by Rae Bryant
they stand around a swimming pool
drinking white wine spritzers
eating tiny sandwiches
wheat bread filled with ham salad and too much mayonnaise
they laugh
toothy with heads thrown back
bits of ham stuck between teeth
the children swim
eyes red from chlorine
no
it is the ph level
the golf pro shares his silver flask
peach schnapps
with ladies in the crowd
ones who tip him after lessons and sex
and they dismiss the teenage boy
who wedges himself into a corner of the pool
the deep end
he watches little girls
doggy paddle
breast stroke
crawl their way toward him
until they tread
giggling
within arm’s reach
he grabs with monster arms
splashing
clawing
until squeals and little arms and little legs swim away
leaving one of their pack behind
a friend
caught by monster arms
quieted
let go
she swims beneath water
not surfacing
until she touches the other side
where she breathes hard
hardly breathing
it is the lack of oxygen.
little girls swim to the corner again
toward monster arms
that pull another in
captured
squirming
quieted
let go
she swims to the other side
joins the first where they make a pair
embarrassed
grinning
they join the group swimming
to the corner where monster arms wait
grabbing at little girl arms and little girl legs beneath water
quiet
thrill of capture
thrill of escape
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Rae Bryant’s fiction has received Honors and Awards in the Lorian Hemingway and Bartleby Snopes Competitions. You can read her stories now and soon forthcoming in Mississippi Review (now Rick Magazine), PANK, Gargoyle Magazine, Annalemma, Menda City Review, and Word Riot, among other publications. She is an M.A. writing candidate at Johns Hopkins and editor of Moon Milk Review. Rae lives in Maryland with her husband and two children. You can read more at www.raebryant.com. |
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 