The Stairs

By Kent Daniel Bentkowski

In the town of Evans, which is comfortably nestled upon the shores of Lake Erie, there are a set of these rickety ol' stairs that unwind down towards the beach. The stairs appear ancient and unsuitable for passage, irregardless of how prudent. The old townfolk say that a lot can happen once the stairs enter a person's life. Jeremy Walker surely believes every word the town elders whisper --- a lot has happened since the stairs entered his life ...

Up in Highland, an elevated locale still inside the town of Evans, heading north along Route Five, towards that fallen-angel of a city Buffalo, New York, if you pass all the smug little town businesses; the AMES Plaza, and the inevitable McDonalds golden arches, you will undoubtedly stumble upon a short little street called Prescott. A quick left down that street, and it will take you, draw you, towards a sullen cove at the end of the street, with its' long, narrowly descending pathway. Follow that pathway. Down, down. But, watch your step!

This path, however it may be paved, is old and crumbling beneath your unsteady feet. A few cautious steps at a time, and ... watch that pothole! Yes, that's it. Easy. Can't you see how easy it would be to lose your footing, slip and tumble uncontrollably over that cliff? The shrubs and the weeds have begun to overgrow this path --- so watch out!

They have been known to lash out!

Anyway, these words are not meant to frighten you so. It's just that it is a long way to the bottom. Can you see them in the mist?

Down below, iron and weatherbeaten.

The Stairs ...

Now, they have entered your life, as well. But, please, do not shrink with fear ... even if it is a long way to the bottom!

01.

It is probably more than a five-hundred foot drop off that cliff in that somber cove. In spite of this, it was this particular section of Lake Erie Beach that had claimed quite a reputation for itself over the years. In fact, generation after generation had gathered there over the decades. Of course, things didn't start out that way, but after awhile, when the town of Evans began to breathe and heave like a great, hulking beast, that's what it all had come down to --- who partied with whom, and where.

To young and old alike, the stairs became both a refuge and a holding tank of sorts. It was a place where the kids could go to drink their kegs and smoke their dope --- and a place where their parents would know where they would always be. The stairs were a place to which the town elders allowed the youth to lay a claim, so they could keep a watchful eye on their whereabouts.

Jeremy Walker had always loved the water --- ever since he was taught to swim at age two and a half yeas old --- and he felt particularly attracted to this section of Lake Erie beach. It was a place he could go --- and stand where the water and the land held hands, in one of nature's gentlest embraces. It may appear as if these words are a bit flowery, perhaps a tad romantic, but I can assure you this was not the original intention of this tale. It is just that the stairs have somehow altered Jeremy's existence --- beginning with the night that he fell in love there.

Being quite the town fixture that they become, the news of the stairs spread far and wide. From throughout Western New York they would come, they would be drawn, just to be where the earth and the water mated. Single file, and in small clusters the town youth would descend the stairs, down towards the beach, just to watch the tides copulate with the sand.

Now you will be taken there . . .

02.

During the Great Depression, the town youth started to go there, to forget about their financial woes, and to light their bright orange fires against the darkened night skies. It was there they would sit on the sand, their stiffened backs against some log, singing songs to the lake, and drinking their bathtub gin and corn whiskey. It was where they came to fall in love --- and it was where Jeremy Walker went --- to be loved.

He had met her there, at the stairs, during the summer of '82, nearly a full year after graduating high school. And, for Jeremy, there was more emphasis on the high than on the school. Jeremy hadn't been to the stairs since the Labor Day before, when he had drunk himself into oblivion, partially to celebrate his last summer as an adolescent, but mainly to sedate himself from the beginning of his life as an adult. On that night, as he began his slow and careful descent down the stairs, he realized that this re-acquaintance with his old friends and the beach had somehow reached far beyond all of them. That feeling was all he knew. Later that night, and for the first time, Jeremy Walker had realized that what the town elders had been whispering was indeed true.

A lot can happen . . .

Believe him, he knows.

Jeremy always had to watch his step, as did everyone else, whilst daring the treacherous rusted metal stairs. Their polished silver veneer had disappeared long ago, and gave way to a thick malignant rust, which began to eat away at the once sturdy frame --- like an evil structural cancer. The stairs were fairly steep and slickened with the damp residue of a humid night's air. Perhaps this added to the adventure. Holding tightly the handrails on either side of him, Jeremy Walker skipped down to the first landing with careless abandon. The landing that met him was covered with a mossy slime that soiled his leather track shoes. Down to the next landing and off to the right, Jeremy and the stairs continued.

Down, down. Drawing him down.

Below, five young men scurried about the rocky shoreline, gathering dry timber for the evening's bonfire. As they did so, Jeremy continued down, down, down the stairs. On the next leg of the descent, his left leg began to cramp, and his breath shorten, as he began to tire out. It wasn't until he was halfway down, when he stopped to catch his breath. Pausing momentarily, he stepped forward --- and nearly lost his balance. If he should fall, the two-hundred foot fall would smash the life out of his body.

"Aaaargh," he grunted. His left leg was then seized with a terrible pain. Rubbing it, he could hear Led Zeppelin faintly pounding from someone's battery-powered cassette player. Yet, on another level of consciousness, Jeremy could hear the tides quietly whispering his name as they eased themselves against the inviting shoreline.

"And she's buying a stairway to heaven," echoed from the boom-box, and it was so true.

So very true.

Drawing a deep breath, Jeremy continued down the stairs, toward the beach. He seemed to nearly float --- it was with that much ease that he took to the stairs, one by one. Looking out over the sparkling lake, Jeremy saw a glorious white bird swooping out over the water, down towards the shore, and then veering off again against the horizon. The bird's fragile wings sliced through the air like gallant swords of majesty. Indeed, this was one of the true joys of knowing this place, he thought. He had never known a greater pleasure in his young lifetime. Looking back, he had never known one stranger, either.

03.

It was then that Jeremy Walker had first seen her. She was standing at the edge of the shore, watching the water cascade over her bare feet. Her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and down to the small of her back. The white dress that she was wearing seemed oddly out of place --- yet it highlighted her amber skin beautifully. For a brief moment, Jeremy stood paralyzed, completely immersed in her striking beauty. And, it was Jeremy the Jerk that they called him in high school, where he was not entirely popular. This was because he was a little too skinny, a little too smart, a little bit too dorky, and a little too quiet to make friends easily. To avoid the names and the schoolyard bullies, he ran. And it was him, Jeremy Walker, who was a little too whimpy to land a date --- any date --- for his Senior Prom.

And yes, it was he, who was now hesitating, because he was eighteen and still a virgin. And, there she stood, giggling as the water washed over her ankles --- the most beautiful girl in the world, maybe in the universe. But, it was also he, who held tightly to the handrail of the stairs, feeling a strange and somewhat disorientating tingling sensation thunderbolt throughout his entire body. Jeremy quickly rambled down the stairs, paying little attention to the dilapidated nature of the rotting metal that literally stood between him and death on the jagged rocks below. Before he realized what was heppening, he was standing directly behind her --- hyperventilating.

As she turned around, her eyes, a gorgeous shade of sky blue, met with his. Embarrased, Jeremy Walker quickly looked away. "Hey," she said, "my name is Jade." She held her hand out. Hesitantly, he took it into his own. She immediately gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Hello," she smiled. "Hi," he beamed.

It was at that very instant that he fell in love.

The stairs were casting their spell.

04.

For the moment and that evening, Jeremy Walker was a happy young man. Jade had led him down the beach to an abandoned boathouse, or, what was left of a boathouse --- the cinderblock foundation. On the north side of the tumbled ruins, obscured from the view of the others, (who had gathered that night to toast the heavens), Jade made love to Jeremy. Without so much as a "Do you wanna?" or a wriggling of her brow, Jade had slipped the cotton straps of her sun-dress down off her shoulders, allowing the dress to fall to the sand.

This is where Jeremy Walker lost his virginity.

They had done it --- right there upon the sand. Made love with trembling hands. The most beautiful young woman he had ever laid his eyes upon had freely given herself to him, without asking so much as a single question, and without caring to hear any of his. She was blessed with the most magnificent body he could have even imagined --- perfect in every way. Her skin was tanned a rich golden brown, and her hair, although naturally blonde, was sun-bleached to a lighter shade of platinum. Her taut skin felt silky smooth to Jeremy's caress, Jade gently moaned as Jeremy massaged her inner-thigh.

Just then, Jade whispered something into Jeremy's ear.

In a moment, Jeremy was led to an Utopia he had never even suspected existed, as he lowered himself, she parted her legs.

Meanwhile, about a hundred or so yards up the beach, the party was kicking into gear. Light escaped the skies, as darkness came rushing in. A keg of Heineken sat submerged in the cool lake water. A young man in a mullet and a denim jacket was stationed at the bottom of the stairs, collecting the three-dollar beer drinker's and hell raiser's cover charge and dispensing the plastic drinking cups with the letters SOLO on the bottom. Another younger kid was standing next to him, stamping hands with a Sit On A Happy Face rubber stamp. Close to one-hundred people had already shown up, and Frank Pezzimenti was showing an early tidy profit. In and out of jail since the tenth grade, Frank found these parties to be a thinly disguised captive marketplace for his drug dealing. His thick black hair and Italian good looks attracted all the girls much in the same manner the Pied-Piper attracted all of his followers --- with a smile and a song.

Tonight was no different. The Pez, as he was known, was surrounded with at least five young girls --- their little faces painted with hopeful pouts of impending seduction. Later on, Frank would bag one of those chicks, right there on the beach, sending her off to Mom and Dad with the tears of a broken heart streaming down her tired face. Frank wore a solid gold chain around his neck, drove a Trans-Am, had lots of spendable cash, and had and did the best drugs. He also beat the shit out of his girlfriends with staggering regularity, and every seventh or so words out of his mouth seemed to begin with the letter F.

No one knew where the attraction lie . . .

Ed the Heavy Metal Head had shown up wearing the ever-present black concert t-shirt, upon which was the artwork for any number of metal acts. Ed was arguing with Danny Christopher, a born-again Christian, about whether or not Black Sabbath was evil. Danny was questioning their choice of a name, and Ed told him if he ever took Ozzy's name in vein, he'd beat his repented face into the gritty dune they were standing upon. Danny shook his head in disgust, and quietly excused himself --- to refill his empty beer chalice.

The friendly stutterer, Keith Vail, had arrived at the bottom of the stairs with his Sony Walkman firmly planted to his belt. As the headset hung from his neck, he was saying how "perfectly understandable" it was to have to "u-u-u-u-urinate after three or four b-b-beers." The moment Kevin Thornton and Jennifer Peters showed up, everyone knew that this would not be an ordinary evening at the stairs, where everyone was part of this one big dysfunctional family we had created for ourselves. It all began with a certain ex-boyfriend of Jennifer's being there, and the confrontation that ensued. Quite a bit of yelling and one punch later, Kevin Thornton was lying face down, eating sand, with a dislocated jaw. "She's mine now," the ex whispered through clenched teeth, walking off with an arm firmly around Jennifer's waist, who was once again, his.

Further down the beach, at that precise moment, Jeremy Walker had just caught a glimpse of heaven.

05.

Later that night and many beers later, Jeremy Walker, leaned over and whispered in a drunken slur:

"I was just the best looking lady you'd ever want to see."

Keith Vail squinted and looked around the immediate area, "W-w-w-where is s-s-she?" he asked. "Oh, she had to leave. Said she had to get back ---."

"Where is she from, around here someplace?"

"She didn't say. She said she would see me here again some time soon."

"At the stairs," Jeremy told Keith.

Between the end of that party and the beginning of the next, Jeremy wondered about the young woman named Jade quite frequently. He thought about some of the things that she told him, knew about him. He thought it all a bit strange that a girl he had just met could know so much about him --- but was careful not to mention it to anyone. It just wasn't that important, he told himself.

The following week, as another party at the stairs was announced . . .

"Jade," his mind reeled.

06.

"Jeremy," the wind whispered, as he stood at the top of the stairs.

He had come to Highland today, just to hang out and to think. The lake was at peace as he stared out over the calm waters. In the distance, a sailboat drifted across the liquid horizon. Carefully, Jeremy made his way down the winding stairs, as the lake rushed in to greet them. The beach was, on this day, desolate.

"Jeremy," a whisper, barely audible.

Below --- there she stood. Waiting. With open arms.

Once again, they made love as the sands burned beneath them.

She had appeared to him, shrouded in mystery. Where she came from was the unknown quotient --- and ditto for where she was going. For this moment --- (which was all Jeremy should be worrying about anyway, she warned) --- she was just there. Just there for him, as she was sure to let him know.

Only this time, as the lake caressed the shoreline and as he caressed his lover's silky skin, he fell a little more in love . . .

07.

The situation was enough to drive anyone crazy. Dig this, a winding staircase down to the beach, a young man, and his girl. This could be almost anyone --- could be you, your best friend, or perhaps one of your relatives. Maybe a neighbor, as well. The funny thing is that perhaps it is a little of each of them. You see, Jeremy Walker was looking, searching, for peace and serenity. And love. Yes, he found each one of these things, down on the beach, that romantic scene of scenes.

By the stairs . . .

Yes, friend, it was the stairs that were drawing him into his present situation. He was falling --- no, had fallen in love with an absolute angel, and the sex was --- dare I say --- heavenly. An answer to a prayer. Out of a dream. But, she was driving him fucking insane.

And still, this could be you or I. Jeremy thought of that old saying:

"Women, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." It entered his mind, much in the same manner it had entered the minds of millions of men who came before him. You, dear reader, may have been on either the giving or receiving end of this ages-old axiom. So many times, in fact, that perhaps this little Cautionary Dark Romance rings perfectly true.

Women. Can't live with 'em.

Can't live without 'em.

Except that this time things were a little different. This time it stopped being you or I. Yes, this time things were different. This time it stopped being you. Or Jeremy. Or the girl. Or anyone.

This time, instead of it being the mere mortals, it was the stairs.

08.

Quite a bit was running through Jeremy Walker's mind during those days. College was about to begin for him in less than two weeks, and hey, the summer had not been too damn bad that year, as things had turned out. In a few short days, he would be off for University, and with the rest of his life. That happy thought loomed before him like a mechanical spectre in a carnival funhouse. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, some smartass had once said. Thinking about that, Jeremy walked down the road toward the stairs. Staring out at the lake, he began to cry.

And, he continued on for quite some time.

What it had all boiled down to was this --- Jeremy Walker believed in his heart that she thought about him. He felt that way, because he had thought about her --- constantly.

An obsession, they had become.

Jade Jensen and the stairs . . .

There was something about those Goddamn stairs, although he could not quite place his finger upon what it was. Going to the stairs had evolved into daily ritual, a pilgrimage of sorts. The stairs, drawing him down, down, down. A power in the metal perhaps? No one could be sure, least of all, Jeremy Walker. Regardless, going there was now an automatic reflex --- kind of like falling in love.

There was something about that Goddamn girl Jade Jensen, as well.

Something wonderful, even beautiful, yet a bit strange. For Jeremy, and for the first time in his life, he had his own girlfriend, and was getting laid regularly, which was, at eighteen, what life was all about. In all the times he had come to the stairs, she had already been there, waiting for him. She had never mentioned where it was she called home. She told him that her last name was Jensen, but that was all. No talk about her past, her family, or her life. She had no friends, only beauty.

For a little while, none of that mattered anyway. But, little by little, it began to eat away at Jeremy's patience, feasting upon his tolerance until, one day, he could no longer stand it. That was the day that Jeremy Walker took a long walk to the edge of the world, peered over, and fell. That was also the very same day that the town elders began to whisper his name in lowered voices, and there mere mention of his name drew the word teched in the very same breath.

09.

Many months then passed, and while the seasons changed from great to bad to worse, everyone stopped going to the stairs. At least until the spring thaw. Everyone, that is, except for Jeremy Walker. Even through the dead of winter, he walked down that narrowly descending pathway through that sullen cove, and down the stirs to the frozen beachhead. The sand had given itself away in favor of its' wintery counterpart, as the water ceased to flow.

All around, a barren wasteland.

Suddenly, a stiff wind kicked up and ravaged the shore with wave upon wave of drifting snow. Membrane after membrane shifted and danced below him, as an icy voice called out his name in crystallized syllables. Far below and from somewhere distant, an animal shrieked in agonizing torment, as it began a slow-motion dance of death among the frozen ice jambs. The creeing of the beast turned Jeremy's blood to ice.

He knew then that it was going to be a very long winter.

10.

Spring came early in '83, and no one was more grateful than Jeremy Walker. It had been one helluva winter, as storms had continually ravaged the lake shore from mid-December until that following April. Four people had frozen to death, and two more succumbed to heart attacks attempting to unearth their homes from the suffocating drifts of powdery hell. Early that April, as the last of the snow was in the process of melting under the heat of the spring sun, and once again, there seemed to be hope. Out over the lake, Jeremy gazed, watching the early returning birds swooping and diving through the crack of dawn.

And, down below, standing in the snow . . .

Jade Jensen, his mind reeled.

"Jade!," he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. The sound of his voice echoed off the icy surface of the lake.

But --- she could not hear him.

She was walking up the beach.

After a moment, she turned towards the lake, and disappeared into the thin air.

Jeremy Walker felt warm and loved at the stairs, since that day in 1981, when he discovered and kept their secret, much like a magickal treasure he felt it was his duty to hoard. His father had gotten a better job, and his family had moved to Evans with the dream of a better life for the entire family.

However, 1981 seemed so long ago, so far away and distant.

It was . . .

11.

Down by the stairs, they all gathered to welcome the summer of 1984. A collection of characters had assembled themselves on that night in late May's Memorial Day weekend, in the year of Big Brother. Almost three-hundred people had turned out, as seven separate bonfires punctuated the blackened night sky. It was the stairs that brought them all together, and the stairs welcomed them, making each one of them feeling comfortably at home. It was also the stairs that had brought Jade Jensen there --- to love and be loved --- and Jeremy Walker was also in attendance --- drawn by their magnetic powers, as well.

Indeed, it was the stairs that had driven Jeremy Walker to the edge . . .

He didn't see her right away, and because of this, he traveled up the sandscape, searching.

For his love.

Down the sandscape he walked, and all the while, Jeremy was mumbling something to himself that no one could quite make out.

"My love," he whispered, but no one heard his confused utterances. No one particularly cared, either. At last, after much wandering around like a lost child, he saw. A solitary flicker, as a small fire was being tended to a short distance down the beach. In a flash, Jeremy tore off, towards the flame.

#                                                  #                                                  #

She looked at him, and saw the fury in his eyes. "Don't ever do that to me again!," he barked.

"Do what?" she asked, somewhat confused.

"You know damn well ---," he grunted, through tightened lips, which had turned blue in anger. She cut him off with a kiss, and everything was suddenly all right. Jade moaned deep in her belly, as her tongue slipped through Jeremy's parted lips, and deep into his mouth, probing. Yes, while he did have a deeply-rooted anger in his heart as he started toward her a few moments earlier, all matters such as those disappeared with a mere touch of her hand, and a kiss from her lips.

Jeremy Walker now belonged to the stairs.

As they collapsed upon the sand, Jeremy knew that he should have said something right then and there. Because Jeremy knew deep in his heart that Jade was a fixture of the beach --- of the stairs --- and like an apparition --- to see her anywhere else would be utterly impossible. But, that he would have to save for another time. Presently, the warmth of her touch was what he needed to feel whole, to feel complete, to feel like a man.

And what about her? Maybe all she needed was a deep screw on the beach . . .

He thought about that long and hard as her body lay under his.

Her body.

Maybe it was the cool night, with the brisk air washing over the shoreline.

Everything seemed so cold . . .

#                                                  #                                                  #

The next morning, as both dawn and the beach parties broke, they found Jeremy Walker. Found him in a heap up the beach a few hundred yards --- naked and babbling incoherently. Because the night before, he had one of the most evil and malignant revelations concerning the beachworld, the girl, and oh Christ help us all, the stairs. It was the stairs all along, yes it was. He had a need --- to be loved --- and the stairs were a place he could go to have that need fulfilled.

All the while it was the stairs . . .

He knew that now. Deep in his heart.

He also knew that even as he lay deep in convulsions, the over-stressed nerves and synapses of his mind short-circuiting one by one . . .

Yes, deep in his heart, he knew that it wasn't the girl, or even an over-active imagination playing tricks upon him, as he trudged down the road, down Route 5, where they all said he should go. And down the road he oozed, step by step, in an unwavering delirium, nearly in a catatonic state. Because he knew. Even as he came upon the Corners --- Route 5 and Sturgeon Point Road --- Jerusalem Corners.

Because she was at the Corners, at the top of the hill.

And the field, she was there. Rows upon rows of her friends and neighbors waited with her in a poised stronghold.

Hungering . . .

For Jeremy Walker they waited, row by row, reminiscent of a military phalanx.

She was ready for him.

For her love . . .

As the battlefield came into view, he knew. A war of sanity versus insanity awaited Jeremy Walker as he marched quietly upo the hill. Through the field he wandered, looking. Searching.

For his love . . .

Past the others he walked.

Looking for his love.

His love . . .

At last, he stopped. At his feet was a name, etched in stone. JADE JENSEN. Engraved on a marble stone, a slab.

A headstone.

Jade Jensen 1960-1976. Below, she lay, welcoming him, whispering his name with the chillingly haunting voice from beyond the grave. "Jeremy," that sound, once so settling, twisted inside his head --- a corkscrew of the dead.

"My love," he whispered, falling to his knees.

"My love," he bellowed, as the tears of despair began to flow down his gaunt cheeks. Jeremy began clawing at the earth with his bare hands. Slowly at first, then, as the tears began to blur his vision, he began pulling up large clumps of sod. Bit by bit, piece by piece. "My live," he whispered again, and proceeded with what was perhaps the most demented and vile of all acts. He, Jeremy Walker, was burrowing into the earth, to be with his love.

His love, his angel.

The feeling was so intense that he imagined her below the sixth foot of earth, feeling trapped, clawing her way to the surface, to be with him. "Love," she mewed, from deep within the grave. Yes, it was the stairs, after all, wasn't it? They had known that Jeremy would feel right at home with this girl who was once known as Jade.

After all, he did go there to be loved . . .

And the girl Jade --- she had herself walked the beach for all those years, hopelessly lost, somewhere on the astral plane --- disbelieving that it was her who had been so clumsy, so dumb, to have allowed something so fatuous to end her life.

She only wanted to have some fun . . .

They were all on the beach, toasting the heavens and puffing on their weed, when she had decided to go swimming --- and in a drunken stupor --- she had drowned.

There in the lake --- by the stairs.

Epilogue: 1999

It is now the time when another generation must come to the stairs to welcome the summer and toast the blackened skies with their alcoholic offerings and their magick weed. The lake had been creeping up closer and closer to the cliff during to the last few years, taking away their beach, claiming it all for its' own. A man, graying at the temples and crazier than a shithouse rat, wanders the shore, lost and searching for a lost love. Contemplating the waters, he begins to walk toward the wetness, toward the place where his love had gone so many years before. Where she passed from this world, and into the next.

The place --- where the man went to be loved --- and to be with his love.

Mumbling indecipherables, the man walked toward the lake and entered the water. Slowly, he waded through the cold water, away from the shore --- and away from the stairs.

To be with his love . . .

The water was now reaching his ankles, but he kept on walking. The water rose to his knees, and yet, the man kept on walking. Into the water. Deep, deep, deeper. Intermittent waves splashed up against his waist, but he kept on walking to be loved.

"Jade," he whispered, then laughed that crazy laugh of insanity. He watched the lake ripple around his chest as he kept on walking, away from the stairs.

The water lunged for his throat ---

But, the man laughed harder, and whispered "My love" to the tides, as they gurgled down his throat, suffocating him.

But, he kept right on walking . . .

To be loved --- to be with her.

There in the water, by the stairs.

"My love . . ."

Some things never change.

© 1985 and 2005 Kent Daniel Bentkowski

All right reserved. Used with permission.

Afterword - Liquid Inspiration:

The genesis of this story comes from a number of sources. In my hometown of Evans, which is about 25 miles south of Buffalo, New York USA --- there used to be this place where everyone went to party and enjoy the sunset on any number of days throughout the summer during the many years I lived there. I wrote this story when I was 23 years old, and was still learning my craft. I wanted to publish this early piece, so the reader could understand how actual real-life events play an inspirational role in both the writer's mind and in the writer's work.

There really was this set of stairs, which in order to get down to the beach, one had to trespass across adjoining private properties, always hoping to avoid detection. We got away with this for awhile because there was this guy named Russell who lived in one of these homes we had to trespass upon to get down to the beach. We partied there until things became treacherous and dangerous. A 150-foot dive off the edge of a cliff was a lawsuit waiting to happen, at least according to the people whose properties we were trespassing upon.

It was a great time of my youth, and one that I always look upon fondly.

During the Memorial Day weekend in my senior year of high school, my best-friend Robert Gemboys died in a freak swimming accident, where he drowned after being sucked down into an undertow at Allegany State Park in south Western New York. I read the eulogy at Robert's funeral, stood in the receiving line with his parents, as well as acting as one of the pallbearers. This happened only three weeks before graduation, and out of sadness and respect, I cancelled my own graduation party, and I refused to attend no one else's either. Even as I write these very words on Memorial Day 2005, which is 24 years subsequent, this remains a sad time of every year for me. Robert and I were such great friends, and I miss him terribly to this very day.

One of my other friends, her name was Diane, she had schizophrenia. Several years after I graduated high school, she committed suicide by walking out into the water, and she kept walking until she drowned. She did this during the winter, and they never found her body until the following spring. I had known Diane and her three brothers Albert, Andy, and David --- and this was another devastating loss to our circle of friends.

In 1985, when I originally wrote this short story, I was recovering from a relationship with a young woman whom I thought I would one day marry. Writing this story was therapeutic, and although her name was not Jade, I loved her and was absolutely crushed when her father would not allow me to take his daughter's hand in marriage.

We were still partying down at the stairs --- this was before it had become too dangerous to go down there --- and when I was finished writing it I took the manuscript with me down to the stairs. One night, as we had a bonfire blazing, I read the story aloud to the gathered partiers. After I was through, I received a hearty round of applause. Little did I know, at the time I was reading this, that my ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend had decided to go down to the beach.

As I got to the line "some things never change," I looked up, and saw her standing there. Somehow, this was some kind of vengeance, or closure, at the very least.

© 1985 and 2005 Kent Daniel Bentkowski

All rights reserved. Used with permission.