A quiet bubble of laughter waltzed back and forth to the surface of my thoughts. Jenny, chuckling, went on: "Yes, I did give up. Yes, I did see the disappointment in your eyes. But my pain was greater than I could ever explain to you. Your pain is dulling. Can't you feel that? Can't you feel the expectations finally lifting in your own mind, in your own life?"

"Jenny, I miss your understanding. No one gets me like you do; like you did. People expect me to be this confident, hard person but I'm not. You saw that in me but still accepted me. I can't compete in this world. My heart hurts. My heart has giant holes in it that nothing can fill. Not one person. Not one place. Not one adventure. How do I get past that? How do I stop the seeping that those holes in my heart permit? Anything painful permeates my life entirely. Anything hard weakens me entirely. But I keep going. I keep trying. I tell myself that I will prevail. But what does that mean? What is 'to prevail' in this world, specifically in my life?"

"You are already doing it. Can't you see that. Remember what Emerson wrote 'Success...To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have livedl This is to have succeeded.'"
 
By this point in the conversation,  I had grown stubborn in my sorrow. "But how does that pertain to me?'

"Let Emerson's words be your god. Then look at your life, everything around you, everything you have created whether you know it or not. Look at the people you know, the people you work with. Maybe not all of them, but some have bent for the better because of your grace. Look at your niece, nephew, just about every child you meet delights in your humor. Look at the house you currently live in. You and Krystal have transformed it from near death to pulsating with life. Look at the love you have given to the land. See the gardens growing all around the yard. Look at the professors who admired you. Look at the betrayals you have endured. Remember the breathlessness you feel every time you see beauty in anything, everything. Remember. Always remember. Keep these things in the fragile holes in your heart. I am always here. I love you but I had to go. But remember how much I smiled and laughed with you as we sat at the end of the bar together, as we sat on Airica's front porch together... watching, listening and talking."
 
"Jenny, don't go. Stay with me tonight. Stay close by."

"I am always here. But now you must go to sleep."

       The young man walked into the small park office where I and two other park workers, Ron and Shelly sat talking endlessly about not much at all. The young man requested to be registered for his campsite. I looked away from Ron and Shelly and asked for the young man's last name before really looking at him. He gave his name to me. He said, "Summerville."

     The name was easy enough to find. All the names were alphabetically listed. I scrolled to the S section and there it was, Summerville. I clicked on the name of the man standing before me. 

     It was in that moment - the few seconds it took between clicking on his name and the computer reacting with the registration screen - that I saw the dead standing before me. 

    Ron, Shelly and I often discussed the endless stream of unusual people that visited the park. After all, Taughannock Falls is listed as one out of the top ten most romantic parks in the United States. But what could the dead find romantic about life?

    I glanced up at Summerville after the mouse in my hand finished it's rapid click. He was tan, bronze, summertime tan. My eyes glanced back at the computer screen, waiting for the prompt to begin the check-in process. Clouds had rolled over the sun's brilliance in the few moments Summerville had been in the office. The computer had grown sleepy under the dulling of the shadowed sun. 

    I looked back at Summerville. "Do you know your license plate number?" I asked.  It was then I saw what the bronze tan on Summerville's face had been hiding.

   His eyes were blue, but barely. Surrounding the blue was a blood red sea. It seemed that every blood vessel in the orb of his eye had exploded, bursting forth a churning sea of blood. Beneath his eyes, a dark shadow began to grow. At first, Summerville simply looked tired. At first I didn't mind the bloody sea and dark rings, the black and blue of sleeplessness that surrounded his eyes.

    Out of the corner of my left eye I saw the computer screen flicker and then jump to the registration screen. Gratefully, I looked away from the apparent exhaustion in and around Summerville's eyes. 

    "I need the names of everyone staying on the campsite with you." I told the tired Summerville. 

    He listed one more name: Mort DuLac.  

   Summerville proceeded to read me off Mort DuLac's license plate number from a scrap of paper in his hand. He and DuLac had no pets with them. I clicked "finish" on the computer screen and handed Summerville his camping permit. 

   "You're all set then." I said as I looked once again into Summerville's blood burst eyes.

   He stared back, hard and purposefully. The darkness surrounding his eyes began to rise like a moonless night. I tried to look away from the crimson tide that overwhelmed the white of his eyes. I couldn't. His stare wrapped my eyes in a boa-constrictor grip. I tried to blink...the blood and night drew me in, sucking the breath out of my lungs. Summerville's eyes began to sink deeper into his face. His skin drew tight over his cheeks and jaw bone. I swallowed the bitter taste that had settled on my tongue. 
   
    Summerville began to speak.

    "We've come for you. You won't know when it will happen, but we've come." As he said this, as I heard this, his lips never moved.

    I tried to open my mouth. I tried to ask him what he had just said but my lips wouldn't part to let any sound out. My eyes remained transfixed by the death standing before me. 

    Summerville turned and left the office. 

    I blinked and breathed again. I looked to Ron and Shelly who remained sitting in their chairs. I tried to ask them if they saw. I tried to ask them if they heard. 

    All that came out of my mouth was, "I don't know when, but the time is gonna come...."