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Swimming

Swimming I stood beside the ambulance still swimming through the grey Michigan waves. When the cop asked for my info, I mumbled an address one address ago, stopped, corrected myself; then flustered and breathless gave my wife’s number, a number I’d thought forgotten now that all I do is press her name when I want to call. Midway through, I stopped again and gave him mine. He looked at me and asked, You sure? Yes, I said. And tried to catch my breath, to reel my mind back in, mind that still swam toward the man, worried we’d both drown, that still went over those lessons in that Caribbean cove where I would swim past the breakers, then dive down to touch bottom, where dad would have us swim up behind him and drag him back to shore through choppy surf. When the ambulance left, I sat on the beach and watched the horizon, still swimming. That night, I chopped and sautéed onions for dinner, all the while swimming, swimming to reach him. His absent eyes bobbed just above the water. I slid my arm under his pit, across his chest, his body rested on my hips. The waves washed http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Swimming

Paden, Jeremy
Appalachian Review , Volume 50 (1) – Apr 1, 2022
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3 pages

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

I stood beside the ambulance still swimming through the grey Michigan waves. When the cop asked for my info, I mumbled an address one address ago, stopped, corrected myself; then flustered and breathless gave my wife’s number, a number I’d thought forgotten now that all I do is press her name when I want to call. Midway through, I stopped again and gave him mine. He looked at me and asked, You sure? Yes, I said. And tried to catch my breath, to reel my mind back in, mind that still swam toward the man, worried we’d both drown, that still went over those lessons in that Caribbean cove where I would swim past the breakers, then dive down to touch bottom, where dad would have us swim up behind him and drag him back to shore through choppy surf. When the ambulance left, I sat on the beach and watched the horizon, still swimming. That night, I chopped and sautéed onions for dinner, all the while swimming, swimming to reach him. His absent eyes bobbed just above the water. I slid my arm under his pit, across his chest, his body rested on my hips. The waves washed

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Apr 1, 2022

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