Paul and I went out swimming yesterday. The current was strong, and I realized after a few minutes that I could no longer touch the bottom. He was farther out than I was, and the harder we swam toward the shore, the farther away we seemed to get. “Try harder!” I yelled. “Fuck you!” Paul yelled back. Both of us started to panic after that. I thought of him drowning and of how much trouble I’d be in. I could almost picture it, heaped on top of the grief I’d be feeling. I grabbed him then, and we both gave it all we had and were eventually washed ashore. It was terrifying.
