The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2018

river was the only place one could bath at 3:30 in the morning for free. I watched the fellow homeless retreat to their caves for the warm summer night. I would soon do the same. I sat staring at my reflection in the river. The bags under my eyes had taken a darker color in the last few weeks as my hours of sleep depleted. I had a final to study for tonight. I’d find a table in some 24/7-café and order coffee to avoid being kicked out. I stared at my reflection. The pitiful sight that was me. I swatted it away and watched it return. Is this what people are seeing when they look at me? This pathetic thing, a husk of a human being? This homeless waste of space? I swatted again at my reflection. And again, the water restored it. Mocking me. Swats turned to punches, and I fought the river. Wishing, with each hit, the river could feel my pain. That the river would understand, react to it and hit back, strike me, and carry me downstream. Wash me away from this shoreline. “Fucking take me!” I screamed at it between punches. Each strike threw water onto my face, concealing the tears that ran down my cheeks. “Fucking do it!” I threw my head beneath the surface, taunting it. I screamed until my lungs were void of breath. Inhale. Just inhale. Feel that fire again. I withdrew my face and gave my lungs what they craved, cursing the river with my new breath. “Fuck you,” I said as I wiped my face off and watched my reflection return, my eyes red with tears. I watched the river move around me, beating against me ever so slightly, unable to move me, it went around. I watched it as I sobbed uncontrollably. “I don’t want this anymore, take it,” I whispered, “Please, just take me,” Above me the birds started chirping. The water cool was the Reno moonlight; I changed, then returned to my car. I had failed the AP tests, but I wouldn’t fail high school. 102 The Meadow

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