Dearly Departing

of them in the next room. Probably. They were all middle-aged men. Little work gangs like that tended to act immaturely and inappropriately away from the job.
Ray pounded on the bathroom door. “You out of the shower yet?”
Dooley hollered back. “Why? You want to check my ass out again?”
The razzing never stopped. It was one of the only small things left in life he still enjoyed. “Think I left that shirt I want to wear tonight on the towel rack. Can you see it?”
The shower stopped running. He could hear Dooley swearing on the other side of the door as he climbed out. “This puffy red thing? You really going to wear it out in public?”
“Easy now, it’s slimming.”
“Maybe I should put it on.”
“You’d have to remove the buttons.”
“Go fuck yourself. Grab a beer from the fridge and wait out on the deck. It’ll take me a few minutes to blow-dry this wonderful mane of mine.”
Ray did just that. He took a can of Presidente outside and cracked the tab back. Cold spray hit his bare chest. He caught the rest between his lips and drank half the beer down. He belched as quietly as he could and leaned against the balcony rail. Ray looked to either side, hoping none of his neighbours had heard. No one was outside with him. The room Fitzy and Riese were staying in was dark. They had obviously headed down to the buffet for dinner without them.
Sixty minutes ago, I was preparing to commit suicide. Now I’m worried somebody might have heard me burp.
He could hear the ocean waves rolling up onto the beach beyond the palm trees. It was too dark to see anything beyond the dim blue lighting of the swimming pools below, but Ray still imagined the black thing was out there in the water. Maybe it had already washed ashore and started clawing its way up the sand. Perhaps it had risen on its black-husk legs and was lurching towards the hotel, twitching and jumping along like all the other stumblers.
Does it even have legs?
It was one of many questions Ray had asked himself over the years. Did the black thing have legs? Did it have feet and toes? Did it have arms, fingers, and kidneys? Did it have a heart? Ray shivered. Would it have claimed him if he’d breathed out and breathed in again under the water?
Perhaps ending his life in the ocean had been a bad idea. Ray wasn’t a religious man—he didn’t know if there was a heaven and a hell. He didn’t have a clue where he’d end up after ending everything. But Ray had a good idea who—or what—would be waiting for him on the other side.
Life had lost all meaning. The afterlife didn’t appear any more promising. He swallowed the rest of his beer and heard the deck door slide open behind him.
Dooley tossed the red shirt over his head. “It’s all yours. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the thing.”
Caught dead, Ray thought. That’s almost how you found me an hour ago.
He slipped his long arms into the sleeves and watched his friend open two more cans of beer. Dooley sunk into one of the two plastic balcony chairs. “You looking forward to going home tomorrow?”
Ray shrugged and took one of the cans. “Here. There. What difference does it make?”
Dooley narrowed his eyes and pointed to his can of beer. Ray knew what this meant. It was a chugging challenge. Both men tilted their heads back at the same time and started drinking. Dooley slammed his empty can onto the table and belched loudly before Ray was even half finished. Ray never won the chugging challenge.
“What difference does it make.” Dooley repeated the words as he wiped foam away from his chin. “That’s an odd way of answering the question. Most people would start bitching about their jobs, or how goddamn cold it’s going to be when they get back. Not you, though.”
Ray put his can down less forcefully, his second burp as muted as the first. “The job is what it is, and we can’t do a thing about the long winters. Why complain about it?”
“Because that’s what folks do, Ray. They whine and bitch all day long. They go on warm vacations, they get shit-faced and live life. But not you. You’re just the same old Ray wherever you are.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Dooley went back inside and emptied the beer fridge. He plunked four more Presidentes onto the table. “I want you to have a good time. I want you to get drunk with me tonight, enjoy the hell out of your birthday, and board that plane tomorrow puking sick.”
“You know I’m not that big of a big drinker.”
“Can you at least try and have some fun tonight?” He pushed one of the beers towards Ray.
Ray opened it and took a few sips. They sat for the next few minutes, sipping and making small talk. Finally, Dooley asked. “What was that all about in the ocean? Are you okay? Do you maybe need to talk to someone when we get home?”
“I’m okay.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, buddy. When I lost Amanda... well I was pretty messed up for a long time.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re always saying things like that. I’m fine, I’m okay. It’s all right to admit when things aren’t all that rosy. There’s nothing wrong with reaching out and finding help.”
Ray finished the last beer on the table. “Okay, I get the point. I do have a problem.”
Dooley looked at him expectantly. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve just had four beers in under twenty minutes. I think I’m going to have to piss over the railing, because the bathroom’s just too far away.”
Dooley grinned. “Asshole.”
Ray and Dooley found their friends