The Current

Even at this distance my stomach somersaults. With each step another wave assaults my senses. The wind whips and bites at my exposed neck, the must rises up around me from leaves dying underfoot. A car passes and I revel in the sanctuary of exhaust fumes and engine’s rumble but my relief is only fleeting. As it passes out of sight I hear for the first time the relentless flow of water. It is then that it hits me. Then that it all comes flooding back.

A summer’s day, leaves sitting high, proud on their perches, ignorant of their impending fall. I walk quickly, driven not by cold but time, “Late!” I remember, “I mustn’t be late.” I almost walk past her. How different it could have been, my subconscious drifts and is lashed viscously by my guilt. I don’t hear her over the water, it’s always fast running, as quick as the corridors and twice as loud. I am walking by, oblivious, when I turn. To this day I couldn’t tell you why. How often had I looked out into the water? Of the hundreds of days I had walked by I chose that day to look. I spotted her, an arm in the water. My mind didn’t register, no-one swims in the river, not that I knew of. But after a face followed the arms disappearance, a face I’ll never forget, I couldn’t deny it any longer.

I looked up and down the river, looking for a companion, a boat - someone, anyone to take this away from me – but saw that there was none. My eyes scoured the path up ahead, behind, looking for a companion to cling to, desperate for rescue. There was no-one.

She was already travelling quickly downstream, the current of the water carrying her off. A voice in my head told me to act. I drew out my phone and tapped rapidly at the keypad. The dial tone was leisurely, barely audible over the thudding heart beat pounding at my ears. What service? I don’t know. She’s drowning! Where am I? Longham bridge. I can’t swim. Quick! She’s fucking drowning! They’re on their way. She’s still talking, trying to calm me down but I don’t listen. I’m squinting down the river looking for a sign of her, Christ she’s gone.

Then I see a hand, just for a second then it’s submerged but it’s enough. I’m running. I reach the end of the bridge and clamber up onto the wall. Dropping down onto the grass I look along the bank. Trees obscure my vision downstream, I can’t see her. I pull off my shoes, my socks, the grass is cold underfoot. My heart is stuttering in my chest, skittering off beat with fear. I pull off my shirt and throw it to the ground. Looking down at my exposed arms and chest, white with cold, I’m fragile and weak. You can’t, the voice is sneering, You’ll die. Closing my eyes I inhale, Focus. I step down into the water and the cold slashes at my legs. It streams up my body, seeking out warmth where it hides and snuffing it out.

Standing just thigh deep the force of the water nearly takes me. Struggling to stay upright I bring my second leg in. I still don’t know what I will do. Bile rises in my throat as I take another step and my head spins out of control. The world tilts and my hand splashes into the water as I over balance. It’s impossible. Still I take another step, but I stumble and lurch, my feet flailing for sure footing. My face ducks under, water streaming up my nose, into my mouth, my eyes, I am engulfed. Striking the ground I push up and out into the air. Water chokes out of my lungs and I scramble for the bank. Clawing my way out of the water I lie shivering.

Time passes, blue lights sweep into view and still I lie. They find her some way down the river. School girl. Her friends say she fell in, I saw one crying on the news in the days that followed. A paramedic picked me up. Wrapped me in a silver blanket and took me to the ambulance. They asked me questions that I didn’t understand before they took me to the hospital.

The news didn’t know what to say about me. I caused them a predicament. They couldn’t call me a hero, I hadn’t even gone in the water. The details ruined the headlines and so they forgot about me. The police asked me what had happened and I explained as best I could. I didn’t spare any details, the fear, my ineptitude. They said the family had asked to talk to me, to thank me. I said no. It would only make it worse for them, seeing that the one person that could have done something, the last chance their daughter was given, turned out to be nothing but a cruel joke. And yes, worse for me too. I had a face etched in my mind, a face I still carry. I didn’t need to see the way she had her father’s eyes or mother’s hair. What I have is enough. The gaping mouth and pleading eyes of a helpless girl shrinking into the distance.

I stand here now, little more than a year later. The doctor says I should face it when I feel strong enough. I don’t think he meant now but when will I ever feel strong, let alone strong enough. It is impossible to imagine a time when, looking back, I feel anything but shame. There is no need to wait. It has to be now.

Standing at the rivers edge I stare into the water, for the first time savouring the face I saw there, not wishing it out of my head forever. Looking for her companionship, an alliance with the dead.

Again I step out of my shoes, more carefully this time, placing each one side by side on a rock. I tuck my socks inside them and smile at the childish action. I unbutton my shirt and again survey the white porcelain covering of my body. I step from my trousers, lifting and folding them onto the neat pile that I have formed. A gasp escapes as I step into the water, the gentle lapping at my thigh so completely unrelated to grabbing and groping of our first encounter.

I take time to feel, with the soles of my feet, each moss coated rock underfoot, savouring the sharp of stone and slime of slippery tendril. I stride confidently this time, knee deep, waist. The chill of the water wraps itself around me, welcoming me home. The place I should never have left, the last place I was ever meant to be. Yet I have been nowhere. A year of drifting. A year of being nothing more than a spectre, lurking just outside of the newspaper pages, elusive phantom to a mourning family, haunting doctors’ surgeries. But I am here now.

I plunge into the water, submerging myself completely. I thrash my legs wildly, propelling me down into the deep. The current runs alongside me, pushing me onwards. I open my eyes and squint through the murky water, I see roots of trees and a carpet of algae wrapped stones. Bubbles of air erupt from burning lungs. My arms arch above my head and I emerge, crashing through the surface of the water, I rise. I pull in another breath before plunging below once more. My muscles blaze as I cut through the water, stroke after stroke, relentlessly pushing onwards. Then I know that I am there, in the right place, her spot. I stop, my legs kicking and arms massaging the surface of the water. Floating there I turn back to look at the bridge. Through her eyes I see myself standing frozen. “I’m sorry.”

The water is calmer than it was that day and the wind more subdued. The leaves that scatter the surface of the river are different to those who lay dying in this spot a year ago, still crisp with the season’s unusual warmth. The water that flowed here all that time ago has long ago been replaced And I too am changed.