Harold took a deep breath and jumped. It was slow going for
the 189 pounds of flesh and clothing, a cell phone dying in his left velcroed
pocket. Water all around him rushed like a bubbling spray hose, and his lungs
remained still, capped tight with pursed lips, while his body slow-mo sank. His
hair ascended. Harold’s heart pounded like an urgent visitor to the toilet. His
legs did what his head told them to – point down, expect a rock to spring up
against.
Nothing; his legs instinctively scissored in the cold,
though Harold had no awareness of the water’s temperature. Like a cymbal’s single
strike, he suddenly realized he could be up or down, sideways or anywhere;
Harold felt lost, loosing it, his
veins shot through with ice-cold sugar water.
Desperate to breathe, Harold bit his lips instead. He closed
his eyes and saw the note he’d read from his wife: “I love you. See you
tonight.”
She was always right. How could he have ever doubted her? How
could he cry underwater?
Just like the final dip on a rollercoaster, when your
stomach unexpectedly reacquaints itself with your lap, Harold was spanked
fiercely onto the riverbank. He gasped, water strained from moustache into
mouth, as he laughed and cried, and lived happily ever after.
