Denial

Logan had just gotten a haircut that morning. He’d called his friend Aisha and made plans to meet her for lunch next week. He’d bought his dog a new leash and collar and told Aisha he was going to take the dog for more walks to get them both in better shape. Three days later he washed up on the shore of Lake Michigan with no signs of foul play, his death eventually ruled accidental. He’d been drunk, maybe he fell in, it happened all the time. Aisha kept his dog, attended his memorial, and wept with his family at the seemingly pointless way of things, and life in the city went on. Only the man who read about it in on the Chicago Tribune website a week later knew the truth, scowling as he put his keys in his pocket and went out for another night on the town.

As he passed bar after bar, the streetlights making the night feel like day, he puzzled over whether or not he could count this “Logan” as the first. It felt a bit hollow, a bit unfinished. It certainly hadn’t felt like he was sure the first one would have felt. He had envisioned everything about the night, right down to the Nirvana t-shirt he had worn, the one with the smiley face, but that was the only thing that had gone as planned. He was supposed to have persuaded the guy to get in his car, taken him to Osterman Beach and filleted him like a fresh caught trout before he dumped him into Lake Michigan as fish food, but this “Logan” had ruined the whole thing with his $200 haircut and his problems and his secrets. This “Logan” who had denied him his relief.

He pulled his freshly detailed car up to the curb outside of The Green Mill, tried to calm his racing heart, and let his eyes scan the crowd for the loner, the person no one would miss right away. The man with just the right amount of stumble to his gait that signaled he had drank more than he planned and now needed a ride home to sleep it off. This is where it had all gone wrong with that “Logan.” He should have sensed the air of hopelessness about his prey, but instead he had rolled down his window, offered the man in the clean khakis a ride, “You’ll wait awhile for an Uber, dude, might as well hop in and I’ll drive you for less,” he had told Logan. And Logan had taken the bait. He’d collapsed into the back seat, but then instead of an address, he’d asked to be taken to The Belmont Rocks.

“What do you want to go there for at this time of night? Come on, man, let me take you home,” he had kindly told Logan. “No charge. You just seem like you could use a good night’s rest.”

“I could use a lot of things, but advice from a guy making his living driving a knock-off Uber isn’t one of them. I want to go to the rocks. I want to see the water. I want to remember.”

So he’d driven him to the lake shore. It was the plan anyway, right? So what if the guy was going there willingly instead of demanding to know where he was being taken? He was still in control. He was still the only one who knew the ending, so he’d taken Logan to the rocks. He’d followed him as he’d gotten out of the car and weaved his way to the limestone wall that lined the lake shore. He’d watched as Logan watched the water, pulled at his hair, and cried out in an agony that came from some ancient place in his DNA, and he’d felt compelled to know where this grief originated. He wanted to know if he’d be doing his victim a favor rather than robbing him of something precious.

“Hey, man, do you want to talk about it? Come away from the rocks, I’m afraid you’ll fall in. Maybe it would help to talk to someone, especially a stranger, you know? Leave it with someone who doesn’t even know ya. Then I’ll take you home. Just step back and let’s talk.”

Logan had backed up a few feet, run his fingers through that too perfect hair again, and had said in almost a whisper, “It’s all a lie. It’s all been a lie.”

The city lights stood at a distance as if waiting to be invited to the conversation, the moon  hung low and tried to pull at the lake that refused to be guided by gravity, a star or two did its best to compete against the ingenuity of man, and the driver felt his fingers twitch at the thought of the knife in his pocket. He prompted his prey, “What’s a lie?”

“All of it!” Logan yelled as the water hit the rocks with a surprising force. “My whole life! These pressed clothes, my high-rise condo! The whole fucking thing! This place! This place is the only truth. The only place where I can feel free.”

“The rocks? Why here, man? What’s here for you but crumbling limestone and pollution?”

“They used to come here when they had no where else to go. People like me. They came here because it’s where they could be a part of something. I don’t know that I’m a part of anything! No one knows who I am! It’s supposed to be ok now, you know? It’s supposed to be accepted! But here I am with a job and a dog and friends, and the risk of losing everything if I tell anyone. I’d rather sacrifice myself to the ghosts than keep on this way!”

“Ah, I see. In the closet, huh? Why? No one cares anymore, right? They even have that rainbow shit at Target now. They have that show with the five dudes who make people pretty. It’s all good, my man.” Why was he trying to talk this guy down? Why did he genuinely want him to feel ok with who he was? He came here to cut him open and count the rings of his life, not to teach him self love, but he knew what it was to live with secrets and he knew what it took to quiet them and keep them hidden. Mostly he wanted the guy to not want to die so the killing would satisfy the need to take something someone dearly wanted to keep.

“You don’t understand. No one understands! I tried! I tried to tell Aisha. I tried to tell my mom, but they both brushed it away. They told me I just needed to meet the right girl. There was a partner at my firm who came out two months ago. They finally found a reason to let him go last week. It’s not as easy as you think! It’s not easy at all.”

With that Logan slumped to the ground. His shoulders heaved as the lake soaked into his creases and the breeze ruffled his hair. “The people who came here were braver than I can ever be. Too many of them paid the ultimate price.”
“So this is how you honor them? By giving up? By throwing yourself into a watery grave? This is how you remember the ones who gave everything and were left to waste away? This is how you honor your past? Man, I think maybe you’re better than that. I think you came here to let the ghosts guide you. Not to join them, but to be joined to them. But what do I know? I’m just a knock-off Uber driver in a vintage Nirvana shirt.”

Logan gave a shadow of a smile, “Vintage? I saw that same shirt at Target last week, right next to the rainbow shit, as you call it.”

Logan walked onto the rocks and stared out at the darkness waiting to swallow him whole. He exhaled the last of the whiskey he’d drank an hour earlier, and said, “You know, I flirted with a very nice man tonight. I just bought my dog a new leash.” He was silent for a few crashes of the tide.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was fate that put me in your car tonight. Maybe… maybe I can find a way to stop pretending. If not, I guess this place will still be here next week. Take me home. Please.” He turned to face the driver only to be met with moonlight reflecting off a blade just inches from his face.

“What the… Why??”

“I’m sorry, man, really. It’s not you. In fact, I thought about just taking you home, but it has to be tonight, see? It was supposed to be tonight. But, this has nothing to do with who you are, really. I’m a lotta things, but I’m not a bigot. It just had to be tonight. It has to be now. I’ve waited too long. I’m really sorry.”

“Then why didn’t you just let me kill myself? Why talk me out of it?”

“It has to be me who decides! It has to be me who does the killing!”

The driver slammed his hand against the steering wheel as he continued to scan the crowd outside of The Green Mile. He came back here because it was where it had all gone wrong last time. This is where he needed to be to make it right. All because of Mr. Perfect. All because that “Logan’s” foot had slipped on the damn wet limestone right before the knife had found his flesh and he fell as if in slow motion into the waves of Lake Michigan. He’d screamed for help. He’d flailed and fought the tide, but eventually it won. The driver had just stood there, watching. Hadn’t reached out a hand, hadn’t called for help, hadn’t grabbed his cell and dialed 911. Just watched as the body of his first victim was battered against the rocks, his $200 haircut turning into pulp, and puzzled over whether or not it counted. Were you a killer if all you did was let a person die? That was still what bothered him as he sat watching the last of the patrons stream out of the bar. Would this be number one or number two? He brushed a piece of lint from his new t-shirt, scanned the crowd, and vowed that this time he wouldn’t let some sad sack control the evening. This time he would be the one to do the talking and the taking. This time he would be the one to decide who lives or dies.

He rolled down his window, “You’ll wait awhile for an Uber, dude, might as well hop in and I’ll drive you for less,” he said to the man with less than perfect hair. And to his delight, the man crawled in, gave him an address, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. The driver put the car in gear, smiled, and drove east with his offering to the lake.

Published in the 2023 edition of the Elgin Community College Spire literary magazine