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Today, read Chapter Five of this debut novel.

Chapter Five

The Window
No one speaks about the fog. Everyone always talks about the white light, the long tunnel. Hollywood’s made them quite famous. Fog is less dramatic; it hovers, it lifts, and it floats.
Jen-Zen stared at the fog.

For some the fog is a window. There should be a drum roll when a recognizable face pokes through the fog, it’s a monumental event. 
Seeing a familiar face reminds people of their connections to the other side, the ties you hold onto when you don’t understand why you’re in the fog.
They’re the light posts that beam through.

Light itself is difficult to see in the fog, just for seconds it shines in brighter than the fog itself and if you look again it is the fog and nothing more.

The day Brad’s face appeared; the unmistakable sharp sculpted cheekbones, the dark intense eyes, staring back at Jen-Zen; she tried to touch his face.

A wisp of fog obscured it. And then she saw him again looking distraught, the way he bit his lower lip, the lip she didn’t have enough chances to kiss. And then he smiled as if looking right at her, and she tried so hard to hold onto the image of his face, but the thick fog returned, then it lifted and she saw the profile of his eyes. They blinked.

She called his name. The sound muted. She imagined writing his name, Brad, in the sand at their beach, circling it with seaweed and clam shells, wanting to write a poem to him, but more urgent words came, “Brad can you hear me? Will you light a candle and put it in the sand by the life guard’s tower?

Remember, when we made love there, during the earthquake, you called me earth tremors? Why can’t I feel them? Or the vibrations of cars, people walking, and floor boards creaking? Everything is so silent. You know how I once said when we were on the beach, that “Too much chatter crowds company,” I was wrong, so wrong. Why won’t the fog go away? Where am I?”

A stern voice said to her, “You have one hour and no more.”

Jen-Zen asked, “For what?”

“Jen, it’s Dad.”

“NO. But, you’re dead. Why…how can you speak to me?”

“The specifics don’t matter. Now will you promise me, that you’ll stare into the fog that you’ll try real hard?”

“First let’s talk. Dad, there’s so much I want to tell you.”

Dad said, “No. You have to look in the fog.”

“Why?”

“It’s your tie to the other side. Princess, sometimes people visit here by mistake, and they always say they see the fog.”

“I’m scared.”

“Remember when I read to you when you were a little girl and told you there’s magic in the forest. Well, it’s all around us, like the fairy tale books say.”

Jen-Zen laughed.

“I’m serious Jen. Now promise me you’ll focus on the fog.”

“But, it’s so boring, Dad.”

“Not when you saw that boyfriend of yours.”

“You’d like him Dad.”

“Keep focusing.”

Jen-Zen stared at the fog. It floated all around her like vapors of steam rising.

She remembered meeting Brad on her 22nd birthday. The gray clouds typical June weather by the coast left a soapy residue over the sky. She leaned against a pine tree with limbs shaped like a Z and took deep breaths, breathing the scent of pine in and letting her breath out, when Brad approached her. His soft steps moved in tune with her breathing. He patted the tree and said, “Where’s the sun?”

She said, ”It’s hiding.”

He stretched his arms up and down and said, “The lighting’s never the same, no matter how many times I come here.”

He spoke like a poet and noticed the nuances in the sky.

The fog grew thicker and thicker. It made white walls all around her, then Dad spoke to her.

“Jen, there’s no time for memories. I need you to think about how when you are swimming underwater you can hear sounds, but you can’t automatically respond.”

“But, I hear you fine, Dad.”

“Oh, that’s no good.”

“Why? I like talking to you.”

“Me too Princess, but please concentrate on Brad and your Mother.”

“Not Mother, she…”

“I know she told him, you were… ah ... well, you know what I mean.”

“You mean before this, Dad?”

Instead of answering, Dad told her about some man, who became a prisoner to his own body and communicated with the outside world with blinks. Dad explained that each blink is a small vibration, and how the minutest vibrations are felt and they connect the whole universe.

The vibrations reminded Jen-Zen of being in a swimming pool how when she closed her eyes the water shook all around her and she could tell if someone was near or far based on the movement in the water.

Dad said, “That’s my Princess, you always were a good swimmer.”

“Dad, you heard my thoughts?”

“Yes, Jen, I always have.”

Whole banks of fog drifted towards each other in the distance. Jen-Zen saw small spaces between each white swirling mass and felt a sense of space. Before there was no depth, just vapors floating all around.

And one day in the fog, she felt vibrations like someone dove into a swimming pool and she heard inaudible words shouted from somewhere, then the sound of her name being spoken came through clearly and the words SHOE PHOTOGRAPHS, those words pulled her in and she saw her poetry book, RIPPLED TRAILS on Brad’s desk.
She concentrated real hard putting all her energy into opening the cover of the poem book, to see once more the words, she’d written to Brad, about the photo he’d taken of ripples in the koi pond.

The cover page moved slightly.

Brad jumped.