The pub we were at was the last one lined up on the street. I'm at the end of the curb, staring through a four-way intersection that separates Main Street from the bridge August likes to frequent at night.
I continue over to her spot, trying to see through the torrential rains. It's hard to see more than a few feet in front of me, but I spot some fog rising from the lake's surface. I also notice an unnatural swirl in the water's flow. A few bubbles are floating around too. For a moment, I wonder what could be moving around under the water, but when I lean over the edge, I see a body ... sinking.
I kick my boots off, climb to the top of the bridge's barrier, and dive into the water. It's murky as hell, but I continue downward in a straight form until I make out more movement. It isn't until I'm hovering over the floor of the lake that I can see it's August's body.
I lunge for her, forcing her unconscious body onto my back as I swim up to the surface. When I emerge, I look in every direction for the best way to get her out of the water. I scream, "Help!" at the top of my breathless lungs.
I spot an area where the lake rolls onto a small patch of rocks. I can make it up to the street level that way. I swim over and carefully hoist her lifeless body onto the boulders, then pull myself out next. I make it onto the solid land and lift her onto my lap before placing her down flat on her back. Her lips are blue as far as I can tell with the dim light around us. I press my ear against her chest, listening for air and a heartbeat. I have trouble hearing much, so I search for her pulse on her neck, finding it beating lightly against my finger. Thank God. She's alive but not breathing.
I tilt her head back, and then with my hands formed into the shape of a triangle, I begin chest compressions. I tilt her head back, pinch her small nose and press my lips to hers, wishing I never had to feel the softness against mine under these circumstances. I hate how much pain I'm feeling in my chest. The pressure of keeping this poor woman alive is overwhelming, and I don't know if administering CPR the correct way.
I force air into her lungs and return to chest compressions. The thought of reaching for my phone slips away as I realize my phone is likely dead from being submerged in the water. My voice carries a little louder as I scream for help again. "Please, call 9-1-1," I yell, hoping if someone hears me, they understand the urgency.
It feels like minutes before someone answers my shouts. An older man cautiously walks around the bend of trees, appearing worried about the scene he's witnessing. "Sir, please, could you call 9-1-1. I'm going to lose her." Hearing the words aloud makes the pain in my chest worse. I wish I could tell her that the anger she's been taking on for Keegan is causing me to be angry too, but I don't want her end to be the same as Keegan's. I won't let it.
I continue with my attempt at chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth, finally getting a face full of choked up water. I press the side of my head to her chest, praying for the sound of flowing air.
I hear meek breaths accompanied by a gurgle of water, so I turn her onto her side and briskly rub her back. “Stay with me, darlin’. Come on.”
The sirens echo in the distance, and though I'd like to feel a sense of relief, she's still unconscious. I'm just grateful there is a bit of airflow.
When the paramedics rush over, I answer the questions as fast as possible, trying to give out as much detail as possible. There are two ambulances worth of paramedics crowding around August's small body, making it so I can't see what they're doing.
"Sir, are you with her?"
"She's a friend of mine, yes. I wasn't with her when she fell. I don't know how long she was underwater. I saw something in the water, so I jumped in." I realize my statement might be making me look suspicious in this case, but I don't care about that right now. I jog over to the bridge and grab my boots to go along with her to the hospital.
"You're welcome to come along in the ambulance," a paramedic says.
Lord knows August would chop my head off before inviting me in if she was conscious, but no one else is here to keep an eye on her.
I step in after the stretcher is locked in, and take a seat on the shiny elephant gray padded bench, realizing I have never had to sit inside of one of these before, thank God. There isn't much room between my knees and the edge of the stretcher, so I take August's hand and squeeze. "It's okay," I whisper. "You're going to be okay." I don't know if she's going to be okay, but if she's in there somewhere ... fighting, I want her to have a reason to fight.
My gaze falls to her fingers, noticing how white her nail beds are. Her hand is cold, and I try to warm it up by placing my other on top.
Her hair is everywhere and considering how prim and proper she always seems to look, I can assume she wouldn't want anyone to see her like this. She looks so pure and helpless, though. There's redness on her chest from where I was pressing, and I'm afraid she will have a bruise tomorrow. Even her lips look swollen.
The ride to the hospital is quick, and we arrive within a few minutes of leaving the lake. I'm left in the wind as they wheel August toward the emergency entrance for ambulance arrivals. I follow even though I hear a sheriff chasing after me with more questions.
My attempt to follow August becomes pointless when a nurse stops me in the hallway. "I'm sorry, sir, you're going to have to wait in the waiting room."
I feel like I'm losing someone I love, and it's only been a week. I can't understand why I feel so much, but I do. August needs me. She doesn't know it yet, but dammit, she needs me.
After answering a dozen more questions, I take a seat in the waiting area and reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone. I assumed the thing wouldn't even turn on, but somehow, there's power. I stare at my phone, realizing I don't have May's contact information. I only gave hermynumber. I have no way of reaching August's family.
I toss my head back against the wall and close my eyes. I can't help but recall the last time I was sitting in this same seat. I've managed to stay out of this place since I was five.
It was the last night of what I knew to be a normal life.
My parents and I took a walk into town to get ice cream because it was a scorching hot summer day, and it was Ice Cream Wednesday. Each of us loved ice cream just as much as the other, but I remember them saying if they could eat ice cream every day, they would, but they'd all weigh more than the state of Texas, so we had to keep it to one night a week. It gave me something to look forward to in my long four-hour days in pre-kindergarten.
We found it easier to walk to town since there weren't many parking spots on the side streets. It was only about a mile away.
The four-way stop before the small downtown area hardly ever had more than one car at a time. Except for that night. That random Wednesday night at seven-fourteen p.m. when two teenagers were racing to wherever they were going. One stopped at the sign, but the other went right through the crosswalk. Thankfully, no one had left the sidewalk yet. The other teenage driver seemed to be a little smarter than the other one and let us cross while he waited.
My dad waved. My mom grabbed my hand, but I pulled away to skip ahead. "Chance, come back here. You know what I've told you about holding my hand in the road," she shouted.
It was the last thing I heard her say.
