...ing | -2003-

And I am still there. Still treading water. Still

But the voice wasn't the singer's anymore. It was mine. ...ing -2003-

I swam up. Broke the surface. Gasped.

But the something was already behind my eyes. It was the knowledge that we were living in the pause between two frames of a film. That 2003 wasn't a year—it was a breath held too long. And the exhale? The exhale was coming. It would sound like a plane hitting a tower, a war starting over nothing, a friend logging offline for the last time. It would sound like the end of the -ing. The end of being . And I am still there

Everything was still. Too still. The other kids were kicking, splashing, laughing in slow-motion bubbles. But I saw them the way you see figures in a snow globe after the shake—frozen in the middle of a gesture. My best friend, Jenny, her mouth open mid-shout. Mark, his arm raised to throw a Frisbee that hung in the murk like a pale moon. It was mine

That fall, school started. We went back to our desks, our lockers, our lives. And no one mentioned the summer. Not the static. Not the glass air. Not the drowning.