Magdalena

Part 2: Burnt Lungs

Just as the night sky begins to cave in, something snakes around me under the water, and I'm too weak to shy away from it even though I want to. My mind races with thoughts of what it could be: a shark, a sea snake, the dreaded loch ness monster. God, it could eat me up and nobody would even know this was a suicide.

But the thoughts drift away when I see what it really is. Under droopy eyelids there is a man, his face dangerously close to mine. We're moving through the water with difficulty, thrashing around like we have no clue how to swim, but moving all the same. He's rescuing me, but I don't have the strength to force him away, to tell him this was no rescue mission.

Minutes later, he's laying me down (a little less carefully than I would've liked) on the sand at the water's shore. The man is breathing erratically, huffing and puffing, in and out, and struggling to get to his knees. My eyelids lazily flutter open and closed, my whole body turning numb.

"Hey, hey," He says, gently slapping my cheeks. His voice is deep and hoarse and if I could smile, I would smile at the sound of it.

"Can you hear me?" He asks, and I can, but I don't think I can move any part of my body on my own free will, and so he will live in oblivion until I can.

"Jus- just... just stay here, okay? Don't move."

He jumps up, his drenched hair spewing droplets everywhere, and runs from me. My eyes are locked on a single star above me and I feel entirely disembodied, as if someone has come and scooped my soul out with a spoon. I wonder what they will do with it. The stars in the sky begin to shake, and I'm confused at first until I realize it is not them shaking but me. My entire body is shivering, every single limb, as if it is trying to rattle the ice out of my blood.

I almost completely forget about the man until he comes back, this time with a jean jacket in his hands.

"God," He mumbles upon seeing my body convulsing in the sand. He drops onto his knees and wraps the jacket around me, pulling my body up until it is flush with his. He struggles, moving his legs and arms to encapsulate my body with his as much as possible. When he finally stills, he has completely wrapped himself around me, and I rock back and forth against his chest.

We stay like this for a good five minutes until my shivering ceases. His hands desperately massage my back and arms as he does everything he can to defrost me. Sometime in the middle, I wonder why he has not called 911, but am grateful for the inaction nonetheless. If I don't die successfully, then I don't want my mother hearing about it.

"I need to get you indoors," He says, detaching his chest from mine. The empty space between us instantly fills with cold and an immediate reminder of my time in the ocean flashes before my eyes. I squeal and press myself against him again, and the sudden force knocks us both down.

The man makes an "mmph" noise and then chuckles a bit, but doesn't try to sit up. And so we lie there for another few minutes, chest to chest, legs tangled together, on the frozen beach sand.

I feel the man fumble his hand around in a pocket of the jacket he has wrapped around me, and I listen as he clicks a few buttons. My heart nearly stops beating at the possibility that he could be calling 911, but just before I move to snatch the phone from him, I hear the muffled voice on the other line say, "Silver City Cab Company, where can we take you?"

The man responds with the name of the steel mill and helps me to my feet. I walk under his arm, still slightly shivering and hacking, until we make it to the road just out front of the factory. The cab meets us there, and then the man and I are wrapped up together again.

"Where to?" The driver asks from the opposite side of the plastic panel.

"Where do you live?" The man whispers dangerously close to my ear.

I press myself tighter against him and mumble, "Nowhere."

I couldn't imagine the conniption my mother would have if I turned up on our doorstep soaking wet under the arm of man unknown to us both.

He sighs but provides the driver with an address anyway. His own, I assume.

            The cab lurches into reverse and the force peels my face off of the man's chest for a moment. In the faint light of the passing streetlamps outside, I can see the puddle of blood that's accumulated on his shirt from my split cheek. We're both still soaking wet.

            He takes this opportunity to catch my eyes with his. His are bluer than the ocean I just nearly drowned in and the thought saddens me.

            "I'm Dan," He says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

            I sigh, placing my chin on his chest as I hold his gaze. "You're no hero, Dan."

            His mouth falls into a straight line, his eyebrows furrowing. I don't have the energy to explain myself, so I just rest back against him and listen to the gravel under the tires.