Amanda's Story

In the River Rye

Amanda pressed against the heavy, cold force. She must move upward—which way was up? Her hands were cut open from where they'd banged against the rocks. She couldn't grasp anything; numbness was taking over, up to her shoulders, above her knees.

Her lungs burned, aching for air but heavy with water.

She spun again, and her knee cracked against a rock. The pain forced the last bit of air from her. She opened her mouth, choked, swallowed, spat.

The leg against the rock flexed, and finally she found resistance. She put all her might into kicking off from that rock, and her head finally broke the surface.

She sucked in, choked, spat, and sucked in air again. Pain surrounded each breath, but she knew she must have air. She must stay afloat.

Her dress was so heavy. Her legs dragged against the silt and pebbles of the river bottom. Her arms flailed, pushing herself up over and over again.

But wait. Her feet were on the ground, her head above water. She opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

She was in a calm eddy at the side of the river, no deeper than her chest. The torrent had swept her to the side like flotsam, circled her around, and now she bobbed out of the main current.

Her arms didn't want to obey, but she forced their cooperation. She reached for the rock, but it was too slippery and she was too weak. She could only spread her arms wide, hug the rock, and try to bob forward a few inches at a time. When she came around the side, she saw that the path of the river was shallow for only these few feet. It narrowed into another rocky channel a yard or two away. She looked up. The spot she was in was like a little bowl, carved out of the stone and open to the sky, but sloped on either side. The walls were ten to twenty feet high.

There was a shelf, a ledge just a bit wider than herself, just above the water line at her left. She dragged her body toward it, placed a hand upon it, and leaned upon her elbow. She only rose a few inches until her skirts were too heavy to lift further.

She laid her cheek upon her arm, bent like a V on the rock. Breathe. Just take a moment and breathe.

She closed her eyes. Water dripped from her ears, her nose, off her lashes. She weakly pushed a strand of hair from her mouth. Time seemed to freeze as she clung to the rock shelf, so grateful to be still, to be away from the force of the water.

She blinked. She stared at a trickle of blood forming on her middle knuckle. How long had it been since she could feel her feet? She crunched her eyebrows together, determined to make her feet respond. The toes bent a little—she thought. She cried out when she tried to move her right knee.

Again she tried to leverage herself from the water. Both elbows dug into the shelf, levering her upper body so that her ribs were above the water now. She tried to lift her uninjured knee—it slipped, and she fell backward. She panicked as the water covered her head again and flailed and scratched until she was again clutching the shelf.

Amanda forced herself to calm down. Think.

My skirts are too heavy. I cannot lift myself with their weight.

She debated whether the clothing would be of any use once she was out of the water. Soaked through, could it keep her warm?

She didn't care. She pulled at her lacings at the back, finally untying the wet strings. She clutched the rock with one hand while she contorted and pulled her body through the skirt. She tugged the front panel away from the bib, unfastened the hooks and loops, then unfastened the side panels, finally dropping the wet mass and letting it sink in the river.