How to Save a Life(12)

Once at Funtown, I climbed a high fence of chain-link draped in green canvas and dropped to the other side. The slides and sprinklers were shut off, but the park remained well-lit. New lamps and floods were set up at intervals and left on to deter trespassers. Such as myself.

I passed the tube slides, rising and coiling up like snakes. But they didn’t freak me out or anything. The memory of my mother in the bathtub faded. Instead, I recalled a vague memory of going to Tybee Island with her when I was four. The memory was grayed out, like a piece of moldy bread, but it was infinitely better than the bathtub.

We made sandcastles, or played in the mud. I can’t recall, but I can hear echoes of her laugh. Her laugh sounded more like a kid than a grown-up, and even then—to my four-year-old observation—her eyes looked a little loose in her head. Everything about her was loose and kind of jangly. Nerves, she told me when she was happy.

We moved a lot in her endless quest for solid employment, and when she was happy, she’d shout and dance me around whichever tiny shabby apartment we happened to be living in. “The light’s flipped on, Josie!”

Other times the light was off, and Mama stayed in her bed, sleeping. For days. I’d come to her and she’d peek her tangled head out and smile.

“Is the light off, Mama?” I’d ask in a tiny, fearful voice, and she’d nod and pat my cheek.

“Yes, baby. But just for a little while longer. Be a good girl, and let Mama sleep?”

I’d eat cereal and watch cartoons on TV until the light came back on and Mama was back, and I was happy.

I don’t remember happy. Like I said, it’s all grayed out. I know the feeling was there, but I can’t call it up, and so I keep walking.

I meandered through the water park with no intent, until I saw the swimming pool at the northeast corner, partially enclosed by a wrought-iron fence. Lounge chairs were set up around it. Perfect place to lay back, and write in my journal. Maybe finish the poem I’d started for Mo Vay Goo. I was in the mood to write about my mother. If Marnie wanted dark, she was in for a f*cking treat.

I was about twenty yards out when I heard a splash and saw a dark shape in the pool. Some guy was swimming.

Fuck. Way to ruin my night, *.

I nearly did an about-face. I thought I saw some loungers near the baby wading pool. I’d wanted to write in peace. Alone. I wasn’t a fan of being along in the dark with strange men.

But instead of walking out, I drew a little bit closer. Underwater lights in the pool showed me that the swimmer was a young guy, blond…

I stopped walking. It was Evan Salinger. He treaded water in the nine-foot deep end, and he was dressed. Or at least it looked like it from where I stood. I could see the white cotton of a t-shirt clinging to his shoulders.

He didn’t see me. He looked straight ahead, in profile, sucking in deep breaths, one after the other without exhaling. And then he went under. Straight down, waving his arms to get to the bottom, and then gliding them from side to side to stay there.

Marnie’s warnings about associating with Evan meandered in and out of my head, but mostly I was just curious. Why the hell would he be swimming fully clothed? Maybe he was nutso after all. But I was tired listening to rumors, so I crossed my arms and waited.

A minute passed.

I pulled out my phone and stared at the clock. 9:23p.m.

At 9:25—when he’d been under for two solid minutes—my feet shifted from side to side, and I gnawed my lip mercilessly.

What the f*ck is he doing?

At 9:26, panic danced along my nerves. Evan made no signs he was coming to the surface any time soon. I rushed to the edge of the deep end, waving my arms and stomping my feet.

“Hey! Hey!”

Nothing. Just the slow waft of his arms beneath the surface, like seaweed in a soft current.

At 9:27—four minutes since Evan had gone under—I tossed my phone onto the rubbery slats of the nearest lounger where it promptly bounced off and hit the concrete. I chucked my journal next and dove into the water. Clothes, boots and all.

Evan jerked in shock as I gripped him by the shoulder. I got mostly shirt, but managed to get him around the waist with my other arm. I tried to push off from the bottom but it wasn’t like how it is in the movies. I didn’t effortlessly rocket to the surface with my drowning victim. My boots were like little anchors pulling me down and Evan was like a damn boulder. I struggled to push him up and only succeeded in pushing myself deeper as we got tangled up in a flurry of confusion. Finally, Evan kicked to the surface. We came up together, gasping together, face to face, my hand still twisted in his shirt.

The world fell away as we held each other with our gaze. We were so close. Close enough for me to see the gemstone facets of his sky blue eyes. Close enough to smell the minty sweetness of his breath as he gasped for air. Close enough to see the water streak from his hair and down his cheeks like tears. Close enough to kiss him, if I wanted, or slap him for scaring the shit out of me.

I thrust away from him with a splash, back-pedaling toward shallower water. My heart thudded from exertion, laced with adrenaline and the strange, exhilarating thrill of being in Evan’s space. It was like what Marnie had said: electric lines humming, making my skin break out in gooseflesh. She’d made it sound unpleasant, but it was the exact opposite. I felt warm. Warmer than the pool water should have allowed.

Evan stared at me. A faint smile spread over his face, his eyes warm and full, looking at me as if we’d planned to meet here but he was surprised I’d actually shown up.