The Water Bearer
I don’t know where I am, but I know one day it will all be familiar to me--like sipping warm milk or falling asleep to the television. I don’t know how long it has been without these things, at least four months.
I take things slow because I don’t want to get hurt.
The water is fresh. It moves downstream, slowly, washing away fallen leaves and twigs. I follow its length before I reach the end, a small pool, where the leaves and twigs have collected. It would be a spectacle if there were no fauna to take these natural home-building materials--to suspend a bed, or perhaps build a miniature picket fence. I cannot see the bottom from where I stand on the rocky shore. Doubt does not exist anymore--I move my body towards the unknown.
I think about the days I swam in a plastic kiddie pool, filled with ice cold water from a hose and surrounded by my family. I haven’t seen a front yard that green in months. I haven’t felt that content in years.
I reach for the bottom with my foot and just as the surface touches my chin, my toe digs a little hole in the soft floor. The moment sends a cord of electricity through my body, up my leg, splitting my spine almost in two and forcing my arms out for balance. I look up through the tree tops to the sun beating down on my skin. I look down at the water to dark spots in my eyesight, my chin dipping into the cool wet, but I also see something pink, and glowing. It’s right where my head should be.
I could pass out in this moment from exhaustion and dehydration, but for some reason, I feel nourished. My arms feel as though they have spread, connecting behind and just out in front of me--like a circular bedding of some sort. It is heavy enough to rest my head against it, soft enough to feel like I could sleep.
I don’t feel as though I’ve been estranged in this jungle-type habitat for several months, without food or shelter. It is as if I have been here my entire life, connected by a root. Soaking in the sun--clean--floating. I never want to leave. Life is ephemeral, so I think I will stay.
