Free Swimming by Nicola Keegan Page B

says.
    I try.
    Both your goddamn eyes, fucker. Look at what I’ve become. I listen to people talk about life and I have nothing to say. Looking at me makes people sick. Their eyes play Ping-Pong with everything in the room except me. Ping ping ping ping PONG ping ping ping PONG . You know what’s making them so uncomfortable? My eventual demise, darling. They feel bad about it, but the snow must continue to fall. My sun went out and they felt it. And it is rather sad as I haven’t done anything yet. Do you understand? Practically nothing .
    June has recently shown her how to tie a scarf so that it falls flat and smooth around her head. The one today is pale blue with big tan roses.
    Don’t you ever wonder if your brain’s making this all up? I say, defying direct orders.
    Making what all up? Making what all up? She’s so mad she’s spitting. You? This wonderful chair? These ugly shoes? Malted fucking milk balls? That stupid cloud? Just what am I making up?
    All that stuff you’re so sure’s going to happen , I say carefully. Like why should your brain know more than anyone else’s brain? I don’t think it works that way , I say carefully. And the future is … the future is a … vast …
    My brain, wonder woman, knows what it knows . She’s not mad anymore, just annoyed. And I know what I know, asshole, and I’m fucking sick to death of people pretending they don’t know it too. You can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me .
    I get red in the face. It’s genetic; Leonard gets red in the face too. Every time I visualize Bron getting well, the same image drifts to the surface of my mind: her in a box in a sparkly sweater with gray makeup on her face. Super dead.
    Don’t sweat it, wampum woman , she says and laughs.
    I find June sitting in a field of white tube socks in front of the TV. She’s matching them with one eye while the other scans the screen. I interrupt. Bron thinks she’s dead .
    She looks up. Did she use the word dead?
    Like a thousand times…. She said that everyone knew it, but that no one would say .
    Leonard calls an emergency meeting while June whisks Bron to the library. Mom is standing behind her chair, leaning on it with both elbows. Leonard says: Sit . She says: Thank you, no . He sighs, tapping the table with a rolled-up newspaper, tap tap tap tap . Dot has changed into a dress, brushed her teeth, and wound her hair into two strict braids that sprout from her ears. I smell mint as she breathes my way. Roxanne is slouchy. I am slouchy with her.
    This is going to be the difficult part of the healing process. Dr. Bob says she’ll get worse before she’ll get better. We mustn’t be worried. And we certainly mustn’t be worried in front of her. She’s very sensitive … He looks at us, changes his mind, looks down at the table. As you know .
    Mom says: It’s poison, it’s poison, it’s poison … they’re pumping my baby full of more and more poison . She leaves the room, has a thumping nervous breakdown up the stairs. Leonard continues to tap the table with the newspaper. He looks at us, tap tap tap , speaks softly: That is exactly what I’d like to avoid .

Without Gravity
    Stan works his whistle. I follow sound, enjoying the ancient technique of destroying all human thought, plugging my ears with water, the pressure creating a pleasant vibratory hum. But sometimes Bron defies the ancient technique of destroying all human thought, walks across my darkened lids, and starts making noise. I stretch one arm up from its socket, stretch one arm out into air, slicing as deep as I can, pulling with all my force. Stan’s voice is chanting now: Moooovvvve it moooovvvve it moooovvvve it . I follow the thin black line until it stops in a cross that indicates imminent wall. But sometimes the ancient technique of destroying all human thought relaxes me into nothingness and I forget about the imminent wall until I hit it.
    Hey . She’s standing over my bed wearing my striped knit cap and an