myself to keep going when I otherwise would give up and sink.

Clarity keeps me flailing. I know I can't really walk on water, but if I keep believing that maybe I can learn how to do so or at least give the illusion of doing so, it's worth the effort.

That doesn't keep me from wondering where she went. What had I been doing to look confused? I'd like to ask her, but I'm not sure she's even real.