she

"it's mine to do, I guess."

She said that as she stood chest deep in the raging water.
All the others stood on shore, walking to and fro, dancing and sharing metaphors about the rushing of life and how it is like this very river and how important it is to go with the current, not against, follow the flow and surrender, like this, with your arms up. Laughing while demonstrating the arms up position, lamenting with high theatre about the bumps along the way.

"as if."

She thought, with the sea filling inside of her; the sea... sharp as sticks and as brittle as bones.

"I'm having a panic attack", said someone to no one and everybody listened like it was the first word spoken. Like it was something new and original. Like it was really true, though it wasn't.

"you mean you're having a feeling? something other than numbness or blissful ignorance?"

she murmured to the roiling waves.
the others shifted their weight and complained about the weather. It was too hot today, though yesterday was chillier than one would've liked. And, thank goodness it didn't rain today, though wouldn't it be nice to have a break in this humidity. Then they reached across the picnic table for the salad and asked anybody to pass the bread.

the water leveled out at her cheekbones.

"it's what happens to the old and to those who can see."

she supposed.

The others got serious and deliberated over the melting ice caps, the divisions of race and gender, the wrongness of the other others and the rightness of themselves. They were happy again to discover the sameness of their truth and pointed their fingers collectively toward the moon rising and called it a prophecy. They celebrated their great knowing with books and speeches and thundering applause.

"it was the least I could do."

she exhaled.