Nobody’s Savior

Tell someone who has your love all the things you see. The person you choose to love is a mirror, reflecting the spectrum of things you value. There used to be ugly stains in my mirror. Nobody showed me the beauty that was there, or how to wipe away the grime that builds up every day. It was easy to become blinded by my own corruptions, choosing lovers who were bent on my destruction, or their own. I never thought of myself as a savior, but that’s the position I would be forced to adopt, or else we would both drown.

Remember that time we went to the lake? The wind was real high and my body was sore from tending the stubborn weeds in your mother’s garden. All I wanted was rest. All you wanted was to consume crawfish and daiquiris alongside the splendor of the lake. You won that battle by persuading me with promises and threats. The promise of pleasure, the threat of giving away that pleasure to someone more deserving. We yelled the whole way. Over small things and large things, over things we’ve been arguing about since the beginning of our journey.

“Why aren’t you ever excited to spend time with me?”

“Don’t you get tired of repeating yourself over and over, expecting my answers to change?”

When our voices fatigued we allowed muted aggressions to prosper. A silence lethal enough to topple the fragile home we wanted to rebuild. A home damaged by the incredible lies we told each other and told ourselves. I never told anyone how damaged the things before you made me. There’s power in the secrets we keep, a distancing that prevents people from getting close enough to actually hurt us. This same distancing also prevents us from experiencing true happiness. For a spell, I was clouded with suffering, starvation and death. Boxed into a delusional routine of chasing shadows. More funerals and eulogies than wedding vows and baptisms can make anyone grow numb and implode. Fog follows your footsteps into sunshine; slow enough to graze the heat but never able to bathe in its fleeting warmth. Solar panels would’ve been a better investment than this weary body, these slippery fingers.

We saw a man in a canoe out in the water. His crabbing net was empty but determination fixed his hands again and again into the same throwing position. A vigorous sweep that dipped his vessel like a pendulum.

The man played the edge like a dance between himself and the wind and the crabs beneath his bow.

“Help him!”

Before I could give you the heart of my refusal, a wild breeze must’ve flipped the man over the ledge. Or perhaps it was his own clumsy undoing. All I know is the boat was empty and the water too calm for a drowner.

In your panic you left the safety of the car and raced against the critical passage of time. I was too stunned for any urgency, but eventually I followed you. You reached the steps that disappear into the lake and began your feverish descent.

I used to like telling people that our love is what saved you from tragedy. That the light inside of me inspired bravery which could eclipse a mountain, or part the most impressive body of water. It’s not the embellishment I craved but the obstruction of truth. Truth was too much to stare in the mirror. Fear was the only motivation. Of being the lone survivor and blamed as the primary cause of death. Of being responsible for events outside of my control.

I saved you then, and I would save you forever, but I cannot save you now or anymore. It’s above me. When I jumped in after your shadow, I considered if I’d ever crack the surface again. Fighting the pull of the tide, the violent winds, the unseen threats beneath the rolling surface. The short distance kept growing and my breath was clogged by fresh water. Every muscle in me wanted to succumb. A part of me is still out there floating. The part of me that saved you. By God’s grace, I was able to reach you and put my arm into yours. You kicked my knees and would’ve ripped off my head if not for the strength of the lake. You squirmed your torso and drilled your nails into my wrists. But through the agony, I clenched harder to bring us back to shore.

And the man in the canoe we never saw again.