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I’m so sorry
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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Drowning.
It’s one of those things I didn’t know I had to fear, not until I watched my twin sister fall head-first into the deep end of our cousin’s pool at a Memorial Day cook-out.
We were four years old and neither of us knew how to swim without floaties.
The pool was off-limits. I remember that. It was still too cold for us to swim, and they’d only just finished ridding it of all the winter algae.
But when our ball rolled past the hedges separating the patio from the pool, and into the water, Izzy—stubborn and prideful, even back then—felt the need to get it herself, rather than ask for help.
It’s all a bit of a blur—being that we were so young—with brief snapshots of clarity that stand out in my brain like flashes of a dream you can’t shake.
The adults were right there, scattered around the yard and patio. Other kids—cousins from out of town we barely knew, some younger, some older—were running around, taking up enough of the attention, that by the time they saw what we were up to, it was too late.
I remember sneaking past the hedges, the sparkling blue water rippling under the hot sun.
I remember facing off with Izzy from opposite sides of the deep end. I was on my knees, next to the ladder, pushing at the water with one hand, and gripping the edge of the pool with the other. On the other side, next to the slide, Izzy was in the same position, but she was scooping the water toward her.
I remember how, working together, we got the ball to slowly, surely glide her way.
The music and chatter filling the back yard was just loud enough to muffle the sounds of our gentle splashes.
Stretching and leaning and wiggling her fingers…
So close, just another inch…
Her eyes widened just before she tumbled forward.
She didn’t scream. I don’t think she even realized what happened before she hit the water.
Her long, wavy brown hair rose up to dance over the surface while she sank, fanning around her head like a mushroom cloud. Water rippled out from around her, sucking her down, down, down, until her hair was just a dark shapeless blob growing fainter and fainter under the too-bright sun.
She was still so small—we both were—so she hardly made a splash when she fell in. Nothing to immediately alert the adults on the other side of the hedges…
Or so I thought.
