Water heals memories. -- Annie Dillard

Emily

I dream of fish.

I know, I know. Believe me, I know. But. Still. I sleep. They swim.

We swim every day here. Therapy or whatever. Normally, say therapy, and I'll bitch and complain. But, when it comes to working in the pool? Totally different story. The water is -- it's almost magical. It's like my fairy godmother waved a wand and made me whole again; in the water, these two useless lumps called my legs detach from my body, set me free. In the water, I feel like Emily Bowen-Quartermaine again, and that's no small gift.

The summer I was eleven, my mom and I rented a cabin in the Rockies for a week. She couldn't really afford it, but she told me we both needed to feel some air on our faces, breathe something clean in our lungs for a change. My mom was like that. She always figured out what I needed, way before I did, and if she could, she gave it to me. Only one time in her life she failed me. There's a stupid little part of me that still hasn't forgiven her for that. Both for failing me and for not preparing me for the possibility that one day she would.

We couldn't swim at the cabin. It sat on the edge of a small lake, more like a pond, I guess. Small, and this deep blue-green, and gorgeous. Looked like it was built for moms and their eleven-year old daughters to jump in and swim. But, appearances can be deceptive. You know, I wonder if that's the first time I learned that. Anyway, it was cold. And, I don't just mean chilly, I mean snow-fed, practically ice, walk-in-freezer-like COLD. Even dangling your feet off the miniature dock for too long left them reddened and tingling. Mom and I did it anyway. There are lots of ways you can rebel against the hand life deals you, big and small. We Bowen women had plenty to rebel against.

It was on that dock the last night of our vacation that Mom told me the monster was re-entering our lives. I was dangling a fishing pole in the water and leaning against my mother's shoulder. I had played at fishing all week, not catching anything. Just enjoying sitting there, letting the pole hang from my hand, chewing on a piece of wild hay. I was reading Tom Sawyer that summer, and playing Tom was way more fun than playing Becky Thatcher. Mom stroked my cheek, pushing the stray hair behind my ear. I can still feel her fingers on my face if I close my eyes. She said it simply, quietly, shading her eyes with one hand as she looked at the sun across the lake. Em, baby, it's back. The cancer's back.

The cancer's back. It's such a cliche to say, but it was like the words echoed. Like I heard them not just in my ears but in my bones, in my heart. For a long time, there was nothing else. I didn't speak, neither did she. I'm pretty sure I didn't even breathe. Sometimes, when I think back, I like to think that if things had been different, we could have sat like that forever. Instead, the pole jerked between my hands. Because nothing lasts forever, and most things never even come close. I wasn't even trying to -- I just pulled back against it. Wasn't gonna let it go. Mom's hand slipped from my cheek, slid down to cover mine on the pole and helped me pull. Still wordless, we grunted and tugged until the fish flopped onto the dock, hook embedded firmly in it's mouth.

I stared at it, gills frantically opening and closing, then stared up at Mom. Drew in a sharp, gasping breath and threw myself into her arms, sobbing. Put it back, I cried, over and over and over again. Oh, Mom, please, put it back!

I dream of fish.

I sleep, and I see them all around me. Bright, shining, quick. Free. I feel the water flowing through my hair, everywhere. I know that it's cold, but somehow I don't feel it. Instead it's like silk against my skin, like air would feel if it were malleable.

I move, and I'm quick and free as they are. Suddenly I feel fingers against my cheek, and I close my eyes. Go, I hear her whisper. Fly, she says. Do what you're here for. I'm still for a long moment, not wanting her to leave me, but she always does, no matter how long I hold my breath. I open my eyes. Fish surround me, swirling in patterns that for just a moment, I think I recognize. I kick my legs, strong and powerful. I take a deep breath, breathing in water as easy as air. I pause only long enough to whisper a name.

I fly.