* * *
? ? ?
ON DAY THREE, I discover pine cones are edible （+2）。
* * *
? ? ?
ON DAY FOUR I can’t be sure it actually is day four, but I believe it to be so. I think I’ve been watching my watch, or is my watch watching me? It’s the one called a watch, after all. Should it perhaps be called a wrist clock instead?
No one has come for me. In fact, I’ve not seen so much as a ship, any sign of human life, so I may be forced to swim. It is unlikely I could make it from here to Rockland, even with my powerful stroke and superior technique, so I will settle for the place from which I came.
I scan north, south, east, west. I don’t know which is which, but I know I inspect all of those directions because I turn a complete circle. None reminds me of my kingdom more than the others. Was I blindfolded coming out here? That can’t be right.
Am I blindfolded now?
* * *
? ? ?
ON DAY FIVE I crow like a wild thing, head flung back, arms raised, a marathon photo finish. I glance around, waiting for my accolades, then remember I am stranded, alone, not at the end of a performance. I’m not doing anything that warrants applause.
That’s not true. I’m surviving.
I march straight into the water, not bothering with bearings. I will swim in some direction until I hit land, and then someone will take me to my people.
I get no deeper than my ankles before the chill stings me through my boots.
Now my boots are soaked.
Drat.
What if my people are on their way to liberate me right this instant? Best to stay put.
* * *
? ? ?
I SLEEP OR don’t. I know not how long but not too long because my feet are too cold to let me. Strangely, even after the rest, I don’t feel clearer. I seem to have been abandoned, but that cannot be accurate. I am beloved.
I have a horrifying thought that takes hours to form but eventually barrels over me: what if I continue waiting here in vain until it’s too late for my feet, that they’ve reached a state of numbness that will no longer allow me to use them as propellant devices? Will I swim in this bulky coat or remove it? Shall I wade stage left or right?
There are rather too many decisions required of one in adulthood.
* * *
? ? ?
THE TIME IS nigh. The rescue party is lost or nonexistent. Others may fear the sea, but not an enlightened one like Madame Fearless.
I have been training for this challenge all my life. I will think of it as a second attempt at Frozen, my chance to redeem a prior failure.
Idly I wonder what the record is for a long-distance swim in the Atlantic.
I am goddamn invincible.
* * *
? ? ?
AT FIRST I enjoy the bracing slap against my face. Water wakes in a way that alarms and name-calling cannot.
Soon, though, I find it hard to breathe. I do not panic. I keep paddling and kicking, remind myself this is merely a large Lake Minnich.
What’s the only way you’re going to succeed? he grunts.
Through my willingness to endure!
Did you prove your father wrong if no one saw you do it?
My arms tire, for I am a mere mortal, not impervious to the deleterious effects of hypothermia, as proven in nineteen-ninety . . . eighty . . . the aughts. I think about turning back, but when I do the parking lot appears miles away.
Just-in-case thinking is for losers, he growls.
He is awfully loud for being so far away.
I swim until I can’t feel my limbs. I imagine my trunk as a china platter, a landing strip for seagulls to rest their weary wings. I spot a sea green buoy with a number one spray-painted on it, and I grab onto it, pulling myself up and out of the water. I am filthy hot; I am burning up. I tell myself I’m not, this is one of the symptoms, I have trained for this, I know what to do, but still my brain cannot convince my body. It is my body that convinces my brain that this is a rare case in which I truly am burning up, so I give in, so I free my neck, so I remove the scarf. I can’t recall how it came to be in my possession in the first place. I leave it behind and return to the water.
* * *
? ? ?
CAN ONE SWIM and sleep simultaneously? I cannot remember a time I was not swimming, and now I long to stop. I care not if that makes me a loser.
My legs are below instead of behind me. I don’t recall granting them permission to run amok, but I’m too tired to castigate. Too cold to regret.
Like a carousel, their faces whirl past me: Sir, Mother, Jack, Lisa, Evelyn Luminescence, Gabe, my staff. All those miserable human beings have failed me. Who have I ever been able to rely on but myself? Who but me has been dependable one hundred percent of the time?