He Would Not Take Off His Sunglasses -- Andrew Nimitz

He would not take off his sunglasses.   Actually, I was unsure if he even heard me.    Though the wind was brisk, the sun was piercing and loud, as it was a cloudless noon.   I had seen him lying there earlier this morn, but only from a distance – only a figure, not a face.

The guy was tan, but soon would be burnt if he did not get up soon.   He was on his back, with his arms conveniently to his sides.   Funny that not much sand was on his feet, and funnier that no sandals or shoes were to be found.   Some windswept sand was on his chest, and in his goatee.   That would irritate and itch me – I hate feeling ‘odd things’ on my face – a fly, a piece of a leaf, a smudge of lipstick from Sarai.

I picked up a bit of seashell between my toes and tossed it at him – it bounced off his stomach.  He did not flinch or anything.  I edged closer and kneeled.   I did not want to wake him and get sucker-punched, so I gently poked his shoulder, “Dude, wake up. “ 

Again he did not move; I prodded his arm, which upon touch, was not relaxed, but stiff – like a Macy’s manikin.   I scuttled backward in the sand, realizing he was dead – a corpse.    I could hear the roll of the incoming waves, but my mind was numb.   Dead, a dead body – not long dead, but like this morning dead!

I stared at him, but not at him – like looking at a bird but only seeing the branch it’s on.  No had seen him all morning?  Just lying there?  How did he get here?  He was not old, so a heart attack did not seem likely.

I was paralyzed – I was afraid to be here if someone came, but I could not run.   I wondered how he died, but was too mortified to touch him again, to see a knife wound, or blood, or a bullet hole, or a rope burn round his neck.

Someone was down the beach, coming this way:  someone jogging or running.   What would I say?  “Hey, I found this dead body here.”  “Do you know who this is?”  The only signs in the sand were my own foot prints.   Christ, I did not kill anyone, and now I’m going to be a suspect! 

What can I do?  If I run, they can track me; if I stay, the police will be on me like crazy.   What killed him?  Maybe he had an aneurism or something natural.   I can’t risk it.

The water was not that warm yet, but I had no choice – I made for the water.

The foaming saltwater slapped me as I rushed in.   I felt bewildered and surreal as I fell into the water, gasping from its chill, but at least getting away from the body.

How far out should I swim?  I don’t want to end up like him, lifeless and nameless.   But I can’t let the jogger see me!   I managed to get to deep enough to submerge myself, with only my head bobbing up between undulating waves.

Had the jogger seen me?  Was I trapped and doomed?     

I treaded water and watched – hoping to see without being seen.   The jogger was nearing it, nearing the body, nearing him.   The jogger slowed near the body, but did not stop.  Finally, with the jogger out of sight, and with my arms and legs tiring, I made my way to shore, but away from it.