Posted: Jun 20, 08 3:14am
A River Named Maggie
Standing on the bank, he thought of Maggie, her crumpled note in his fist. “Damn”. The storm had taken the footbridge to the cabin. He opened his hand letting her note fall into the river. Stripping his socks and shoes, he pushed a toe into the water. Cramps seized his instep. He recoiled. “Cold! I gotta be fast. Okay. Go!” He began wading.
The thundering water swallowed his scream as icy blades carved his muscles and his feet died. “Numb! Pain? How?" The senseless stumps below his knees stumbled as the surge pushed up his thighs. He widened his gait, feeling his way, stubbing his toes. He slipped awkwardly: something sliced his deadened right foot: he knew it was bleeding. The water rose to his crouch and he felt himself shrink into his abdomen. He tripped heavily, splashing water up his torso as his left calf scrapped a submerged boulder. “FREEZING! Get the hell out of here!” Desperately scrambling, arms flailing, the depth shallowed. Stones under his unfeeling feet sliding, staggering, in a last, frantic, inept leap, he jumped to the bank.
Breathless, heart thumping a heated deluge of its own, he rubbed red, raw, bleeding feet, working sensation into them. Needles seemingly stabbed him as blood and warmth returned,
Finally, feet dry, bleeding stopped, he discovered his socks and shoes remained on the opposite bank.
With resignation, he looked at the inundation and shivered. “Yeah. Just like Maggie.”
