As Good as True

by Cheryl Reid

hysterics of the morning. Her large, dark eyes, behind the thick glasses, bored into me. If she

“Water is life,” she liked to say. “It reminds us we are always moving, that we are alive.”

“That feeling you have, how sad you are about your mama, won’t ever go away,” she said. “It’s not supposed to. But one day it’ll be like those trees over there, not like these here.”

The wind was dead and the river was still. It looked dark and peaceful, like a sheet of black glass, but lurking beneath the surface was a current, cold and deep, with snakes and tangles of vegetation that could be your end. People could be the same. They could smile to your face with hatred in their heart while they pulled you down.

But by falling into that embrace, I silently agreed that what he had done had no consequence.