Black Coat

To Wear The Black Coat

I put on a coat today. The last time I wore it, I died.

Not of embarrassment, or heat stroke.
I didn’t die laughing or of fright.

I died.

I was dead.

Dead.

I died on the beach. I could hear the ocean.

The coat has sand in the pockets.

I overdosed on a plethora of pills, hundreds of them, taken with a quantity of alcohol as I drove, careening blindly in the darkness over mountain passes between valley and sea.

I returned to a place where I last felt true, unencumbered, hope. Where I felt romantic love for the first time. Where I felt the future was all there for the me, for the taking, just waiting for me to grab on and ride.

It felt like coming full circle for some reason. Not just to the beach, but to the ocean, to the water. Home.

The coat was black.

I walked down onto the beach, scarcely aware of my surroundings, other than the tunnel vision towards the water. It was dark, quiet, except for the soft pounding of the waves. And I was alone, I was so very very alone on that cold inky dark beach.

It was getting hard to walk, the drugs were taking a toll, swirling, distorting, senses, muscles, breathing, vision. There was a log, charred on one side from a beach bonfire. S’mores and sand. I sat. Fell against the sooty blackness. Rested. Readying myself for the final walk. Gangplank.

I had on the black coat.

I could imagine it dragging me down, heavy with water. Taking me. Home.

The early morning light crept like smooth silk cloth settling over me. I blinked. I didn’t want to die. This was a one giant mistake. My car, I had to get back to my car. To leave all this behind. A mistake.

My legs didn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Frozen. No feeling. I couldn’t walk. My upper body, warm, the coat, the black coat.

Crawling, serpents tail slithering out behind me in the sand as I drug myself, seemingly miles, back. Stairs. Damnit, stairs. I can’t walk. I can’t feel my feet. I can’t feel my legs.

Arms. Warm. The coat. Pull, claw. Up. Up. Get to the car. Get away from all this. Shame. Embarrassment. A mistake.

Talking, people, help. Can’t walk. Get my legs warm in the car. My coat. Black. Help. Collapse. Darkness…death. I died in my black coat.

Light.

I can see light.

I’m alive.

Hospital. Doctors. Nurses. Tubes. Cords.

Warm.

No black coat.