Swimming in the Dark

by Tomasz Jedrowski

We’d go to the kiosks and run our fingers over the large, smooth pages of the expensive magazines, pointing out things we could hardly comprehend—Asian monks, African tribesmen, cliff divers from Mexico—and marveling at the sheer immensity of the world and the colors that glowed just underneath the black and white of the pages.

Selfish. Growing into yourself is nothing but that.

I allowed the union between the earth and my body, I let go, and for the first time in my life I appreciated everything for what it was, observed the miracle of it. The earth for being the earth, my hands for being my hands, the plants for growing out of seeds, and the others around me, everyone, with their own rights and dreams and interior worlds.

“And the swimming clears my head,” you went on, your voice unchanged, putting on your briefs. “Entirely. It’s like I’m bathing my mind.”

“But even when you don’t do bad things, bad things can happen to you.”

But I think it was despair that killed her. Having done only things she didn’t believe in, she must have been dead inside for years before her body finally gave up too.