Bake-Kujira

Jim and his wife needed the vacation. His job has gotten rough lately. Instead of promoting him, the company had gone with an outside hire, and then the new boss had ordered him around incessantly. His wife, Betty had her own problems at work as well, as she was recently let go. Thankfully they had saved a decent bit and decided to take a vacation to San Francisco, which they always heard was beautiful. 

The whale watching was excellent.

So far, almost all of the tourist sites had been a dud. The golden gate bridge was impressive to be sure, but bad weather combined with a local wildfire meant that they could barely see any of it. Alcatraz was his second favorite highlight but he ended up sort of bored by the end and fisherman’s wharf felt like a shitty outdoor mall.

But the whale watching made it all worth it. There were whales back home, sure, but something about this experience felt special. They went on the last boat out, so the sun was quickly setting and the black waves against the amber sky, rendered reflective and opaque by that same wildfire, made for a beautiful, if deeply tragic horizon. The whales were, to put it in the terms their guide used “playing ball” tonight so he managed to glimpse at least 4 possibly 5, if you count something he swore up and down that he saw just beneath the boat. In short, it was wonderful and he enjoyed every second of it.

As Jim and Betty boarded their flight back home at SFO he reflected on what he thought of as a very middling summer vacation and he began to seriously consider what they might do next summer, or this winter to make up for it. Just as the plane took off from SFO, while they hovered not too far above the San Francisco Bay he thought, again, that he might’ve seen something vaguely whale shaped in the water below the plane. The illusion faded quickly, and soon he dreamt of fur-like bone inside the mouth of a massive skeleton. 

--

The trouble began in earnest, as they were exiting the plane back in Britain, on the last leg of their journey home. While trying to exit the plane, he rammed his foot, hard into the metal piece holding a seat down. He winced, bracing for the familiar pain that comes with a stubbed big toe, but was surprised to find that none came. He was confused, but also very tired, so by the time he was picking up his suitcase at baggage claim the thought had left him. 

After arriving home, he entered their room, his wife close behind him, both holding luggage. He plopped down in a reading chair they had in the corner, dropping his luggage beside the chair, his wife mirrored him, instead landing on the bedside. It was then that he began taking off his shoes, muttering something to his wife about desperately needing a good foot massage, and mid sentence he screamed in surprise. His left big toe was missing.There was no scar, no pain, no sign that it had once been there, it was as though it had just healed over and gone.