Swimming in Cold Water
Deep lake. Up north. Twilight...
Swimming in Cold Water
Deep lake. Up north. Twilight. The temperature has dropped below fifty every night for a week. It is late March and no one is setting foot in the water. Except me, who wades knee deep feeling the bite, and then plunges under for the full exhilarating effect. I am swimming in very cold water. Seeking even icier currents. Far out from shore, rebelling like a child against the dos and don’ts. I ate just twenty minutes ago. I’ve told no one where I was going. My suit hugs my torso and the strap tied around my neck drips down my back. I have always felt more safe in the water than on land. Even in the dark. As it is quickly becoming. Children’s voices trill and echo. A hidden wind chime tinkles on a back porch. Mothers switch on the lights in the houses dotting the shore. Pockets of gold flitter, like ticker tape, in the trees. A large family of crows cawing flies overhead. Silence. I swim farther out, stop to float. The sky fits snuggly, like a darkened dome, on the wide, oval lake. Yes, there are stars. But also trillions of microbes feasting on algae flowing through my loose long hair. I do the doggie paddle. Currents sweep around my ankles as small fish nibble my feet. Below, down and down, six hundred feet or more, the thick mud pulls at the small aircraft that crashed and sank on this very spot, killing its pilot, three years ago. The body was never found. The moon rises, pulling too.
As printed in Ginosko Anthology, 2004.
Constance Christopher’s work has been in Fence, Bomb, Northwest Review, & Ginosko. A novel Dead Man’s Flower was published in the Bogie’s Mystery series. She has published reviews for Publisher’s Weekly and worked in film & television. She is painting a large oil based on Robert Graves’ White Goddess.