It’s funny, the things you think of just before bed, the forms that come at the edge of sleep, weaving their way into your dreams, details that you didn’t remember before suddenly becoming clear as day. I had one of those dreams last night, waking in a panic, breathing heavy and looking to see if someone long dead was staring at me in the warm light of day.
We lived out in the country, ‘bout ten miles from town. Moved there in the winter of ’98. Dave and I thought it’d be a good place to raise a family, fresh air and away from the hustle bustle of town. Just lots of room to think and be restful. We already had Dave jr. by then, and a farm is a good place for a boy to grow. There was a big pond at the far corner of our land, it lay along the road to town, and we had a few feet of it on our side. The real estate folks called it a pond, but it was real big and deep, looked more like a lake to me, but I’m from areas of concrete and trailer parks, what do I know ‘bout ponds and lakes ‘cept what I seen on TV and in magazines.
We lost a cow in that pond three years ‘fore I lost my husband. The vet said it must've wandered in for a drink and got stuck a little in the muddy bottom and when it got all panicky tryin’ to get out, it went in deeper by mistake. That cow was out ‘bout 50 feet from the shore when we found it a few weeks later, floating and bloated and stinkin’ of long dead things. Funny that it wandered in deeper when the bank was crystal clear and shallow for 30 feet. Every few months after that we would notice other animal bodies floating, we thought maybe they was gettin’ lost in the dark, fell in and couldn’t find the shore to swim to before they got tired and drown.
I had a dream last night, about the farm, about the night that my husband and my two kids drowned.
I had a dream that I was standing on the bank of the pond, it was snowing, my husband, Dave, was asleep at the wheel and the car glided off the road into the deep pond. I jumped in the murky waters after them, all four kids were in the car. My littlest ones still asleep in their car seats as the car sank. The water was not filling the cabin just yet, and I swam to the window and felt around.
My oldest three were looking at me, their father staring at me, dumbfounded. If I opened the door, the icy water would flood the car and I knew I wouldn't be able to save any of them. But then I remembered that I wouldn't be able to open the door until the pressure in and out was the same.
I floated down with the car, down, down, down. The water was deep green and my hands looked tea-dyed. The roots of the trees and the water plants looked pretty, swaying in the invisible currents of the underground springs.
Their faces watched me and I could hear them pleading, but it was their father who had to roll down the window. He wouldn't move. He could have helped me save them all, but he just sat there, staring silent in the face of his death.
The car floated ‘bout 10 feet from the bottom, I guess that some scientist would explain to me ‘bout cars floating in water, but to me it looked like a teeter-totter from when I was a kid. It seemed to hang there, not moving, waiting for us humans to disrupt the balance, 5 lives hanging, 4 children from my womb and a useless husband. And the funniest thing, I never did doubt my own survival, I never once thought the pond would become my own grave.
I could only save two at the most without his help, if he would wake out of his fear, all could be saved. I needed him to get the babies out of their car seats and then we could all join hands and swim to the top, I guess he was in the grip of fear or he wasn’t thinking.
My oldest daughter, Megan, was looking at me, she knew what had to be done, she was a bright girl, smart as a whip, reading all the time and watching those wilderness shows. But she was only 12, and underweight, not a strong swimmer, she would need help from me to get to the surface. Dave jr., my only boy, my 13 year old boy, looked just like his father, he was shaking his head at me like he knew something of the outcome that I could not. He always did seem to know things like when people were 'bout ready to pass or who was on the phone when it hadn't even rung yet. He was a good boy, but too much like his father. He was a strong swimmer, I knew he could get up to air on his own.
My middle child, Jennifer, the perfect pregnancy, a joy to carry, she gave me no sickness or swollen ankles, she almost died coming out, that cord wrapped three times 'round her neck, she still has the scar, doctor says it'll never fade. Looked like someone tried to hang her, all purple-red, only in winter is it hidden when she wears a turtle-neck. She stared at me hard, she knew the danger of the water, she knew we were in too deep and that dying was close, but she'd survived dying before and I guess she figured she’d survive it again.
I floated there next to the car, waiting for the water to creep in and fill it, my babies sleeping like angels in their car seats, bundled up in blankets, their father just staring at me through the windshield at me, not moving, tears streaming down his face. What was going on in his mind, I wondered? What was he thinking? I began to believe that maybe he hadn't fallen asleep at the wheel, but that he had driven into the water on purpose. I became very frightened
I can remember hovering over the car, needing to take a breath. I swam up to the surface and the cold air stung my face, the dark water reflecting the moon, showing through the clouds, snow falling softly from trees and the clouds that remained. It looked so peaceful and the water felt warm. I plunged back down to the car and pressed my face to the glass, kissing my boy and my babies. My boy pressed his lips to the glass too and I swear I felt his warmth through the window before he pulled away. He mouthed the words "goodbye."
All I remember next is being on land, holding the hands of my two girls’ staring at the water, staring at the grave of my other two children and my husband.
The policeman that found us tells me that we were walking along the road, that we were dry, but blue-lipped, and dressed for warmer days. He can't explain what happened anymore than I can, he says that they found the car with my husband and my boys at the very bottom of the pond. The car was upright and no windows or doors were open. My husband and the boys looked like they were sleeping, there were no signs of struggle and there was no water in their lungs or in the passenger part of the car. Only my boy's eyes were open. The coroner said he looked shocked, like he saw something he didn't quite understand. He doesn't know how the girls got out, and neither do I.
They told me in the hospital that sometimes your memory goes, that the events or the stress was too great for your mind and it makes you forget so that you won't go crazy. The girls won't tell me what happened. They know. They remember and I can see it in their eyes when they look at me sometimes. I hear them talkin’ in their room late at night, they won't sleep alone anymore, and when they sense me coming, they hush up, the silence is telling, they don't want me to remember anymore than my own mind does. They act like they're twins, a unit of themselves, won’t go nowhere without the other. The whole town calls them “the girls” like they don’t have names anymore, like they didn’t come outta my womb. Even I’m callin’ them “the girls” now, but I capitalize it in my head and sometimes I’m afraid.
![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_a.png?x-id=34c97eca-ac36-49be-abf4-b48949778cf8)
