before beach

There is an entire country named Before, yet almost no one knows they’re living there. Ironic, considering the generous amount of residents. People come here by accident. It only takes a small part of you to believe you are safe; doubt is a failed unanimous decision. Everyone eventually leaves.

Assimilation isn’t complicated because maintenance requires ignorance. Learning how to prevent emergencies before learning how to recognize them. Operating on the assumption that nothing happening is the same as being okay.

The language spoken here is peculiar, but fluency develops before you know it. There are too many words in use because everything still needs explaining. We speak with a melody of certainties, harmonizing with specifics and incessant murmur.

The geography of Before is strange—days disappear into routine, nights expand into possibilities. Uncharted simply out of a lack of reason. I wonder how many people get lost simply because nothing ever required them to pay attention. Even the speed of light outruns what needs noticing. Some things happen too slowly to illuminate what they are becoming.

Time moves differently here. Like water, a little goes unnoticed. We celebrate holidays such as Next Year, Someday, The Weekend and Tomorrow—important only to those who believe they will arrive unchanged. No need for goodbyes because you’re staying. All residents are expected to express ongoing gratitude for a life they have yet to imagine losing.

In Before, information is the same as understanding. They offer it freely, so be sure to soak it all in. It will fortify your understanding of existence and reassure you that nothing is missing. Preparation is an unnecessary task, the sole requirement for citizenship is existence, and the answer to all succeeding questions is that there will be time.

So long as you are not an immediate concern, they leave you in Before, unmarked. Immediate—what an interesting word. It measures minutes, maybe hours, yet says nothing about how long a warning can go unheard. Nothing of the quiet waiting at the departure gate where everyone equates your safety with the plane’s never having taken off.

I wish the knowing wasn't contagious.

The plan was always to stay. Right here in Before. But after my recent immigration to After, I wonder if Before is even safe for me. I’ve mistaken the customs for guarantees and memorized a language that has no words for what comes next, with the illusion that every arrival guarantees a beginning.

Which is why it’s impolite to investigate departure. Instead, ask what they thought would never happen. Ask what they believed would always be there. And notice how cruel it would be to ask to stay amid it all.