2016 ended badly for Allan Dowdy. His best friend, lover, and roommate of thirty years passed away between Festivus Night and New Year's Eve. Had it not been for his beloved son August, Allan would have been quite content to lock himself in the coffin and never see the moon again.
But August was still very much young and helpless and Allan knew he had responsibilities to the boy. In early January August and his father celebrated his third birthday. That was about all Allan felt he could handle.
So many questions. So much worry. "Am I being a good dad? When will losing her stop hurting? Why haven't they found the cure for cancer yet? Why is there mustard down there? Why am I not doing this in my own bathroom?" So many dreams assailed his slumber as well.
One recurring dream was of the hot summer day he flipped off some African honey bees. The ensuing carnage was unspeakable and the wounds took weeks to heal. Even now, in the silent immensity of winter's chill, he could still hear the terrifying droning in his sleep.
Cop chases, bloodthirsty guard dogs, and getaway cars that died on the road - it all made for a pretty stressful job scene. Not to mention having a crew boss that would sell you out for pocket change. There were times Allan would be in his coffin, fast asleep, only to wake up naked before a strange mirror in a bathroom with no idea how he'd gotten there.
It was all too much to bear sometimes. Were it not for his boy and for the wild waves, life would be an endless misery for him. Early one cloudy morning, Allan left August with a trusted neighbour and went for a ride on the water. Shredding the swells made him feel good. He knew he'd make it.