She had also begun swimming across bays, across rivers with slow currents and anywhere she deemed safe enough for humans against the elements-or motorboats.
She stayed once on the 29th floor of a giant castle hotel. Looking out over the Bay, it was as if she could fly and catch one of the airplanes as they swooped across the expanse. The window in the room framed everything-from the farthest spot, she felt like the trees loomed large against the frame-taking up a line that filled almost half the space. But as you pressed your face against the glass, the trees seemed further away-a crazed sense of reversal.
She KNEW exactly what that reversal WAS when she was swimming, The sense that the more you swam-the further the far shore got. As if it swimming away at exactly the same speed. Uprooting the trees, kicking their feet and laughing slightly, just to keep ahead of you.
On a day like today, everything was gray and foggy. Cold, but only because of the dampness, when you let yourself into the water, all the cold stayed up inside of the air. The water wanted you to come inside, like a warm bath or a warm bed. Come inside, and fall asleep. Isn't it easier than fighting the cold, or trying, IN VAIN, to get to the other side? Like a chicken-like a chicken with your head cut off, come and rest and stop the flailing of the arms and legs, and just rest.
But you keep flying, and reaching and floating, half in and half out of the water. And gradually, you get out of the dream and out of the water, until you feel the pull of gravity as you take deep breaths on the shore. The water escaping your wetsuit, your body, your hair, drip dripping like rain, seeking its own level. And you want to sink into the pebbles too, because you just remembered what it was to live outside of the water again.
