Instinctive Drowning Response

Part 9: A Treasure Against Time

Maryrose dies on Wednesday, and a year—a year!—later Campbell marks the anniversary by returning to Echo Park, which he’s been avoiding since her passing. He’s a month sober, going to meetings, but struggles every day. Martin quit too, Tony’s in jail, and Doc did a very public stint in rehab and emerged a hero. Campbell tosses some potato chips to the ducks, but not one of them has the energy to climb out of the water and waddle up the bank to get them. It’s the third day of a heat wave, and the sun is showing everyone who’s boss. Grass crumbles underfoot, palms hiss overhead, and the forsaken stand in the shadows of telephone poles, waiting for buses that are always late.

Maryrose claimed that the first time she did dope was the first time in her life she felt normal. “Why do you think it’s called a fix?” she said. Campbell didn’t argue; he just liked to see her smile. They’d come down to this bench, eat paletas, and make up songs about the people passing by. She’d laugh herself silly crooning about a fat kid kicking a soccer ball, then collapse breathless into his arms. And that’s when he felt normal for the first time. But who’s going to believe that? Who even wants to hear it? Better to keep those memories to himself, to guard them like a treasure against time, the goddamn drip, drip, drip of days that would wash them away.

Publisher’s Note: We’ve come to the end of “Instinctive Drowning Response.” Thank you for reading! If you’d like to read more stories by Richard Lange, we recommend picking up a copy of Sweet Nothing, the collection in which this story appears.