What would happen if i turned around right now/what would happen if i got up and just went/what would happen when-if-why-how-with-who/no/okay/just shut up/

When we’re in the water, I hear nothing. Finally my brain is turned off. I’m looking and seeing and feeling and floating and absolutely nothing is registering. It goes through me like light in a window pane and I am the light. Currents guide me towards rocks towering all around, slanting inwards like a canyon but outlined by deep green: a forest reaching down to offer a hand. I let my feet slip from mossy boulders and follow the flow; a sea otter taking an afternoon dip. Where the sun warms the waters is where I stop, hugging a protruding stone and letting creatures that hop on the surface tension investigate my body. They are black and bouncing.

There is nothing spinning inside now. No wheels, no long trains of thought that veer into new tracks, no spaghetti being thrown at a wall that is my skull. Everything just is. 

And then you climb onto the rock next to me. I shift away from the jumping creatures. One sticks to my leg—shrimp like and absolutely minuscule—scuttling around. I barely sense it but I know it is there. I can’t sit still when anyone is near. Although we are friends, you are no exception. 

“How much heat do you have to hold in your body to be considered warm blooded?” 

You make the wheels turn again. They creak and I pull up halfway out of the water. “I don’t know,” I settle on, “I run cold.” 

“They had to decide a level that makes something warm blooded. Otherwise they’d all be stuck at lukewarm.”

I hate lukewarm showers. Food that is lukewarm tastes like old plastic containers. If it doesn’t burn my mouth, it isn’t hot enough. See. That is the spaghetti hitting my skull. I wish no one would talk to me. I wish you wouldn’t talk to me. 

“Shih-tzus seem warm blooded. They were bred to be footwarmers for emperors. My shih-tzus have such warm tummies but they refuse to lay on my feet.” 

“Right, they like making them colder.”

For a second, I don’t understand. I wish I had more grease for the cogs, they hurt to turn, scratching against one another with copper heaved upon steel. The titanium has worn out for the day. It’s only 2pm. I think again. 

“When they lick my feet it definitely feels colder. And when they steal my socks. It’s not fair.” 

You nod. Can you laugh? I’m trying so hard to be fun, to be real, to be a human. I want to go back into the water. 

Still on my rock, I straddle it and wait for the sun to reemerge from the clouds. It has been so sunny up to this moment, grey covering the only thing that I need to refocus. It is so nice when there is so much natural noise that inside I hear nothing. 

I remember I was stressed about something before coming here and am urged to disappear into my brain but there lies guilt, waiting. Offputting anything brings him back, the guilt. He overpowers and punches me in the stomach. I haven’t been able to cry in months but when allowed visitation, Guilt grants me the wish of tears. 

We’re only halfway in the water now, our respective rocks holding the space I need to stay calm. I can be this close because of the water. 

You are stressed about something, so I listen because I want to. It’s not a friendship requirement, it’s just something I do. I want to help. Of course, there is nothing I can do. And there is the guilt again, warming up in my chest, moving his way around where the water isn’t touching. You say you will listen too, but I have heard that so often and I’ve never given it a thought. No friend of mine needs to listen, but I thank you all for being willing. 

The sun comes back, then disappears again and I’m staring up and it is much darker. There are rumbles forming in the atmosphere. I wonder if you sense that, the sky preparing to cry, to sob. It takes time to build but happens in a moment. People who miss the signs tend to get spooked. 

The sky sparks. 

“We should probably get out now.” I should have gotten out a while ago, but I stayed, which isn’t something I’m usually good at. 

We climb the hill and it begins to rain. You throw the towel over your head, but for me it has already been raining all day so there's no use in shielding. I follow close behind, shoes with no socks planting on muddy ground, slotting between stones and roots to push upwards. 

We’re no longer in the water, and this rain is tears, so the thoughts come flooding back. I remember I’m failing that class again. I remember my friends that aren’t here, scattered and preoccupied and some dead. I remember my mother doing her disappearing act in front of me every single night when I return to that house. I remember the fight with a coworker because I can’t remember conversations well enough to communicate what is actually happening. I remember being told there is nothing they can do for me, that the way I am is too much of a disaster to accomodate. I remember and I think about all of this while we laugh under the pouring rain. The train tracks are pointed in every direction, switching paths as every drop hits the back of my head. My towel covers the backpack, my mother’s sunscreen is in there.

The sky’s sobs become stronger, it wails with wind, cries with thunder, and ponders death with lightning. 

Though there is water everywhere, I am not in the water and I am drowning. I can’t be near someone. What was I thinking? I can’t even be near myself. You walk ahead of me, you know the way, I don’t know this spot. But I know the trees and the bushes. I know the quietness of my steps even in squelching mud. You don’t turn around, because the water would probably drown you too. Then again you probably know how to swim. All of my friends know how to swim.

What would happen if I stopped? Stick my feet in the mud, hug a tree like I hugged that rock but this time never emerge above the surface. It’s been too much for too long and when I was in something that wasn’t my own pool of regrets it was too nice, too comforting. I don’t deserve nice things, but you deserve a nice friend. 

If only that could be me. I take my departure, which is, I watch you continue on the pathway. The rain is so loud on the leaves you won’t realize you can’t hear my steps. Because I never made a sound to begin with. I can still see you, but I get scared. I hide behind a tree. I peek out. I run into the woods, stuck behind another tree. You’re almost gone, I beg you don’t turn around. 

I’m sorry, it could have been anyone, but I made you the target, because I know you won’t notice until you get back to the car. And that’s how I want it, and I’ve used you for that. 

As it rains, the river rises to greet me. My heart is pounding, droplets defining pathways down my face carving out chunks of skin that plop into my shaking hands. I think I need a snack. I think I need a friend… I think I need a mom… I think I need some water… I think… I think… I think… I think…

until I drown.