The Souls of Drowned People

Chapter Two

If my English teachers had known, they would have used me as a perfect example of irony.

            Class, this is Moira, and she loves the water. She’s an amazing swimmer, quite talented, and loves it despite the fact that her family has a terrible history of drownings.

            But my father didn’t drown because he was couldn’t swim. I knew that couldn’t be.  I inherited it from someone— the body built for cutting through the water, the strong arms, the love of it crashing over me— and it certainly wasn’t my mother. My mother was fragile enough that I was afraid I would break her back if I hugged her, maybe another reason why she never made any move toward me. I was more my father than my mother, and I knew that he didn’t drown out of stupidity. Something must have happened, an accident. He got caught in a tangled net underneath his boat, or hit his head against the jagged rocks.

            My father wasn’t the first to be taken by the ocean. There was his baby sister, who was swept off the side of their boat when she was barely two. My grandfather, a year before I was born, slipped from the rocks while he was fishing, bruised and unconscious before he hit the water. There was aunt and uncles underneath those fierce waves, cousins and siblings.

            I thought about them as I pushed off from the bottom of the pool, crashing through the surface. I sucked the air deep into my lungs, glad to be alive.

            Chelsea glanced at her watch. “Fifty-four seconds. So close.”

            “Are you trying to kill me?”

            “You’re the one who wanted to try it. Do you think you’re gonna like, transform into a seal if you sit down there long enough?”

            “I guess I need to stay down longer, then.” I held up my hand, stretching my fingers. “I haven’t grown webbing yet.”

            “Sorry about the Seal Girl thing. I was just screaming. I didn’t think it would stick like that.”

            “No, I like it.” Another deep breath, savoring. “I’m going back down.”

            “Suit yourself.”

            When I heard the beep of Chelsea’s watch, I pushed myself off from the wall. I twirled around in the water for a moment, rolling over and looking up. The world glittered this way, everything mellow and melted and shimmering. I let myself sink to the bottom of the pool, sitting with my legs stretched in front of me.

            If the stories were true, if my family was cursed, this was the way I wanted to drown. No screaming or thrashing, only floating. Drifting down like a petal, until I touched the bottom and then I would wait, watching the world above me grow fuzzy.

            It must have only been about twenty seconds. My lungs started to ache, the air wanting to burst from them. I couldn’t see the shaky form of Chelsea anymore.

            Only six more seconds this time. Six small seconds that, if this was real, could make all the difference.

            I counted until my head started to pound from the pressure. Fifty four. At fifty five, I started to push up, reaching slowing for the surface.

            According to my count, I tore through the surface again at fifty-nine seconds, a second too short. I pulled the air greedily into my lungs, grasping onto the edge of the pool. I wiped the water from my eyes, glancing up.