Nightcrawling(45)

Down by the pool, I tell him I don’t got a swimsuit.

“Nobody swims in no swimsuit.” And before I can even argue, he’s taking off his shirt and shorts, standing there in his boxers, looking like a mix of bony child and growing muscles.

The things I do for this kid.

I take my shirt off, then my jeans, leaving only a sports bra and underwear.

“It’s best if you just jump in, makes it a little easier.” Trevor reaches out for my hand again and we stand together at the edge of the pool. “Count to three.”

I don’t count, but Trevor does it for the both of us. On three, we jump, and I feel like I’ve been catapulted straight into the ocean. All I can think is There’s shit in this pool. Still, I haven’t showered in a couple days and the water is a cool relief. We jumped into the shallow end, so I find my footing on the floor of the pool and stand, wiping my eyes. Trevor is already above the surface, grinning so big I think his cheeks might pop out his face and start dancing.

“Now what?” I ask him, spitting out water.

“Move your arms like this, like you a frog.” Trevor swims to the deep end, cups his hands, and fans his body out, back and forth, like a snow angel in reverse.

After a couple minutes, he turns around and swims back to me.

“Don’t know how you expect me to stay up like that.”

He reaches for my arm and pulls me into the deep end. “Now start moving, I’ll hold you up.”

Trevor holds on to one of my hands, keeping me tethered, and I try to make my other arm move like his did, coordinated and frog-like. It’s not listening to me, though, flapping around in the water aimlessly.

“Don’t be afraid of the water. It ain’t gonna hurt you.” Trevor’s hand stays in mine.

I let my head submerge into the water and then come up for air. It’s really not so bad when you breathe into it. I like the sound of my breath when I’m under, a gurgle that floats off into nothing. If this was the bay, I’m sure every sea creature would hear my sounds travel through the molecules. Nothing got an end in the water.

Pretty soon, my arm is moving kinda like Trevor’s, except there’s a lot more splashing and my feet don’t follow in sync. My free arm is flapping while my feet swirl the water in violent half circles. Trevor lets go of my other hand and I’m staying above water, at least for a moment.

I panic and the rhythm of my arms dissolves into whatever movement will keep me from drowning. I start to swim until I reach the end of the pool and then pivot around. My feet touch the edge of the pool and I push off, glide through the water, feel like I’m flying. I start my hand motions again, coming up for air and trying to blink the water off my eyelashes before I dive back under. Can’t see much of anything. Except a flash of shoes. Back beneath the surface. A pocket of deep blue. Water submerges. Trevor’s eyes spinning.

My feet hit pool bottom and I stand to the sight of uniforms that shouldn’t be this familiar and Trevor standing waist-deep in the pool, looking down at his stomach like he’s waiting for blood to gush out an invisible wound.

I’ve never been this close to a woman cop before, but she is the one kneeling down at the edge of the pool. She is the one that looks at me like I best put some clothes on. As much as I want to sink back into the water, I know I gotta get Trevor in some clothes and safe before they start asking him about where his mama is. We don’t got no space to deal with Child Protective Services too.

“C’mon, Trev. Go on and get some new clothes and a couple towels.” He looks at me, at the lady cop staring at us, then back at me, and I can see the short convulsions of his chest. I nod at him, make my eyelids lift up like I don’t got no worries.

Trevor puts both hands on the pool edge and lifts his body out, boxers soggy and trying to drip off him. He holds them up with both hands and starts jogging toward the stairs, up them, back to the apartment.

“We’ll give you a minute,” lady cop says, standing and walking back to the man cop behind her. Her hair is pulled into a bun so tight, I wonder if she’s got a headache.

Trevor comes back a few minutes later with a bundle of towels and a shirt. He’s already changed into some new boxers and shorts. I grip on to the edge of the pool and lift myself out, grabbing the towel Trevor hands to me. I rush to dry off enough to pull on my jeans and T-shirt. Trevor puts his shirt on, with a picture of a mountain on it, and he looks like a Boy Scout. The cops stand there uncomfortably, trying not to look at us.

I stand up, taking Trevor’s hand. He doesn’t really let me hold his hand much anymore, but I’m not asking now. If we’re tethered at the skin, they’re gonna have to rip us apart at the cells.

“You need something?” I ask.

I’m still dripping, forehead down. Both cops come forward now and I can’t look at anything but their lips. There’s something about the way they hold them together, something about the way they’re cracked that makes me think these people have mastered how to dry out a phrase, give some bad news with a straight line carved into their mouths. The man has lips bordering on red and I don’t know if they look bloodied or like he drew lipstick on this morning.

The woman is clearly in charge here, walks stomach first, everything secondary to the pit of her, target in her belly button. “We’re looking for a Kia Holt. Guessing that’s you, miss?”