The Memory of Water

⁴³ ROLLING AND WAILING

Now that she is quiet I can let go. Now we don’t have to fight. Now we can just go our separate ways and never look back.

“Now you are quiet,” I say, touching her cheek. It is cold. My knees are locked. How long have I been sitting over her like this? I must be heavy. It must be hurting her. I climb off, taking her hand.

“Get up now,” I say. “It’s time to go.”

I sway her gently. I shake her shoulder. It’s time to go home. God, how I want to go home.

I lift my hand to stroke her hair and as I do, I know she is dead.

When I come out of it I am still beside her, rocking and moaning. I remember this feeling from when I was eight. On the riverbank. Coming to, rolling and wailing, wondering where I had been in my head and not glad to be back. I look at her black outline. I need to get rid of her body. I stand up, switch on a lamp. Start looking around. I need to get rid of it but I don’t know how. No more bodies in rivers.