Eight Again
Brianna Su, Chloe Chung | Art by Lin Tran
we’re eight again. eight,
with sweat stains soaking through
our cotton tie-dye shirts. hand in hand, we kick our shoes off, free
our toes and race down wet sand that grips to us politely. pull together a pile of shells, wish on a pebble, and throw it into the water.
we tell our mothers that we don’t need the sunscreen: we’re happy being tan. our mothers scold us as we meekly listen. patting down sides of our sand castle, we
shriek as the water inches nearer. we snack on melting ice cream cones, crunch on potato chips, let the crumbs run
down onto our swimsuits, and then let the water pull us in. pretend that
we’re dolphins and mermaids and all, last one to the shore is a rotten egg. we sip on smoothies and lemonade, pretend that we’re forty with an office job and once the sun sets, we’re eight again.
Coldness washes over her
Dark clouds circling above
Arms open, starfish position
Breathe in, exhale out
Over or under?
Head dunks below
She used to believe in gills –
in kingdoms beneath the surface,
in girls who never had to come up for air
Now water fills her ears
Sinking slowly,
arms stretched towards something she can never touch again
She doesn’t reach for the surface
doesn’t struggle
only floats
somewhere between then and now