I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t find him. I was nearing hysteria. Sundance was barking. The boat went down, the suction pulling on the raft, and I paddled back, still screaming his name, but he was gone. The rain pounded down, the lighting highlighting that I was alone, in a raft, on the ocean, Marco under the water, dying if not dead.

In the distance, I could see two boats, speeding straight for me. Marco had sent out a Mayday signal. I took off my life jacket and dove off the raft as soon as the suction stopped, searching for Marco. I came up for air, the waves slamming against me, but no Marco. He had had a life jacket on, too. Where was he? Why wasn’t he bobbing to the surface? Was he stuck, pinned somehow? I dove down again and again, telling myself to be calm, to find Marco. The two boats arrived, and the people hauled me out of the water with a life ring, then grabbed the lifeboat with Sundance barking in it.

Marco was gone.

In my premonition I see myself on my knees, keening, sobbing, shaking in the dark on the rescue boat, my despair endless. I want to jump in the water and be with him, drown myself, go where he has gone.

And that was why I could not be with Marco.

It was his destiny to die on his boat if I was with him.

My problem with the premonition is that I could not exactly remember what either of us was wearing. It was dark. It was raining. We were wet. I couldn’t tell. Also, I think I was so terrified when that particular premonition hit, like a rock to my face, that our clothing didn’t penetrate.

Boating was part of Marco’s life. He loved it. He would want, he would need, someone who loved it, too. If I am not with Marco, if I am never on his boat with him, he will live. Now one could say that we could make a rule that we will never sail together, but it’s not good enough. It’s one mistake, it’s letting down our guard one time, and he dies.