Many of the Pa’li have never set foot on solid land. And yet they have seen more of the world than almost any land dweller. Their city atop the waves never stops moving. It consists of many enormous bipyramids made from an alloy - the bottom pyramids, called the lii, extend down beneath the waves, while the top halves, the paa, tower into the sky, the widest part keeping the shape upright and stable. The unit as a whole is called the aal. A hydraulic chute at the center of each aal passengers up and down to different levels - a more reliable method than stairs due to the motion of the water. The paa are translucent, and that is where the Pa’li have their common area: markets, meeting places, businesses. Lush hydroponic gardens. The lii are opaque with windows, and those are where the Pa’li have their private residences. The natural light that reaches there is filtered by the water, and it is dark and quiet. Pa’li regard their personal living spaces as places of calm and rest. They may keep a small stash of drinking water and dry snacks, but most meals are taken above the waterline. Pa’li architecture contains very few completely flat surfaces. The motion of the waves, rather than being prevented, is instead accommodated. Floors are rippled and ridged, with intricate patterns that help to stabilize people and objects. Pa’li clothes many pockets with drawstring closures, and they tend to accessorize with belts and sashes for more storage capacity. Seating is similar to what land dwellers would call bean bag chairs, and beds are similar to their hammocks. Cooked food is mostly eaten out of cone-shaped containers, either with the hands or with the mouth directly. Fruits are eaten whole, peel and all, only the pita saved and taken to the hydroponic gardens. The most popular Pa’li dish is cubed fish and seaweed, cooked and tossed with small pieces of fresh seasonal fruit. The Pa’li are of course excellent swimmers, and all forms of sport involve the water (it is considered bad manners to run around inside the aal). Individuals travel by means of stand-up paddle boards. Groups travel on rafts, which may or may not be covered. There is never a particular hurry to get anywhere; the main motivator is the weather, and the Pa’li are skilled enough at meteorological forecasting to make their movements well in advance. Electricity is obtained from solar panels on the paa and from hydropower rotors at the bottom of the lii. Communication between aal’ is sent via messenger drones that also serve to monitor the surrounding area for weather phenomena and potential threats. The Pa’li have a rich written tradition, for which they use a paper made from papyrus and seaweed. Their stories center around the values of community, patience, and creativity. The main hub of every aal is the level just above the waterline. This is the widest common area, and it is where performances and special events are held. It can hold every resident of its aal in addition to some visitors from other aal’. In Pa’li performances, the performers take the center of the room, rather than one end, so that they can easily be seen by everyone present. The school curriculum covers biology, math (geometry and trigonometry in particular), history, technology, and the arts. As adults, most Pa’li choose to specialize in gardening, fishing, building, design, tech, or a type of performance. Others may choose to become teachers or parents. Parents are not expected to take jobs outside of child rearing, though many continue their work when their children are older. Some Pa’li believe that the world is made up of one giant round ocean surrounded by a rim of barren land. This stems from the main religion’s myth that at the bottom of the sea lies an endless maw, breathing in and out, and all life and the water come from its breath. One day it will breathe in again and all life and water will dwindle into it again, then be cycled back out eventually.

If I’d known it was going to be the last night of my life, I would have eaten more cake. And I would have worn something nicer, or maybe more comfortable. No, definitely something nicer. Instead, because I wasn’t that close to Alyssa and her boyfriend and because I didn’t have a date or expect to get chatted up, I picked a basic skater swing dress from about 2014. Floral print. And flats. My plan was to get drunk and maybe do a line dance or two (unless Alyssa was too cool for line dances). I did get drunk. If there was line dancing, I certainly wasn’t part of it, because I had gone to the bathroom to release some of the gin and tonic filling my bladder and ended up dying before I even got to pee. That’s the last thing I remember from the wedding. Before that, there was cake, which I remember thinking should have tasted better for how expensive it looked, and dry, under seasoned chicken, and the desperate feeling of wanting to be drunk but not being there yet. Cate was at my table, but I didn’t know anyone else, and that made me drink faster. The next thing I remember after the bathroom incident is the jerking sensation of falling in your sleep and twitching yourself awake. Except I wasn’t in my bed, or anyone’s bed, or even horizontal at all. In fact I wasn’t touching anything at all. I was floating kind of diagonally a few feet off the floor. My first thought that was that a) it was now morning and b) I was still drunk after blacking out at the wedding. Oh, I blacked out all right. But in the losing-my-life, not the losing-my-consciousness sort of way. Flailing around and not being able to make my fingers touch anything solid was the most terrifying thing I’d ever experienced. Without being on any mind-altering substances, I mean. I started panicking, which usually leads to me hyperventilating - except then I noticed there was none of that happening. Actually, I wasn’t breathing at all. Also very terrifying. It’s weird to have what should be an anxiety attack, but not to be able to gasp for air, or to feel the rushing of blood in my head, or to see spots in front of my eyes. There was only the terror, no physical sensation attached to it. It was not nearly as comforting as I would have thought. Mostly because I couldn’t seem to feel physical sensation of any kind. The straps of my dress had been digging into my shoulders at the wedding (fair enough, since it was almost ten years old) and my feet had been in agony from the total lack of arch support offered by the flats - the dress and flats were still, by appearances, on my body, but I could not feel them. Or move them with my fingers. I was stuck there in floating limbo for probably several hours. That was how long it took me to figure out that I was way too lucid to be drunk, and also how to move myself back to the floor (which I couldn’t feel under my feet, but I definitely felt more comfortable having it look like I was standing and walking). My new method of propelling myself around involved staring with what felt like bulging eyes at a fixed spot and intoning “gooooo” until I moved toward that spot. I can’t think about how I can talk even though I can’t breathe. It hurts my brain too much. Or at least makes me feel like my brain should hurt, which amounts to basically the same thing. Here’s where I’m at now. I’m out in the street. The busy street. People are walking right through me. I’m near the fancy old mansion where the wedding was held. And I’m pondering the facts: Last night, I went to my co-worker Alyssa’s wedding. I was definitely alive when I went to said wedding. And now I am definitely not alive. Which means someone at Alyssa’s wedding murdered me.

If watching cartoons has taught me anything, it’s that there is really no reason to ever leave my bed. I mean, except to go to the bathroom and get food. I guess I could get a mini fridge. And a bedpan. Or a urinary catheter. Okay, so maybe this life lesson isn’t turning me into Gandhi or anything. But here’s the thing: no matter what time you wake up in the morning, there will be cartoons on. And with a little judicious channel switching, those cartoons can last you all the way to bedtime. And the other thing cartoons have taught me is that there’s really no reason to ever think about your own life. Really. Between Bugs Bunny, Bikini Bottom, and Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup, my brain has plenty of material to keep itself engaged and entertained without spending a single second on anything that might upset it. Some people would say this is an extremely poor coping mechanism. That you can’t spend life lying around watching cartoons and never making anything of yourself. That you have to face up to your problems, do the work, see a therapist, walk 10,000 steps a day, eat kale, and… I don’t know, do something every day that scares you. I say they’re not watching enough cartoons.