The Muskie
Charles
C. Cole
There was one kid in high
school
senior year who was a complete mystery: new face, outsider, European accent,
loner. Even the bullies avoided him. That was Klaus, a tall, skinny dude with
shaggy dark hair and pale skin, vibe of a doomed Gothic protagonist. He never
raised his hand in class, and the teachers seemed okay with it. He got some special
pass in gym, where he had to attend but only sat on the bleachers.
At the time, I was working
three
jobs. My grades were tanking. I was struggling in calculus, which ticked off my
engineer father. I had a girlfriend of sorts, Abby, from the next town over, but
we only got together to get high and have sex. Graduation was that spring.
I’d had an unfortunate
confrontation with my guidance counselor. He suggested I get some air, whatever
that meant. I wasn’t interested. I went to the empty, dark chorus room and sat
on the carpet behind the last row. Watching clouds out the back window made me
restless but happy. I was working on a story, nothing that would ever be read.
I hadn’t been there
long when I
heard the door open and close. Klaus came around the corner. He usually dressed
in black jeans and a black shirt with the whitest T-shirt. It’s a wonder we
didn’t nickname him “Father.” But, like I said, we mostly left him alone – discussing
him at parties.
“Slide over,”
he said. I did,
then I went back to my “doodling.”
Klaus sniped: “Writing
to
Santa?”
“Late college application.
Can’t
you tell by all the chicken scratch in the margins?”
“You ever need a letter
of
reference, don’t come crawling to me.”
“Science fiction writer
wannabe,”
I confessed.
“So, basically, my
life story,”
he said. Out the window, a sea monster cloud drifted by. “You seeing that?”
“Yep,” I said,
but I didn’t dare
be specific, in case his vision was different. “Cool.”
“Listen,” he
said, “I’m not long
for this world: health issues. Don’t breathe a word to anyone. The estate insisted
I experience a normal life while I can. I want someone ‘I knew when’ to be
there at the end. I’m a trust fund baby with staff up to my chin, but they’re
only loyal to the paycheck.” He whipped out two crumpled fifty-dollar bills.
“Take this.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want
it? Then give it
back when you come see me.”
“You out of here?”
“Fifty-fifty, get
it?” he said.
“Hey, what’s having a girlfriend like?” he asked suddenly. “I heard your ‘friends’
talking about you at lunch.”
“Nerds!” I protested.
“Honestly,
sometimes I’m like: ‘Why me? Now I really need money.’ Sometimes I feel
smothered. Sometimes I feel older, like my brother in college, then I’m ashamed
because I’m counting down to graduation and getting away from it all.”
“Too much going on
in your head,”
Klaus said.
“I know,” I
admitted.
I was working at McDonald’s
when
some girls came in, freaked out. They’d just seen an accident where surviving
was unlikely. The driver and passenger had been friends from school.
“They’ll never
have careers or their
own families,” a manager said.
“Join the club,”
mumbled Klaus,
who was the third person in line.
I kept his secret. He made
it to
graduation. When everyone else was whooping and hollering and, later, underage
drinking, Klaus took in the events stoically.
I joined the Air Force and
served four years, then tried college. My parents forwarded a typed letter.
Klaus wanted me to stop by at Christmas. The estate would pay for my flight. I
still had his two fifties. Maybe they were insurance I’d show, if only to
return them.
Outside baggage claim, this
classically-attired stern-faced chauffeur held a sign with my name on it. He
said nothing until we pulled in the gated driveway. “Avoid staring,” he instructed.
A housekeeper met me at
the
door. She was strangely perky. “Here you are! So glad to finally meet you.
Perhaps you want to freshen up.”
“I’d really
like to see Klaus. He
had me come all this way.”
The perkiness evaporated.
“Of
course. You’re a good friend.”
She led me to a sunroom
in the
back of the house. Beyond a sloping yard the size of a polo field was an
immense lake. She nodded and gestured me toward a hot tub. I could smell the
heat. The bubbling was loud. Klaus, water inches from his chin, had a white
elastic strap tied across his chest and under both shoulders, holding him in
place. His skin was gray-green and “textured.” He’d lost all his hair, even his
brows, his nose looked melted, eyes bigger and rheumy, and both his arms were
missing.
“You came.”
Had to, to return your money.”
“I must be a sight.”
“They told me not
to stare.”
“You can’t help
it. I
understand.”
“I’m sorry,”
I offered.
“Now I can tell you:
in my
family, we don’t die; we evolve from one lifeform to another. It’s a curse that
goes back generations. I’m not positive, but I believe I’m becoming a fish. I
lost both my legs first. They just withered away. No pain. Like a tadpole to a
frog but in reverse.”
“Can I do something?”
“Remember me as the
human boy I
once was. I don’t want to be forgotten or thought of only as a fish.”
“Promise.”
He heaved. “Breathing’s
getting
harder. My father turned into a lizard, my mom a beautiful bird. They’ll
probably release me in the lake. It’s ours: no fishing.” He smiled weakly. “I
want to cry but I’ve forgotten how. Maybe that’s a good thing; I’d overflow the
hot tub. So, tell me a little bit about me,” he said.
I knew the beginning. “There
was
one kid in school who was a complete mystery: new face, outsider, European
accent. That was Klaus, a tall, skinny dude with pale skin, a doomed hero.”
“Sounds
interesting,” he said.
