Mine Still

Drowning

My room is bright when I awaken. Disoriented, I gather my bearings. Light filters through sheer curtains, framed by blackouts. I should have closed them last night. I shift in bed to look at the empty space beside me.

My sweatshirt rests on the opposite pillow, where I like it, and I reach for it automatically. The scent of oil and cigarettes overwhelms my nose, and tears prick my eyes. I'm transported back to sitting in front of Alex, cross legged on his bed. He offers me potato salad and I laugh, because I don't do mayonnaise and he knows this. A rare smile graces my lips.

As I open my eyes, and adjust to reality, I know it's not that simple. Life without Alex is boring. I go to school, I go to work, and I try not to cry. I never win.

I get ready for work, donning a practical outfit for the freezing New York winter, and try to wrangle my appearance into something passable. It's a close call, and I'm running late. The drive is short, but I still manage to cry when Perfect by Ed Sheeran plays on the radio. I turn off the car and clean up my makeup, readying myself to deal with my boss.

"Ava, you're late." The comment makes me feel the chagrin it was intended to, and I take my place at our morning meeting table meekly. "Right, as I was saying, Johnny and I will be out all day. Ava, you're with me. Let me know if you need anything." She excuses us with a dismissive wave of her hand, and I get up to follow her through our appointments. In the car, she chatters animatedly, apparently having forgiven my indiscretion. I listen to her babble just to keep her off my back. As it is, I'm completely lost in my thoughts.

When the ice cream truck came singing, Alex and I used to sprint. It was like a race. We'd beg mom and dad to hurry up with the money so we wouldn't miss him. Without debating, and without fail, Alex would go for the blue one with the gumballs for eyes. Mouths stained and bellies full, we'd head back to the pool to wreak more havoc.

Our appointments today trigger me. An addict, an individual with depression, and a liar. It's like the trifecta. The paperwork still gets done, somehow, because she's good at her job, and the day passes.

When the clock mercifully hits four thirty, I'm finally finished. My boss drives us back to the office, talking about how she's proud of the good work I'm doing. I can barely listen.

The Copes moved in next door when I was three. Alex Cope was two years my senior, almost three. It seemed like nothing. We were introduced in the front yard, two spindly kids with energy to burn. On the brick steps of my yellow house, Alex and I sat.

"I'm thirsty," he claimed. Inside I bounded, returning with a plastic bottle of sparkling water. It was the first of many times, in what I thought was an endless lifetime, of catering to Alexander Cope.

As I get back into my own car, grateful work is over, I shoot Jenna a text asking if I can swing by. She acquiesces and I'm on my way in a heartbeat. I cry during the drive, overwhelmed with the stress of my day, but pull myself together before going inside their modest ranch.

Jenna's older sister, Alexis, greets me with open arms, and it feels like I'm home. We spend the night as a family, eating Chinese that I'm instructed to order, and I feel better.

I don't tell Jenna or Alexis about the dream, but I think about my relationship with their mother. Kyla keeps her distance from me now, almost as if she's afraid of what I'll say. Still, before I leave, I make sure to hug her on the way out. I leave them all in the house: Jenna, Alexis, Kyla, and Alex's father, Joe.

I hear the lock click behind me and I go home alone. To put me to sleep, I make a margarita. Well, I make three. My bed sheets are cool as I climb in.

Three hours later, my margarita is talking to me. As the ice melts down, it clinks together as condensation leaks off the sides of the frosted glass. I readjust myself under the covers, some cheesy fantasy romance show that Alex and I came across playing in the background.

I cross my ankles, leaning back against my pillows with my drink. My phone sits beside me, screen as black as my room with the curtains drawn. The glow from the television screen casts everything in a subtle blue. Once I'm comfortable, I close my eyes, and think of Alex.

I glide through the water flawlessly. It's so easy. I can't believe how effortless it is to breathe. My hands rest along what would usually be my thighs. Instead, I'm made of a purple tail and fins, scaly and slimy.

As I take in my surroundings, I revel in the feeling of the liquid sliding over silky skin. The glass of the tank I'm swimming in shows an empty auditorium. Red seats and gold accents create the atmosphere. Friends from grade school swim above me, close to the glass.

Colorful coral covers the bottom of the tank, mixing with sea floor. Bottom feeders glide, their tails swishing from side to side. A shark circles absentmindedly, with no clear direction. I look down at the fish below me, fascinated, and watch in horror as my glasses slide off the bridge of my nose.

I reach for them blindly, glancing up at the shark. From above me a chorus of watery laughs infiltrates my ears. I look up, and there he is.

He looks perfect. Perfect golden hair, flowing freely in the water, bubbles escaping his perfect lips. Chocolate brown eyes gaze into my desperate soul, and even in the depths of this aquarium, I feel it doing things to my insides. Skinny as always, his chest tapers to a narrow waist, with a shape that makes my mouth water. My eyes follow a flawless green tail, to perfectly arched fins, and I'm floored.

He's smiling at me, laughing with the boys in my grade school class. My biggest tormentors. I decide to make a break for it, eyeing the shark all the while. I swim furiously for the bottom, where my thick black glasses have settled in the sand.

It's a quick maneuver to pick them up and settle them back atop my thin, straight nose. The conversation above me is indistinct, so I swim up to investigate. As the boys come into clear view, he looks at me.

"Ava loves me," he purrs, happy with himself. I roll my eyes, but it's true. After everything we've been through, it'd be impossible not to love him. Memories cascade through my mind as I swim away, red spots coloring my cheeks, and tears flooding my eyes.

"But do you love her?" I don't hear the answer.