The River
I reach the surface and hand Constance’s body to someone. I have no idea who. It’s one of the Mushroomers for all I know. In the distance behind me, I can hear the guns shooting at the water. It’s hard to ask what’s happening now, as I need to gulp a few breaths to stabilize the oxygen in my brain.
“What’s going on?” I finally ask.
“Part of the police force reported strange activities in the water. They can’t see the boats yet,” Tom says. “I think it’s because they could not imagine we escaped through a door that led to the river. But they’re shooting at the water near the asylum.”
“Soon they’ll expose us,” I say, pulling myself up. A Mushroomer is already helping Constance, giving her CPR.
I kneel down and check her body from head to toe as he does.
“What are you looking for?” Tom asks.
“Bullets. I think she’s been shot.”
But then Constance coughs. It’s a painful cough, full of spurts and water. She even coughs out a small fish. My heart flutters with happiness.
I reach for her head, as I feel no one else has the right to hold her in their arms but me right now.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I say.
She only coughs, says nothing back. The darkness and the bullets shooting in the distance should alert me, but I’m all safe here with her in my arms.
“You’ll be all right.” I do my best to hold my tears back. “I promise you that you will be all right.”
“I think we should row away,” Tom says. “Before the police discover us.”
“The movement will alert them,” I say.
“You saved me?” Constance says with half her strength.
I rub her wet hair and nod. “I did. I dove down there to get you. What happened to you?”
“I bumped into something and lost consciousness I guess.” She seems emotional about it.
I hug her tighter and kiss her forehead. “It’s okay. You’re all right now.”
“I’m not all right,” she says feebly — but stubbornly.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it was me who’s supposed to save you.” She drums a feeble hand against my chest. “I’m supposed to save you.”
And suddenly, I see it. I see how we all can be hard on ourselves. Even though we do our best, and sometimes perform miracles, we’re just dramatic creatures. We seek perfection. Stupid perfection that has no meaning whatsoever. The same way I’ve been taunting myself for not doing the best job, Constance has been persuaded she should do a perfect job. Just like superheroes in a movie.
But that’s not real life.
We do what we have to do, and the results will always stand short. It’s not so much the results that make it up. It’s that we tried. It’s that we cared.
I mean, the little stubborn girl literally walked through shit to save us, and did show us a way out of the asylum, but still thinks she didn’t do her best. I think we need to ease up on children. They’re handling too much pressure these days.
I hold her tighter and look in her eyes. “Constance, do you see all those Mushroomers in the boats?”
She lifts her head and nods, tears in her eyes.
“All of them are alive because of you,” I tell her. “I’m alive because of you.”
She nods.
“All of us will go back to our families and hug them and play with them and spend a good time with them, because of you,” I continue. “Families will be bonded and kids will be raised by their fathers and mothers because of you.”
Her starry eyes look at me for a while, then she says, “But your family died, Alice. You don’t have a family.”
“Oh, you stubborn foolish cute girl,” I tell her. “I do have a family. And they’re alive.”
“You do?” Her eyes widen.
“Yes, you.”