139
Twelve
The water is so cold it burns my throat. But I have to drink.
My mouth feels like I’ve been eating dirt—it’s gritty and thick.
I’m stiff, my back aches, and my limbs are like heavy logs.
I woke up tucked under Daniel’s arm. He was so still that
I thought at first he was dead. I checked his chest in a panicky
daze. But his breathing was steady.
I untangled myself, trying not to disturb him, and sat still
in the shadow of the forest, watching him inhale and exhale,
his face calm, skin pale. Was last night a dream? Did he hold
me? Kiss me? Did I kiss him? Was it just inquisitive deer,
or was there a bear out there in the bush too? Are our fears
outsized or exactly right? Is today the day we will die?
I watch the light emerge from the horizon. It is completely
still this morning, not a ripple on the water, not even a gentle
wave lapping the shore. I can see a few minnows darting
among the fuzzy stones covered in green algae. The darkened
rock is slippery, and I use one hand to hold myself steady as
