Robin Wasserman - Frozen

Until I surfaced and heard the wind scream my name again. Except it wasn’t the wind, it was Auden, who had come for me, who was screaming. I screamed back, but the water poured into my mouth. I waved an arm, but the water sucked me down again, and when I fought back to the surface, Auden was gone.

Then I did swim, deep and swift, my mind starting to seep back into itself and with it, panic. I was still invincible; Auden wasn’t. I surfaced again, a safe distance from the churning water at the base of the falls. Nothing.

“Auden!”

Nothing.

Then back down into the dark, swimming blind, my arms outstretched, so that even if I couldn’t see him, I would feel him, but there was just the water, parting easily as my body sliced through, water and more water and no Auden.

Until I broke through the surface and there he was, gasping and struggling to stay afloat, his hair plastered to his face, his eyes squinty and his glasses long gone. I grabbed him, squeezed tight, kicking hard enough to keep us both afloat.

“Are you okay?” As we drifted away from the falls, the water grew shallower until we hit a point where our feet touched the bottom, midway between the base of the first waterfall and the edge of the second, smaller drop-off.

“Okay,” he said, panting. The current was lighter here, easy enough to fight. “You?”

“Fine. What the hell are you doing?”

“Rescuing you.” He shivered in my grasp. “You were drowning.”

I shook my head.

He looked like he wanted to drop down into the water and never surface. “Stupid,” he said furiously. “Of course you weren’t. I just—I saw you up there, and when you fell, and you didn’t come up, and I thought—”

“Thank you,” I cut in, hugging him tighter. “My hero.” I didn’t need a hero, and I wasn’t the one who’d needed rescue. But he was soaking and freezing and had nearly drowned, and I figured there was no harm in giving him a little ego stroke.

“Uh, Lia?”

“What?” I asked, hoping that he wasn’t going to choose yet another horribly timed moment to start talking about the great love affair that was never going to be. An ego stroke was one thing, but there was only so far I could go.

“You’re, uh, not wearing any clothes.”

“Oh!” I let go, and bent my knees until I was submerged up to my neck.

“I couldn’t see anything, anyway,” he said. “Not without my glasses.”

I grinned. “So you were looking?”

His cheeks turned red. His lips, on the other hand, were nearly blue.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, hugging himself and jumping up and down against the cold.

I wasn’t ready, not yet. “You go. I just want…” It was just another thing I couldn’t explain to him, the way it felt to go over the falls, to know that I had absolutely no control and to just let it happen, let myself fall—and to survive. I knew I’d have to drag myself out of the water to see what damage I’d done, if any. I’d also have to deal with everything else. And I would. Just not yet. “I’m staying in. For a while.”

“Then me too,” he said.

“You’re freezing.”

He shook his head, stubborn. Stupid. “I’m fine.”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

So we stayed in, Auden making a valiant effort to pretend he wasn’t noticing my body. While I, for the first time, wasn’t noticing it. I wasn’t ashamed, wasn’t repulsed; I was just content to be where I was, what I was—and to be with him. We did backflips and somersaults and competed for who could hold a handstand longer before the current swept us over. We laughed. We didn’t talk about my family or about Jude or about “us” and especially not about what had happened in the city or what was going to happen when we got back to shore. We didn’t talk about much of anything, except some supposedly funny vid he’d seen of a monkey in a diaper and whether if one was in a position to eat, daily chocolate was a required element of a healthy and balanced diet. Meaningless stuff like that. Easy stuff.

I hadn’t been so happy in a long time. Maybe since the accident.

“I think… I need… to get out,” Auden finally said as I resurfaced from a perfect handstand. His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely form the words.

I nodded. “Race to shore?” And before he could answer I took off, digging my strokes into the water, pushing hard to win. I missed winning.

Midway to the bank I popped my head up, checking to see if he was catching up… but he was swimming in the wrong direction. Swimming along with the current. Away from me, away from the shore, toward the edge.

“Auden!” I shouted. “Wrong way!”

He’s not wearing his glasses, I thought suddenly, horrified. He can’t see.

“Auden! Swim toward me! Follow my voice!”

But he didn’t call back. He didn’t change direction. And I began to realize he wasn’t swimming at all. He was drifting.

Cold, I thought as the water lapped against my body. But how cold? Cold enough that a person—a real, live, warm-blooded person—couldn’t take it anymore? Couldn’t fight back against the current? Couldn’t make it to shore?

“Auden!” I screamed, and then I ducked under the water, pushing myself harder than I ever had on the track, when it didn’t count, pushing the legs to kick, the arms to dig, to reach him, to grab him before the current carried him away, before the water caught him and wouldn’t let go, not until it plunged over another edge, down another ripple of jagged rock, into a storm of erupting water, and down, into the silent depths, the center of the whirlpool.

I swam fast. The current was faster. He was one arm’s length away, close enough that I could see his pale face, his closed eyes, his arms floating limply and his head tipped back, bouncing along shuddering water—and then two arm’s lengths, and then three, and the river carried him away from me, the river claimed him. I screamed, I lunged, one last, powerful kick forward, one desperate grasp—and his body disappeared over the edge.

I went over after him. This time there was nothing joyous about the plunge. Nothing fast or chaotic. It seemed to last forever. Enough time for me to go over it in my head, again and again, seeing him on the shore, hearing him scream my name, clinging to his body—and then letting him go. Hold on, I thought furiously, as if I could communicate with the past, as if the girl in the memory could make a better choice. It’s cold, I told her. It’s too cold.

But the girl in the memory didn’t notice the cold or didn’t care.

She was invincible.

I was sucked down again at the bottom, but there was no peace in the dark, quiet water. The empty stillness just meant he wasn’t there. I fought my way to the surface, hoping, but I didn’t see him, didn’t hear him, so I dove down again, sweeping the river from one side to the other, swimming blind, arms outstretched. Telling myself that it would be like before, I would catch him, only for him to tell me that he hadn’t needed rescuing, and we would laugh over the misunderstanding, and this time I wouldn’t let go.

I don’t know how much time passed before I realized what I had to do. Seconds, maybe. Minutes, at the most. No time at all if you didn’t have breath to hold. And if you did? Too much.

Lungs filled with oxygen floated. Empty lungs sank to the bottom.

So that’s where I searched next, my bare stomach scraping against the muddy riverbed. I forced myself to keep my kicks slow and steady, covering the ground methodically, hoping I would find him, hoping I wouldn’t, because if he was there, a still body in the mud, if he was…