“This is the five o’clock news; with us today is author Rachel Pankuch” the reporter states on cue, smiling at the camera before motioning to me. “If you are just now joining us, Ms. Pankuch has been answering questions about her memoir, Adventurer, which has created a buzz over the nation.”
I nod, clenching my fists under the table to calm the shaking. I hate interviews. They are spontaneous. I’ve never been good with spontaneous. The first questions were easy, little things like the highlights of my life. But I know with absolute certainty one question is still coming. And I don’t know how I am going to answer it.
Papers rustle, her slender fingers pulling one from the stack.
The air crackles, matching my nervousness.
My eyes watch the paper, dreading hearing the verdict. This question is it; I knew it would be.
“Our next question is from Hubert Strausen in Boston, Massachusetts— ‘I want to know more about the time you died.’”
No, no, no; I don’t want to answer this one. My hands tremble. Sweat pools in droplets everywhere I touch. Wait, the time I died? Last time I checked I wasn’t a zombie, vampire, or ghost. I am very much alive.
I hold up my copy of Adventurer, letting the camera focus on its cover. I smile as I look into the lens. There are thousands of people watching me. Why did I agree to this?
Why am I even surprised? I knew it would be this question. People can’t help themselves around tragedy–They’re all a bunch of gawkers.
Reading the passage won’t bother me. Ha, who am I kidding?
I must concentrate. Keep my voice steady. Do justice to my story. Breathe. I will do fine. Now then, begin.
Chapter 4: The Time I (Almost) Died
Fourteen: the year of life, one of the last years free of adult responsibilities. Summer, which everyone knows is the time to have fun. I am going to have the best fun ever since I am going swimming.
The time: near the end of my mother’s military spouses meeting
The perk: in-ground, ten-foot-deep swimming pool
My shoulders slump. My arms stick to my sides as I peel them away from my bathing suit. I smell like baby butt and chemicals. But at least I won’t burn in the blazing sun.
Adrenaline courses through my veins from the excitement. Even though I can’t swim. And have to depend on a pool noodle. But I didn’t have to wear floaties. That would have been embarrassment unimaginable.
“Come on,” Katie pleads. I blubber, blinking water out of my eyes. “We need to get out. Mama said we’re leaving soon.” This time, I duck out of the way of the next splash.
“Just a little bit longer?” Waves from my legs engulf her, sending me backward. She lunges at me.
“No!” I yell, laughing. My toes slide along the tile, propelling me away from her, the pool noodle slipping from my hands. “You can’t get me.”
I pause. Her face is white. I stop pushing away, my feet moving below me as I search for my pool noodle.
It’s gone.
The floor.
I can’t feel the floor. I don’t have my noodle.
I freeze. Time stops.
What—what do I do? I can’t swim. I can’t swim!
Water blinds my eyes. Blurry sight. I grab at nothing. Gasp. Whitewater surrounds me. I breathe air and water, choking.
Under again.
Unnatural silence fills my ears. I move instinctively, clawing for the surface, my body tiring, any adrenaline spent from a long day. My limbs are heavy. I’m aching for air.
Clear water. Sight sharpens. Stray bubbles. For the first time, I can see my surroundings. Are these walls the last thing I will ever see?
Weightless. Floating. Paralyzed.
I am going to be an astronaut.
It is peaceful under the water. I’m glad it is calm, quiet. I don’t want to die in chaos.
The sky is above me is welcoming me. Cradling me in its reflection.
Gasp, lungs constricting, folding and squeezing. Little bubbles float upwards when I scream. My limbs jerk, spasms rake my fingers and toes. My body won’t accept my death.
My heart pounds my chest. Every beat reverberates through the water.
I’ll never go to high school.
My vision blurs.
I’ll never marry, have a child.
My lungs scream, the leftover air turning to rust.
I’m dying.
I am so close. Only a foot away from life.
I’m sinking, moving further from safety.
I can’t move. I can’t even scream.
I know, I understand what is happening. I am powerless against death.
There is quiet when I stop thrashing.
The bubbles recede.
My mind is clear, my thoughts coherent again.
“Help me,” I whisper. “Oh, God, save me.”
The warm water blankets me, making me sleepy.
I breathe in water.
My eyes blur.
Everything darkens as the water flashes white.
Something close, something fast rips me from the welcoming dark.
My eyes finally close. Something pulls me upwards.
Rough concrete scratches me as I’m dragged onto its surface. Noise explodes in my ears. They hurt. I can’t understand what they are saying.
I never thought death was like this.
I cough, water pouring out of my mouth.
My lungs choke. My heart screams.
I double over, coughing. I can’t breathe fast enough.
Hands push me, prod me, hold me.
MAKE THE VOICES STOP.
“Are you okay?”
Mama. My body relaxes. Her voice sounds so far away.
I can’t see her. There is too much water in my eyes. I shudder as my lungs fill with air, water trickling from my mouth.
Someone pushes me into a crouching position, my head facing down. I breathe easier. Somehow.
People crowd around me, listening to me breathe. Mama is nearby, watching over me. There is still so much noise.
I take deep breaths. My thoughts return, slow and unsteady.
I’m not going to die. I’m going to live. Four impossible words. Life. Living. It meant so much more now.
Being okay seems so unreal. Did I actually survive?
My lungs still sting. My chest is pounding out the signs of life. Blood drips from a cut on my elbow. When did that happen?
My eyes hurt from the chlorine. Everything hurts. But I don’t mind. It means I’m alive. It means death held back.
I stop reading, realizing my voice is trembling. Concern flashes across the calm face of the reporter. She faces the camera; I lower my head as I put my book aside, taking deep breaths to help calm myself. It’s only a memory. One I will remember until I die. It is funny which things you remember. The bad seems to disappear, leaving only the good things. The pain lessens. The fear diminishes.
“But you let that horrifying experience change you for the better, didn’t you?” she prompts.
I look up at her, composing my runaway thoughts.
I remember the year after the accident, the changes that started to appear as I paid more attention to the world around me instead of focusing only on myself. I taught myself to cherish and make the most of every moment I had. You don’t know the exact moment you are going to die. Sometimes death is sudden, life stolen without warning. Sometimes death is slow like a storm on the horizon.
I look at the camera, fear gone, and see my reflection staring back at me. Wide eyes still awed by the amount of love and compassion amidst the sorrows and hatred of the world. A mouth that smiled, laughed, told stories.
I hold my head higher. I had so much potential. No, I still have so much potential. I didn’t die that day. I got a second chance at life. What I have is not a memory to forget, to hide in the shrouds of fear, but a memory to remember. A memory to be proud of.
Death no longer brings me terror. How can it when I held its hand once upon a time? I know the joy of living. And I still have life to live.
I smile. I grin. I laugh. My eyes sparkle in the lights the camera crew shines on me. My features look clear, strong, determined, and hopeful.
“What can I say?” I answer. “Life is worthwhile, and an incredible gift. But life doesn’t last forever. I determined at a young age that I was going to live my life to the fullest so, yes. Yes, it did.”
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 