Free Swim That Rock by John Rocco

around, and Gene is pointing to the chair next to his bed. I go over and sit down.
    “How did I get here, anyway?” Gene asks, and I don’t know what to say. My mind starts racing. I don’t want to tell Gene about Captain.
    “Oh, yeah, well . . . I saw this really fast boat nearby, and I drove the Hawkline over, almost rammed into him, and he took us up the Providence River to where an ambulance was waiting and everything. He must have used a radio — I didn’t see.”
    “Who was it?” Gene asks, and he’s looking right at me now. I’m wondering if he remembers the knife. It’s still in my pocket.
    “I don’t know who it was. Never saw him before. Everything moved so fast once you got hurt.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the pile of twenties and lay them on the tray that is suspended above Gene’s legs.
    Gene picks up the twenties with his good hand and looks it over. “You sold out? Where’s the boat?”
    “It’s docked at Stanley’s. I’ll get it back to your dock this afternoon.” I want to leave. I can’t handle Gene’s questions. “I gotta go, Gene. I have to help my mom with something. Call us when you get out, and we’ll come pick you up.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I head toward the door as a nurse comes in, tapping her pen against the clipboard.
    “And how are we feeling today?” she says in a singsong way.
    “Fine, fine.” Gene responds dismissively, and just as I enter the hallway he calls me back.
Uh-oh, more questions.
I look back in the room and Gene is holding out his hand toward me. “Take this, Jake. I don’t need it. You and your mom do.”
    “Thanks.”
    Stuffing the twenties back in my pocket, I practically jog out of there. I’m down the hall, into the elevator, and back in the lobby before I take a breath.
    I rush into the men’s room on the ground floor and splash my face with cold water. With both hands on the sink, I stare at the mirror, and the face staring back hardly even looks like me. My hair is bleached and wiry from the salt and sun, and there are puffy bags under my eyes. My chin and lips look almost like my dad’s, except without any stubble. I stare at my mouth, and it seems like my dad is staring back at me.
    “Is this part of the test?” I say to the reflection. I can feel the anger buzzing inside of me like a swarm of bees. “Did you let Gene get hurt? Was it because he was going to help me? Was that too easy? Why don’t you just come home!” I want to shatter the mirror, but just then a doctor walks in and gives me the once-over, so I grab some paper towels, dry my face, and split.
    By the time I get on the bus home, I’m ready to crawl under a rock and die. I shove my hand deep into my pocket, past the twenties, and feel the knife. I take it out and turn it over in my hand. The pearl skull shimmers in the sunlight coming through the bus window. My finger traces the initials on the back. I look up and notice this old lady staring at me over her knitting. She’s probably thinking I’m going to hold up the bus with this jackknife, or carve my initials in the paneling of the back of the seat. I don’t want to freak her out, so I just force a smile and slip the knife back in my pocket and stare out the window.
    I can’t catch a break.

“Start bailing, Jake!” Gene barks.
    Furiously I heave gallons of seawater out the window, but the bucket keeps getting smaller as the water continues to rise. That’s when I realize I’m not in a boat at all. I’m standing in the Riptide Diner, knee-deep in water. Out the window through the fog, I see the outline of Prudence Island. I can’t stop bailing. The diner is rocking and shifting with the waves. Plates and glasses shatter as they hit the stainless-steel countertop.
    “We may be going down!” Gene screams into the howling wind as he pulls on the aluminum pole that shoots out the window into the black water. His rain gear is soaked with spray, and his hair is matted against his head.