All This Life by Joshua Mohr Page B

All she sees is water and her brother and her parents sitting in chairs on the side, watching them swim.
    There are so many memories back here that Sara can’t pick out one, can’t zero in on one day where they were all here, all alive. It’s not one recollection from their past, but a hive of them, a colony of reconstructions, Hank showing off how long he can hold his breath underwater, Sara doing handstands, legs together, toes pointed perfectly. Their mom works her way through yet another Sudoku book. Their dad flips burgers on the barbecue. There are enough memories now to fill this pool.
    â€œI like the backstroke,” she says and mimics the motion, moving in the same circular direction as her brother, both of them walking around and swinging their arms.
    â€œYou’re good at it,” he says.
    Hank laughs and Sara laughs, and they are both laughing.
    They are laughing like children and walking in circles and sort of swimming and they spend the next ten minutes like this. Hank forgets to tell her what he’ll do to Nat, and Sara forgets she wants to know.
    She switches to freestyle.
    Hank says, “How the hell do you do the butterfly again?”
    He awkwardly flaps his muscled arms like he’s trying to fly andSara laughs so hard that she sits down on its sandy bottom, then lies down completely. She doesn’t say anything, straightening out and moving her arms and her legs back and forth in the dust, a desert snow angel.
    â€œIs this right?” he asks, shaking his arms in quick small circles.

8.
    T he day Balloon Boy was born, Rodney had been with Sara. They left their junior high and kissed in the park and then saw a man with a big balloon tied to a tree. It wasn’t typical; it was flat like a big hunk of gray bread, about four feet across, hovering close to the ground. Rodney and Sara asked the guy what he was doing.
    â€œIt’s a homemade weather balloon for some experiments,” he said.
    â€œWhat kind of experiments, sir?” Rodney asked.
    â€œDo you two want to be my assistants?”
    â€œSure,” they said.
    â€œFirst thing I need you to do is watch the balloon for me. I have to run to the restroom. Can you do that?”
    â€œWe’re not babies,” said Sara.
    â€œDon’t touch anything until I’m back,” the man said. “Then I’ll show you how to measure barometric pressure.” He ran off toward the bathroom.
    Sara poked the balloon and said, “I wonder if this could make it to Spain.”
    â€œWhy Spain?”
    â€œWe can go up, up, and away,” she said.
    Back then, Rodney’s goal in life was to impress Sara. Making her laugh was his chief mission, and so he said, “Want to watch me fly?”
    â€œDon’t be crazy.”
    He strutted to the huge balloon and jumped into the middle of the flat gray thing. It took his weight no problem, kept hovering a few feet high.
    Sara said, “Quit it.”
    He said, “Spain.”
    He reached for the rope and untied it.
    â€œGet off there, Rodney.”
    He hovered a bit higher.
    â€œThis isn’t funny,” she said.
    â€œHey!” said the man, running toward them. “Son, be careful!”
    And Sara said, “Please don’t.”
    They kept screaming at Rodney in alternating sentences, but he wasn’t listening. He smiled at her. He loved every second at first because this was all a joke. No big deal. Nothing to worry about. Rodney knew they’d all laugh once he was back on the ground learning about barometric pressure.
    The balloon was fifteen feet in the air.
    Rodney didn’t feel any fear. He was a kid impressing his girl. Swept up in making her laugh. Sara wasn’t saying anything anymore, only staring up at him, open-mouthed.
    There weren’t any clouds in the sky. He was up there by himself. He felt like a test pilot, brave and fearless. Someone reckless with liberty. The sun shone so violently that