January 17, 1992

its like the summer heat. my vision is blurred as if i'm crossing the desert, and the heat coming up from the ground is creating a glassy obscured version of reality. except its not hot at all. and i'm underwater. my lungs fill with fluid as my lips part as if to scream, but only bubbles escape from my mouth. the sound of my voice echoes slightly underwater, though not enough that anyone could hear. my face begins to tingle as my body loses oxygen. i try to hold my breath, not let myself breath in -but its inescapable. water floods my nostrils and the icy cold pools in my lungs. my fingers grasp at the ceramic tile around me; frigid. my nails scrape against the clean, smooth silica finish. nothing. my body sinks to the bottom. the back of my eyelids are black.

fingers. my eyelashes frame a purple housecoat floating in the winter breeze. fingers grasping my waist. i feel the temperature rising, and a blast of ice torments my skin as i break the surface. my lungs choke, sputtering out water as air replaces it. cold, hard cement. i roll on my side and cough violently. my dark curls spread eagle over the pebbles cast in mortar, cascading down over the edge of the hot tub. my child fingers flex as sensation recovers in my limbs. her thick accent spreads over me like a warm blanket, "gabrielle, im so sorry gabrielle. breathe honey. please?"