Unravelling. Elizabeth Norris

Чтение книги онлайн.

      uddenly I’m somewhere else.

       My head is throbbing, like someone just took a sledgehammer to it. There’s water—freezing-cold water—all around me, and my arms and legs feel sluggish and hard to move. Panic threatens to overtake me as I sink deeper. I open my eyes, but the salt stings them and I can’t see. Even if I could swim, I don’t know which way is up. My insides burn because I want to breathe. I open my mouth because I have to—even though I know I’ll drown.

       It’s drown or let my lungs burst.

      Only I know this isn’t me, it’s not my memory—it’s someone else’s. I’m just somehow along for the ride. I know because ever since I was a little kid, I could practically swim better than I could walk.

       An arm wraps around me and pulls me to the surface and I see . . .

       Myself.

       I’m ten, wearing a pink flowered bathing suit because even though I hated pink that summer, my dad bought it for me, and he did the best he could. My wet hair, so dark it almost looks black, is swept off my face, and my chocolate-colored eyes are almost too big for my face. The sun is behind me, backlighting me—and I look like an angel.

      At least, that’s what this memory feels—that I’m an angel. Which is weird, because I can’t think of a single person who would think of me that way. Not even Jared, and he loves me.

      The white light rips through my body again.

      And again, I see myself—at school this time, in fifth grade, playing four-square on the playground with Kate and Alex and another boy, whose name I can’t remember now. I’m laughing, the waves of my hair bouncing up and down. And I feel . . . longing, like this memory wants nothing more than to join in. But for some reason it can’t.

      And again—in sixth grade, Alex and me walking my brother to school. I reach out and ruffle Jared’s hair. He swats at my hand, and I laugh.

      And again. Again. Again. And again.

      The scenes of my life play out in rapid succession, as if I’m an observer to my own life.

       Celebrating good grades. Perfect test scores. Reading books during recess. Swim meets and ocean swims. The breakup of my friendship with Kate. Debate competitions with Alex. Tutoring Jared and Chris in the library after school. Lifeguarding, walking on the beach with Nick.

      And the emotion I feel is undoubtedly love—heart aching, chest filling, so powerful it hurts, like these are memories of someone watching me, someone whose happiest moments are when he sees me smile, and someone who aches and feels powerless and heartbroken when he knows I’m sad. Someone who loves me.