This River

This river flows from the mountains. The river that she peered at, from around her mother’s silk skirt, mesmerized, staring at the water that ran, washed over the earth’s curves and edges. She was told to stay away, not even get close, as the muddy banks, even, wanted to hold the river so close that it folded right into its grasp. She would venture on some days, away from the eyes of her parents, watch from afar. The sound soothed her, the sight relaxed her, and on several days she would find herself waking up in her bed after having fallen asleep in the soft, prickly, grass. She wouldn’t carry every memory with her as she grew, aged, but the river always stayed clear in her mind.

She would remember, especially, the first time she ventured close, stepping to its edge, small hands closing smaller fingers over the water, a physical object that is impossible to grasp. The way it moved and flowed between her fingers, bubbling where she touched, hissing all around her. The way the water reflected the dazzling light of the sun but was hard to see through to the bottom. The way that her mother rushed to her side, with her forceful voice, worry laced in every word, scolding her, the river is dangerous, be careful, be careful.

But it didn’t look dangerous, not to her, as she looks on from afar, out her window at night. It made her feel safe. Safe, like she felt behind the silk of her mother’s skirt.

This river rushes with cold water. Her legs were longer now, and reached out gently over the side. Her toes curled below the surface, and she enjoyed the warmth of the rays contrasting to the chill on her feet. The river was loud as ever, sweeping through everything in its path. It was consistent in its steadiness, always moving forward, ever moving forward, like the seconds ticking away in time. She could hear little else outside of the river itself, with its sound drowning out the sweet sound of her humming, but not loud enough to drown the shrill yells of the fighting in the house. 

Her humming grew louder, her eyes focused on the toes distorted by the moving water, her feet pruned from how long they spent submerged, her throat sore from the different songs she sang on loop.

The door would slam, sometimes and the car would putter to life. But she’d sit there, still, and hum and wait for the sound of the crying to stop.

This river shrinks in the heat. The rushing turnsedinto a murmur, bubbling down its path. She felt confident now to swim when no one is watching, stripping down her clothes, allowing the water to envelope her wholly. She loved these moments of peace by herself, finally grown out of childhood and peeking into the world of the teenager, the time before the adult. Nothing but her and the river. She’d close her eyes and dunk her head under, finding peace in the overwhelming lack of sound.

She’d stay there, underwater, until she blew bubbles out of her mouth, the oxygen giving way to its carbon partners, leaving her lungs burning like fire. Only then would she rise, fill herself with the cool relief of the sky, even on the most humid days. And sometimes, even that breath of fresh air would not feel like a relief at all.

Especially when she’d sometimes soon find that she was not alone any longer. Sometimes, their silence is more terrifying than their yells.

This river swells in the rain. It overflows, overtakes, thundering down its path. It has grown today much as she has in years, with her hair flowing and black, black like the dress that she had worn that now pooled at her feet. The grief is so allconsuming, it’s as if it isn’t there, as if the grief is her normal, the air around her that she lives and breathes. With the rain showing no signs of slowing, she knew that the river was dangerous. But it called to her, beckoned.

But maybe it reached out because she begged.

This river swirls with muddy browns and greens. As a child she had always been told that water was blue, but she knew now, of course, that that was not true. The color of the river does not match her own blacks and blues, as she rests a hand, frigid from being placed below the water’s surface, up against her cheek, soothed by the cold. She wishes desperately for the silk of her mother’s dress, but her mother is no longer there for her to hide behind.

She wipes away her tears, before the heat can mix with the cold and disappear. Though she wants to disappear with her whole being. 

This river flows into the sea. With bruised arms and swollen lips, she lowers herself into the water, shocked by the cold of the water, actually feeling something for the first time in a long while, sinking into her only safe place. She stares straight ahead, with nowhere, no one to look back to, tears dried from her cheeks, toes curled into the chill as she drops down, legs, hips, waist, shoulders, head, hair, black hair. She closes her eyes, it is hard to see, and feels her lightness, the pounds that she shed in months of sadness and hunger, the months trapped only with her father and his hands released into the darkness of the water, the deepness of the river.

And then she begins to change. Her legs, smooth, begin to harden, scale, join together into one. Her skin gives way at her neck, open wounds slit along the sides, sucking in water as if it were air. Her eyes open again, iridescent, shining, seeing in the darkness. The current pulls her into the open water, into her new home, with the salt of the sea hiding tears that no longer leak from her face.

This river is her escape.