[ WP ] It had been 12 years since your high school girlfriend suddenly died . Today , on vacation , you bump into her .

Had it not been for the hangover, I wouldn ’ t have noticed her. It was at some local dive, in Cartagena, in July. I sat outside, sipping water in the enveloping heat, a heat which seemed to pierce straight through the awning and roast my insides. I had three glasses of water and alternated looking through each, trying to distill the world into something less headache-inducing. I saw someone with a mustache, and a straw hat, and a loose-fitting button-down shirt ( Hawaiian-print, no less ), with skin was so goddamned bright in the light - like made of mirrors - I pulled my head up from the table just to shout at that someone to get a tan. At least, I was about to, but when I looked up I noticed that someone ’ s mustache was crooked - comically so - and then my head really started to swirl. 
 
 
 “ Liz? ”, I muttered. I felt as confused as a kangaroo set out on a frozen lake. 
 
 
 She - clearly she I could recognize those eyes from anywhere - pulled a German-language newspaper in front of her face. I kept staring for several minutes, ignoring the many-legged mass of ceviche that had summoned itself to my table. 
 
 
 “ Liz? ”, I said, even quieter, which - strangely enough - was what got her attention. She replied in German, but then waved me over. I grabbed my ceviche and two of the three glasses of water. 
 
 
 “ What the hell is going on? You were. ” 
 
 
 She lowered the newspaper, her already askew moustache becoming even more askew as she spoke. 
 
 
 “ Dead? ” 
 
 
 “ Yeah? What? I have no - Liz what - I can ’ t. You ’ re alive? I am asleep? I am way too hungover for this. ” 
 
 
 “ Aren ’ t we all, Al, aren ’ t we all? And keep your voice down! Do you know any German? Can you speak to me in German? Ah, it doesn ’ t matter. I don ’ t think this place is planted; I haven ’ t been here before. It would just be a shot in the dark for them. ” 
 
 
 “ You died. Twelve years ago. I was devastated, Liz. ” 
 
 
 “ Were you, though? ”, she said, raising an eyebrow. 
 
 
 “ Yes! ” 
 
 
 “ Well, actually, Al, I know you were. I saw you at the funeral. You looked pretty beat up. ” 
 
 
 “ You attended your own funeral? ” 
 
 
 “ Wouldn ’ t you, given the chance? ” 
 
 
 I felt like throwing up, but more of a throwing up of my whole body, which I imaged would look like a sea cucumber stepped on by a boot. I couldn ’ t eat, I couldn ’ t think, I just watch those long-lost eyes flit back and forth between my face and the surroundings. 
 
 
 “ Al, walk with me. ” 
 
 
 I stood, automatically. 
 
 
 “ Am I dreaming? ” 
 
 
 We followed the side-street to its terminus at a major road, one where she talked a little more openly in the din of early afternoon. 
 
 
 “ Alice, you ’ re really down the rabbit hole now, you know. Ha! You really think I died in a jet-ski accident? And that my body was so badly-damaged that they couldn ’ t go open-casket, like my parents would have wanted. ” 
 
 
 “ They told me you looked like a crash-test dummy that had been filled with ground beef. ” 
 
 
 “ I told them to tell you that, Al. I thought you ’ d think it was funny. I mean, it is, right? ” 
 
 
 “ Why would you do that? That ’ s not funny? ” 
 
 
 “ Al, humor is the only thing that keeps me going. Also, you need to call me Eugene Steinereiner when we ’ re in public. And why didn ’ t you tell me my moustache was crooked?! Christ, Al, you need to pay more attention. But that ’ s all beside the point. Are you aware of the textbook definition of an amphibian vis-a-vis a reptile? Really, Al - this is important. ” 
 
 
 “ Is this a joke? ” 
 
 
 I grabbed her hand and she whipped her head back at me. 
 
 
 “ There are no jokes! Not anymore! I mean, there certainly are jokes, Al, I didn ’ t mean to say it so absolutely. There are jokes - but not this! Amphibians, Al! ” 
 
 
 “ What, why? ” 
 
 
 I followed Liz to a run-down hotel, *Paraiso Perdido*. She beckoned me up the rundown stairway, passing a concierge wearing a coconut-white three-piece suit, who she addressed in German and broken Spanish. Before she opened the door to her room, she turned back to me, wild-eyed. 
 
 
 “ Al, I ’ m going to need you to promise me something before I tell you. At this point, you already know I ’ m alive and not a broken-up bag of hamburger meat, so I can ’ t have you going back state side without a little debriefing. And then - you know - your life definitely will get weird afterwards. But hell, everyone ’ s lives are a little weird, and you were always want for adventure, right? ” 
 
 
 “ Liz, what are you talking about? ” 
 
 
 “ Al, it ’ s not lizard-people. It ’ s frog-people. They had it wrong the whole time. Global warming, rising sea levels? Bad for frogs; great for frog-people. ” 
 
 
 “ Liz... ” 
 
 
 “ Al, as soon as you step through this door, there ’ s no stepping back. ” 
 
 
 She adjusted her mustache again, as if by a nervous tick. The key clicked in the door, unlocking a path so unimaginable that I even as it unfolded I could scarcely believe it was happening.
