Judy took Steve back to her house and made love to him. Afterwards he fell asleep, and she left him lying there while she got up and made a food tray to bring back to the bed. She didn’t make up anything special, just cheeses and meats and bread for open-faced sandwiches, and pickles and olives and the rest of the bottle of wine they hadn’t finished off at the lake. She had chocolate pots with whipped cream that needed to be consumed. Judy put on some jazz in the living room and switched on the speakers for the bedroom. It would be a nice way to wake Steve up.
When she got back to the bedroom Steve was sitting up with the sheet pulled over his lap, yawning and scratching his chest with a big, stupid grin when he saw the tray. He opened his mouth to praise it, and her.
“Hero of my dreams,” Judy said fondly. “Shut up and eat.”
It was the perfect conclusion to an emotional day, the perfect after-making-love meal. It combined everything Judy like most about being with someone, about what she liked about herself and who she was. The food made her feel safe again. They ate a desultory meal, exhausted from shock, and sun, and fevered lovemaking. They went back to bed and slept without waking the entire night.
The next morning when he was finally dressed and ready to go back to his own place, he paused at the front door. His right cheek had swollen from where he’d been kicked by the floating child. Steve cleared his throat, coughing a time or two. “What happened yesterday really shook me up. Jesus Judy, all I could think about was how awful it would be to lose someone you care about, how awful it would be if I ever lost you. I know you don’t like to talk about emotions. But seeing the grief of that little girl’s family when they thought she was gone, it ripped me up inside. I felt like those parents, scared of losing someone they love. Like I’d die too. Didn’t you feel like them? Didn’t you feel it too, that it would be hell?”
He looked beseechingly at Judy but she didn’t meet his eyes.
“Did I feel like one of them? Who did I feel like?” She stood with her head down.
He waited, mistaking her silence for thinking it over.
Judy had followed the rescue helplessly, unable to go to the aid of either Steve or the panicking family. She had watched the entire scene from the safe island of the brown blanket. She’d been numb, until a wave of incredible jealousy flooded over her. She’d ignored the feeling and excused it as one of a number of strange responses elicited by the unfolding tragedy.
Her inability to respond to events concerned her more. Of all the characters in the drama she had identified most with the little girl. More, Judy understood all too well how the child’s body felt as it drifted helpless among the lake grasses. Watching, with a strange dispassion Judy had thought I am a child drowning, I am a child about to drown, I am a child afraid to drown.
Now, the morning after, Judy knew she’d wanted to be the little drowned girl. All of the fears she so carefully kept contained were about to spill out. She tried to picture a life above the surface, a water free world where she and Steve might be happy. But her vision clouded over as the lens fogged up. A voice from the past came back to her distant and wavering, but clear in the distinct way of sound as it is carried through water. Life with your mother has been hell! Hell!
Judy opened her mouth to speak, but again she imagined herself in the drifting body of the girl, air bubbles trailing to the surface. She couldn’t help it, this sensation of being in imminent danger of drowning. More than she’d ever wanted anything in her life she wanted Steve to rescue her. And that, of course, meant the relationship was over.
“Steve,” she said in a clear voice, “I can’t see you anymore.”
This entry was posted in Books/Culture, Broken In: A Novel in Stories, Drowning, Fiction, Writing and tagged Broken In: A Novel in Stories, fiction, relationships, summer in a park by Jadi Campbell. Bookmark the permalink.