If You Don't Swim You'll Drown

Prologue

Michael likes his job. He loves swimming, he loves water in its every form and kind. And he didn't expect that, but he likes kids too. Teaching them how to swim makes Michael feel important in some way. He likes when a frightened little kid suddenly smiles, enjoying being in the pool with him and they actually have fun. It's a bit annoying when kids cry and they make other kids - on which Michael has worked so hard on - cry too. But that's part of the job and Michael doesn't complain about it.

His last class just ended and he sent all the kids to the showers and now he is cleaning up the mess they made together. He is still dripping water onto the floor, only in his swimming pants when Matty appears in front of him.

'Do you want to earn more money, Michael?' he asks and Michael doesn't know what he is supposed to answer. Of course he does, but when he asked for a pay rise Matty laughed at him.

'I might have a job for you.'

'What is that about?'

'Private lessons,' Matty tells him, 'the parents are willing to pay as much as you want as long as the kid gets over his fear of water.'

'A lot of kids are scared of water, that wouldn't be such a problem,' Michael considers out loud. Matty has always refused private lessons, something made him change his mind and Michael wonders what it is. He is not sure if he is allowed to ask or not, Matty is a very friendly guy, but Michael doesn't want to cross the line. His job is to teach, not to ask question. And he definitely needs money.

His esitation must be clear on his face, and Matty tries to explain. 'He is a friend of mine and he is having some issues. I think you are okay for this job.'

'I'm the best, I know!'

'If you say so,' Matty laughs at him, but Michael knows he has a good opinion about him. He is trusting Michael with a kid's friend after all. 'If you're on it, you could meet him tomorrow.'

'Cool. What time?'

'That's the thing. In the evening. Late.'

'My last class ends at 8.30 pm,' he says, well aware that Matty already knows.

'9.40 would be a good time then.'

'Are you kidding me? The gym closes at 9.30!'

'And the family wants some privacy.'

'For a swimming lesson?' Michael asks with a deep frown. But when Matty's reply is 'Take or leave,' he tells himself that time doesn't really matter. Again, he doesn't have anything to do. Or anyone to come back to.

.

Calum stares blankly in front of him. His mother's voice in the background keeps telling him that it's important for him to try, but Calum is so tired of hearing the same words over and over again.

His legs feel heavy, the constant needle like pain making him uncomfortable. He wishes he could just get up and run away, but the point is that: he can't get up and leave. He is stuck here, with his mom's constant mumbling and his sister's looks of pity. But what hurts the most is his father's silence. He tries to remember if the man ever spoke to him after what happened, but he can't recall one single word he said. He doesn't even say good morning, barely nodding his head in Calum's general direction the rare times they are in the same room.

'I'll think about it,' Calum says at some point, just to stop his mother's rambling. His throat is dry and his head hurts, he just wants to go to bed.

'Matty said-'

'I don't want Matty to be there,' he states. He loves Matty, he is grateful to him. Matty is the reason why Calum is still alive, but he won't set his foot in a swimming pool if Matty is going to be there.

Flashes of Matty's worried face appear in Calum's messed up mind. The smell of clorine, Matty' s bloodied hands and Ashton's screams are vivid memories and Calum feels his throat tighten like it did that night, he feels like he can't breathe and instantly pulls at the neck of his shirt, gulping air as fast as he can, trying to be subtle, not wanting to worry his mother. He is not having a panic attack. He is fine. 'I'll think about it,' he says again, his lungs still burning, 'But I don't want Matty to be there.'

With all his strength, Calum forces himself in a standing position, leaning over his crutches. He wishes his feet would just move like they used to. It's better than it was a few months ago, when he was stuck in bed, forced to use a catheter and a pan because he couldn't even go to the bathroom on his own, but it's still different from the normality he used to take for granted. He stands on his sore legs, pushing the crutches in front of him, then he leans on his broad arms, the only part of him that is still fit and drags his feet forward.

It takes so long to get to his room it's frustrating.

His room used to be upstairs, Calum thinks bitterly, looking at the stairs. They moved his bed downstairs when he was released from the hospital in a wheelchair that he couldn't even push on his own and he slept in the living room for a while. Then his psychiatrist pointed out that privacy would have been good for a barely eighteen years old boy, even if by then even Mali had seen Calum naked plenty of times, when she had had to change him or give him a bath. Everyone had seen him cry and have fits. So privacy was an odd concept for Calum back then.

Still, he is thankful to have his own room now. A room that he can reach on his own.

When he reaches his bed he is tired and his mind is working hard on every different situation. Three months and ten days. The last time he went to a swimming pool was so long ago. He is frightened of going back there.

Then why is he smiling?