Losing Her

I saw the switch flip. 

The one behind her eyes.

Then came the broken glass and the blood.

I called an ambulance and sent the kids over to the landlord’s house while I held the towel tightly and waited. 

She was panting, like an overheated animal, but the reality of the wound had already brought her back from the edge.

And so it went.

Living with the jagged edges of her father’s handiwork.

Looking back, I’m always reminded of when I was a kid and my dad and I were night fishing with my uncle and cousins. They’d hung one of those hissing propane lanterns off the side of the boat because fish were drawn to the light.

So was a big snake.

 

One of the cousins spotted it coming toward the boat and in spite of all the commotion, managed to hit it with the edge of an oar like a knife blade, breaking it's back. 

I'll never forget the snake, suspended vertically like a ribbon, wriggling up and drifting down, over and over, struggling in vain to reach the surface as it slowly disappeared from the light, sinking into the darkness of the lake.

Addiction and madness. 

You offer your hand as they're drowning but they tell you it’s the wrong one. 

If you offer both hands they might pull you in with them, where you'll both sink into the darkness.

So you stay in the boat.

Because it's safe in the boat.

Watching helplessly as they slowly shapeshift into a drowning serpent you wish you could somehow trust and save.