The Chokes by Aaron Garretson
published in Night Train

“The Chokes” starts off with the narrator’s daughter-in-law asking him why he named his son Bernard, and him telling her it was the name of his friend who died. This is what ensues:

“How did he die?” I said, stirring at the potatoes on my plate. “There was an accident. He was under the water and someone turned the air off. They didn’t realize he was still down there.”

This was mostly true. Someone did turn the air off on him and it was unintentional, but it wasn’t how he died.

Bernard looked at me seriously. “Was it you?” he asked. “Did you turn the air off on him?”

“Of course not,” I assured him. “It was some new kid we’d hired.”

They had no reason on earth not to believe this but I could see them staring at each other out of the corners of their eyes, holding hands under the table in newlywed collusion, certain that I’d named my son after a man I’d killed. Worst of all, they didn’t even seem surprised—as though they’d always suspected me of various acts of manslaughter.

I love this mystery. If the original Bernard didn’t die when the air tank was turned off, then how did he? Why doesn’t the narrator want to talk about it? Why doesn’t he tell the truth? Why does it make his wife uncomfortable? Could he be lying about being involved? So many questions… and I’m not going to answer one of them. Nope. Not gonna do it. You have to head over to Night Train and read the entire story yourself. But I promise you, it’s well worth it. “The Chokes” is an intense read. It will probably make you clutch your hand to your chest and say “Oh, no” over and over again.

Author’s Comments:

This is one of the first stories I ever finished. It’s mainly plot-driven, there’s not a whole lot of psychology going on, but when I wrote it, I was thinking a lot about the nature of guilt. The ways in which we can be guilty of things we never intended. Good people can be guilty of terrible things. And once it attaches itself to us, guilt is an incredibly difficult thing to escape from–because it has a tendency to grow and mature as we do. It can follow us and torment us for years. In many ways it’s a constant reminder of how little control we have over our own thoughts and feelings.

As far as diving is concerned, I have always thought there was something romantic about the profession, going all the way back to the guys that used diving bells during the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s a dangerous job. It’s a job for daredevils and stubborn sons-of-bitches, and I think that’s a big part of its appeal.