As She Grows by Lesley Anne Cowan

smile disappears. “Before you can learn to swim, you must float, Snow. You’ve gotta trust the water. If you fight against it, you are going to gasp and struggle,” Greg explains patiently as I try to catch my breath. “You need to trust it. See—” he places his hand on the surface of water—“the water wants to hold you up, not pull you down.”
    I nod my head but I don’t believe him. I don’t have his faith, his simple trust in water. The cradling fluid we are born in, a cool drink on a hot summer’s day, the shallow depth in a holy bowl. I know the danger of just a few drops in a gas tank, in a lung. I question Greg’s trust in something that has the power both to give life and to take it away. I question why water is so easily forgiven.
    But instead of saying all these things, I say, “The water’s too fucking cold.” Which makes Greg roll his eyes and leave me alone, clinging to the side.

7
    As much as I want to be with Mark, I am afraid to call him. Afraid of what he’ll say, that he’ll blame me for getting pregnant. He thinks I’m mad at him, ever since a few days ago when he took off with his friends, leaving me waiting at his doorstep for three hours on a Saturday night. As if I didn’t have anything better to do. So I try to make myself busy with Jasmyn, tagging along with her to parties I don’t care about, just so I won’t be home at night, if he calls, which he never does. Finally, he does phone, and even though I pretend I’m busy, he begs me to come over in his sweet baby voice, telling me he needs to see me and that he misses me. And hearing this, my stomach swirls and I can’t wait to drop the phone and get over there. Jasmyn was right: ignore a guy for long enough and he’ll come crawling back to you, all sweet and horny.
    “Hey, babe,” he says when I arrive, leading me to his room and then pressing me against the closed bedroom door, Spliff’s pawsscratching the wood on the other side. He kisses me hard. “Hmmm,” he moans when he pulls away, as if he’s just tasted a good meal. “Where’ve you been?”
    “Out with Jasmyn,” I say, still cold.
    “And guys?”
    “What do ya think, we’re nuns?”
    “Oooo, feisty. I like it.” He playfully pushes me and I push back. He catches me in a headlock and I untangle through his legs, laughing. He flips me to the ground, my elbow slamming against hard wood and I give out an exaggerated scream as he rolls me over onto my back and pins my arms above my head.
    “That hurt,” I whine to his smiling face. He fakes like he’s about to drop spit down on me and I start to laugh. “Don’t! Don’t! You better not!” I try to wriggle out of his grip but his hand is tight on my wrist, burns my skin, and when I think he’s going to let go, he squeezes tighter.
    “Ow!” I squeal.
    “Come on, wimp,” he growls and I escape his grasp. Mark’s knee comes up and hoofs me in the stomach. I grunt and reflexively kick his chin.
    “That fuckin’ hurt!” I yell, clutching my abdomen.
    He laughs uneasily. “Just tryin’ to toughen you up, princess,” he says, and cradles his jaw, moving it back and forth.
    “Well, fuck off!” I yell, getting up. I walk to the bathroom, close the door, and look down into my underwear to see if there’s baby on it.
    When I come back out of the bathroom, Mark is waiting by the door. He pulls me close to him and gently rubs his hands up and down my back.
    “You’re different,” he says.
    “What?” I pull back.
    He shrugs his shoulder. “Nothing. You’re different than you used to be. I don’t know. Harder.” I push him away and squirm out of his arms to leave. I don’t need this. But he pulls me back and then he whispers in a sweet voice, “Stay a while. I want you to.” And I can’t stand how he can always make me feel so good like that, especially when I’m most hating him: how just the tip of his finger can let the air out and deflate me into absolution.
    “Okay. Till curfew,”