Into This River I Drown

by T.J. Klune

“I wish someone had told you that you’re a terrible liar so I wouldn’t have to be the first one. I feel bad now.”

try not to think about what his life must have been like On High. It sounds like it’s a cold, lonely place, even if he is working for God.

It was routine wrapped in grief. It was monotony disguised as security.

“So, where is he?” I sigh. “Getting sandwiches from Rosie. She told me to send him from now on because at least he doesn’t complain about her egg salad.” Abe arches an eyebrow. “He hasn’t tried it yet?” “Oh, he did. He just doesn’t complain to her face about it. He told me it was like eating sadness.”

Then there are the ones like me, where grief is a badge we wear, where it’s hard to let go because we don’t want to. We probably wouldn’t know how even if we wanted to. There’s unanswered questions, unresolved feelings. There is anger that this person could even conceive of leaving us behind. We are the furious ones, the ones that scream at the injustice and the pain. We are the ones who obsess and slowly lose rational thought, knowing it is happening but unable to find a way to care. We are the ones who drown.

Cal tells me in a very serious voice that he’s been watching TV in the back office at the store and that anytime spies get together, they wear sunglasses.

“I was reading on the computer that you have to keep your man interested, so it’s always good to make sure he knows others are.” I frown at him. “Angels are not allowed to go on the Internet.”