by Billy Thrasher
I inhaled my last breath,
bowed my head below the water,
and acted as though it was just
another lap. There was silence
above the surface, and
memories below that pounded
like a symphony of drums.
During my stay at
Uncle John’s house, back when
my parents’ divorce had begun,
I was playing Hot Wheels in the room
above the garage when thunder bellowed
and the smoke alarm sounded; I ran
halfway down the steps, fainted then tumbled.
I woke up sitting on
Grandpa Behrens’ knee as he
warmed my back with his hand. I drank
7-Up while Aunt Mary counted my ribs until
I thought I would die.
Wind, a torrent of rain, a bolt of lightning
knocked-out the power. Uncle John hurried
out the front door and around the corner of the house
to check on something. I hesitated, after I heard
a shout from the kitchen not to go, then followed,
only to the front stoop.
I wanted to act a man.
I slept on the hideaway bed in cousin
Johnny’s room; it was like sleeping on a
tree limb three feet above ground.
The shelf of empty beer
cans with baroque logos,
pictures of presidents and
state flags rimmed the ceiling
like shining constellations. During the day
I rode up the gravel hill on one of cousin
Johnny’s bikes and fell
behind the group; I gave up and cried
at the top as everyone else
was cresting the next hill –
Johnny stopped and like a dusty tornado,
charged towards me.
I was naked in the bathroom
and sniffed the chlorine scented
towel before I opened the chute
to the basement and released it –
then wondered at the pitch-black shaft.
My anxieties were thrown
down that chute; I picked them
out of the laundry basket – bleached and
unblemished. A hollow sound in my ear,
as I jumped up and down,
but the water wouldn’t come out. Aunt Mary
convinced me to let her put drops of
alcohol in my ear, so I tilted my head.
The drops tapped like a tom-tom
and warm water ran down
my lobe to my neck.
The sound of my cousin
Diane’s voice soothed me, no matter
what she said. The best television
I ever watched was from
the push button remote
in the living room.
The loudest laughter I ever
heard was from the kitchen
– Aunt Mary always laughed, she
always laughed. My dad came to pick me up
during my first time eating
microwave popcorn. On the way
home, he complained that it tasted like
cardboard, but I secretly liked it.
After Aunt Mary passed, I asked
Uncle John if he needed help moving,
but he said there were plenty of
grandsons available. He told me
I could have the fern on the back patio
under the kitchen window,
but I never got it – never
even knew for sure when he left.
I don’t want to see him
in his new house,
because he’d be different;
alone amid the silence.I inhaled my last breath. I knelt
under the water in the shallow end
of the pool, aimed towards the diving board.
I propelled my body forward for
my last lap in the pool
in the backyard of Uncle John’s house,
and swam towards the quivering light.
About the Author:
Billy Thrasher is a graduate of the MFA program at Lindenwood University. He writes at home, at the coffee shop, at the park, and in his car during lunch breaks. The simple, brief moments in life catch his attention and spark his creativity. He has written works published in Dovecote Magazine, White Wall Review, As You Were: The Military Review, Dunes Review, Rougarou, Outlook Springs, received a Pushcart nominee from Hive Avenue Literary Journal, and published in the Best of BarBar 2024.