Swamp Life After Death

Calhoun Mane lay on the roof of the wheelhouse of the large shrimp troller. He stared into the midnight sky as the stars blurred and lost their twinkle. The handful of pain pills in his gut had taken hold, plunging him into a medicated coma. Death was no new possibility for him. Three days in the southernmost swamps had already presented plenty of risk. When he finally fell into a deep, restful state, visions of the days reeled through his subconsciousness. 

The boat ride across the broad bay waters led Micha, Dean, and Calhoun down a slip where the troller remained anchored for shrimp season. The young men planned to make a killing. Once on deck, Micha started organizing while Dean and Calhoun unloaded supplies. The three of them shoveled ice into the refrigerated ice hold, jokingly throwing ice cubes at one another. After preparing for the evening tide, Micha suggested they sleep for a while beforehand.

When Micha woke hours later, he found Dean and Calhoun wasted on psilocybin tea. They had spent hours collecting mushrooms from a cow pasture near Dean’s home. They coaxed Micha into drinking from a half-full gallon jug. He took a few sips, and Calhoun teased him to take a man-sized swig. He did without hesitation. Calhoun hollered into the heat-filled air, saying, “I’m higher than you, puffy purple clouds.” He looked around, and everything took on a purple haze.  

Calhoun’s vision shifted to him speeding behind Micha’s eighteen-foot flatboat on a kneeboard. After steering too fast around a bend in the slip, a hidden oyster bed nearly shredded him. He landed with a foot and a half from the sharp-edged shells. They knew their horseplay while high on mushrooms had too much potential for harm, so they quit. Upon returning to the troller, a missteer caused Micha to tangle the troller’s anchor in the flatboat's propeller wheel. The tension made raising the outboard motor from the water impossible, so Calhoun dove into the water to cut the anchor loose. Dean had tied a new line and anchor and plunged them into the depths. 

When Calhoun finished the entanglement, he swam to the flatboat, climbed in, and knocked the kneeboard overboard. It quickly floated toward the dangers of the Gulf of Mexico’s full-force swells. Micha told Calhoun to hold on tight and drove straight into a twelve-foot wave, then another, then another. The boat became increasingly difficult to steer, and Micha made a risky maneuver to head back. Calhoun flew into the air on the descent from each wave’s height. On the last descent, he landed half over the side of the flatboat and grabbed the kneeboard from the swirling water. 

Calhoun woke to the sun’s rays, his sore eyes stinging. Puke covered his torso. He had survived a nightmarish experience in which his suicidal tendencies had put Dean’s and Micha’s lives at risk. Calhoun never tried to kill himself again while in the company of friends.

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