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Epigraph
“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald from Notebook E.
Saving The Sun
Graham
A flailing shadow covers me just as Bilbo Baggins is about to slide the One Ring onto his greedy, covetous finger.
Gingerly, I lay my most prized possession on the floor of my canoe and sit up. That shadow is a body falling down the craggy granite face of the Devil’s Mountain. As it plummets, my imagination takes flight.
Raven hair flutters around its head like feathers. I glance down at my book. My heart leaps in my chest. It’s a Raven of Erebor. Shot out of the sky or thrown out of its mother’s nest before it was ready to fly.
Then, I see her face. It’s a girl. And just then the clouds, that had been hovering all day, part and the sun casts a spotlight on her. And she glows. Like the sun itself. She doesn’t look like anything I can find a reference for in my imagination. Right before she hits the water, she … smiles.
The cracking slap of her body’s full speed collision with the hazy surface of the lake snaps me out of my daydream. The aftershock of her crash landing sends my little vessel rocking and a fine mist of water dots my arms. I scramble off my backside and grab the sides of the canoe. I plant my feet while trying to steady the less than seaworthy boat.
I don’t once take my eyes off the spot where I saw her land.
I watch for what feels like minutes—but really could only have been a couple of seconds—before her head pops up.
When she disappears underwater again, her tiny arm grasps the air for a lifeline that’s not there. I forget my book. I forget everything but saving the sun and dive in.
My heart is pounding, sending the blood rushing to my limbs as it forces them to cut through the water faster than they ever had to before. When I reach the spot where I saw her vanish, I dive under.
My eyes sting as I open them and scan the sunlit, clear water. A few feet to my left, I see her struggling against the water like it’s a pair of arms wrapped around her. Bubbles of air are pouring from her open mouth, and at the same time, my lungs give their first burning protest. I swim up behind her and loop my arm around her shoulders. As soon as I touch her, she whips around and opens her eyes for a split second. Under the water, they look like black stones, and for the brief moment that our eyes are locked together, I see fear, relief, and something else that I don’t understand. But she closes them and scrambles onto me.
She wraps her legs and arms around me like my little sister used to do when my stepfather, Jeremiah, woke the house up to “teach” us.
Her grip is so tight that I know trying to get her to loosen up would be a waste of time. I can’t hold my breath much longer, and I kick my legs and push us upward.
When we reach the surface, the sunlight is blinding. When I’d been in my boat, the sun’s rays had been hazy, almost soothing. Now, it burns, but in a way that makes me pause to give thanks that I’m alive.
I flip onto my back and let her lie on my chest and float toward the shore. She shivers, and I can feel the fast thump of her heart against my own. When I’m close enough to shore, I stand up. She starts to cough. Her forehead slams against my sternum and her little body shakes as she tries to bring up the water she swallowed. But she doesn’t loosen her hold on me. She stays wrapped around me as I walk us to the place where I dropped my shoes and T-shirt before I rowed out.
When I try to pry her arms from around my neck, she only holds on tighter.
“Hey, you have to let go.” I give her arms a gentle tug.
She shakes her head and whines low in her throat. Her arms tense, and she crosses her legs at the ankle. Her heels dig into my stomach.
“We’re out of the water, and I can’t breathe,” I croak out.
