fishing. It wasnât that he was the outdoors type; he just found it relaxing. As for me, I never understood the attraction of sitting around all day holding a pole. Plus, I hated fish even back thenâthe slime, the smell, the general grossness. No matter how it was cooked, it always tasted like rubber. But I loved being with my dad, and I loved boats. Loved the feeling of floating on water. Loved watching the trees on the shore as they flickered around me, their pale green leaves waving in the breeze. It was one of those balmy spring days that made you want to raise your head to the sun and drink in the rays, the kind of day that made you glad to be alive.
With its two-hundred-foot sheer drop, Dead Manâs Landing overlooks a rocky bend of the Connecticut River. We were down below, in a boat in the creek, about fifty feet to the side of the rocks. Thatâs where the trout were, according to my father. But the sun was beginning to descend and he hadnât caught a thing, and it was time to go. Standing at the stern, he pulled on the rope to start the motor, and thatâs when it happened. I heard a rustling in the woods and looked up. About halfway down from the landing, a doe and her fawn sprang out from the brush, an arc of brown against the dappled greenery as they vaulted into the open. âDaddy, look!â I yelled. It wasnât the first time Iâd seen deer in the woods, but from down here in the creek they looked magical.
In the instant my father turned his head, the rope snapped and he fell backward, slipping on the water at the bottom of the boat. He hit his head on the side and rolled over the edge. The boat tipped up with his weight and then flipped over on top of me, and the next thing I knew, I was facedown in the water, under the boat, my leg caught in the bench. I tried to grab onto the sides, but my hands kept slipping. Not that it mattered. I couldnât stretch that far and keep my head out of water. The life vest was keeping me afloat, but every time I twisted my head, it seemed the water rose higher. âDaddy!â I yelled, but my voice was lost in the river. Lost in the river, somewhere with my father.
Breathe , I told myself. Just breathe.
I tried to keep my head up, but it was so heavy and the pain in my leg had spread to my shoulders. I closed my eyes, and when I did I saw my fatherâ¦
â¦floating away from the overturned boat, mouthing the words, âHelp me, you have to help me,â but how can this be? Heâs outside the boat and Iâm underneath, yet there he is, staring straight ahead, his arms and legs moving loosely with the water, water thatâs rising, swirling around me. And I canât feel my fingers, theyâre numb from the cold, canât feel my toes, canât move, canât even breathe, and crushing my chest, my neck, my chin, the gushing water is filling my mouth. But then I squeeze my eyes tighter and everything changes. Weâre back in the boat watching the sunset, and my father is saying, âYou have to go home now,â except heâs not really talking, not really thereâ¦
â¦in that place again, but itâs just an illusion, a dream within a dream, and wearing that red dress and the shiny silver locket, Amanda is standing next to me on the riverbank, and sheâs crying and mouthing, âHelp me, you have to help me,â but I canât move, canât even breatheâ¦
â¦in a tunnel, the MRI tunnel, and its walls are collapsing, and I have to get out, have to call for help, but when I try to scream into the intercom, my mouth wonât openâ¦
Breathe. Just breathe.
What if thereâs a fire and Iâm left here to burn?
My clothes are in the locker. Isnât it a metal locker? What if thereâs an earthquake and the locker gets dislodged from the wall and comes flying through the tunnel?
Is there metal in tattoos? When Tattoo Girl comes back, will I suddenly
With its two-hundred-foot sheer drop, Dead Manâs Landing overlooks a rocky bend of the Connecticut River. We were down below, in a boat in the creek, about fifty feet to the side of the rocks. Thatâs where the trout were, according to my father. But the sun was beginning to descend and he hadnât caught a thing, and it was time to go. Standing at the stern, he pulled on the rope to start the motor, and thatâs when it happened. I heard a rustling in the woods and looked up. About halfway down from the landing, a doe and her fawn sprang out from the brush, an arc of brown against the dappled greenery as they vaulted into the open. âDaddy, look!â I yelled. It wasnât the first time Iâd seen deer in the woods, but from down here in the creek they looked magical.
In the instant my father turned his head, the rope snapped and he fell backward, slipping on the water at the bottom of the boat. He hit his head on the side and rolled over the edge. The boat tipped up with his weight and then flipped over on top of me, and the next thing I knew, I was facedown in the water, under the boat, my leg caught in the bench. I tried to grab onto the sides, but my hands kept slipping. Not that it mattered. I couldnât stretch that far and keep my head out of water. The life vest was keeping me afloat, but every time I twisted my head, it seemed the water rose higher. âDaddy!â I yelled, but my voice was lost in the river. Lost in the river, somewhere with my father.
Breathe , I told myself. Just breathe.
I tried to keep my head up, but it was so heavy and the pain in my leg had spread to my shoulders. I closed my eyes, and when I did I saw my fatherâ¦
â¦floating away from the overturned boat, mouthing the words, âHelp me, you have to help me,â but how can this be? Heâs outside the boat and Iâm underneath, yet there he is, staring straight ahead, his arms and legs moving loosely with the water, water thatâs rising, swirling around me. And I canât feel my fingers, theyâre numb from the cold, canât feel my toes, canât move, canât even breathe, and crushing my chest, my neck, my chin, the gushing water is filling my mouth. But then I squeeze my eyes tighter and everything changes. Weâre back in the boat watching the sunset, and my father is saying, âYou have to go home now,â except heâs not really talking, not really thereâ¦
â¦in that place again, but itâs just an illusion, a dream within a dream, and wearing that red dress and the shiny silver locket, Amanda is standing next to me on the riverbank, and sheâs crying and mouthing, âHelp me, you have to help me,â but I canât move, canât even breatheâ¦
â¦in a tunnel, the MRI tunnel, and its walls are collapsing, and I have to get out, have to call for help, but when I try to scream into the intercom, my mouth wonât openâ¦
Breathe. Just breathe.
What if thereâs a fire and Iâm left here to burn?
My clothes are in the locker. Isnât it a metal locker? What if thereâs an earthquake and the locker gets dislodged from the wall and comes flying through the tunnel?
Is there metal in tattoos? When Tattoo Girl comes back, will I suddenly
Similar Books
