I’m carsick. Brain dizzy. Stomach twisty. Like I’m driving way up into the mountains. Or higher, then higher. Up and up. My head goes so light it floats.
My toes and fingers float, too.
There’s no ground beneath me.
It’s water.
I think I see Charlie. Reaching out to me. I spread my fingers. Want his hand. But he’s too far away. I can’t grasp it.
“Let go, Ruby Tuesday,” he says.
I’m a limp body along the cold surface of the swimming pool.
The drain gulps beneath me.
Glug, glug, glug.
It pulls me toward it.
My stomach buckles first. I fold in half like a piece of paper.
Down, down, down I go.
Until I am pulled all the way under.
I am floppy arms and mermaid hair.
I am weak bones and popping bubbles.
I am here and I am not.
It feels good to let go.
It’s a relief to disappear into the drain.