By Chae Santana
She was different,
the other kids often whispered about her, murmuring cruel things about her home
life. They teased her for things beyond her control, I never joined in, but I
admit I never spoke out either. I wish I had. But, I wanted to be liked. I wanted
to belong, and on that day I wanted more than anything to prove I wasn’t
just a girl in floaties.
That was why I
climbed on the diving board that day. It wasn’t bravery that brought me up
there but desperation. Desperation to be seen. To jump, and maybe, land among
the kids who, for reasons I couldn’t explain, had a power over me. I wanted to
show them that I could be like them. Like the girls who didn’t wear floaties,
the girls who didn’t need them. I wanted to feel like I belonged. I wanted to
be accepted.
As I stood at the
edge, knees bent, ready. I had no idea what was unfolding behind me. She was
taking off her floaties, her lifeline. Without a word, without any warning. I
hadn’t known it then, but she was making a choice I didn’t see coming.
Then the screams
erupted.
I turned to see a
limp body being dragged through the water. Then words broke through the panic
“She tried to jump! She hit her head! I don’t know how long she’s been
under!”
The yelling hit me
hard and echoed off of the pool’s wet tiles. It was hard to know what was
happening at first, each of us clueless. The air was thick with the scent of
chlorine , but beneath that was the unmistakable odor of fear. I watched as the
lifeguards moved with a speed that felt unnatural, their voices quick, urgent,
cutting through the tension like a blade. The water, which had just been
playful, now felt like a hungry beast, something dark that could swallow us
all.
“She’s not
breathing!” and within a few moments “No pulse.”
I should have been
horrified. I should have been terrified. I should have been devastated or sick
with dread, but all I felt was relief. A deep, visceral relief that it wasn’t
me. The selfish thought twisted through me faster than I could grasp it. It
could have been me. It should have been me.
I had been on the
diving board only moments away from the same fate. I wanted to prove myself
too. I took off my floaties to jump, to feel like I was worthy of their
attention. If I had gone first, If I had acted just a moment sooner, It might
have been my body lifeless, sinking in that same water.
The relief
curdled, and something darker rose in its place. I felt as if my life was worth
more than hers.
At that moment, I
didn’t see the tragedy as her small body bobbed lifeless in the water. All I
could think was that she had stolen my chance. She had taken the very thing I
was so desperate for. Visibility. Her tragedy, her very life had become a
roadblock between me and the validation I craved.
Then came the
guilt. It was cold and sharp, cutting through the darkness that had settled in
my heart. How could I feel this way? How could I feel relieved? I was
supposed to be the empathetic one. The girl who felt everything. The one
who cried for fictional characters and dreamed for a world where no one ever
suffered. And yet here I was, glad that it wasn’t me.
All of the sounds
surrounding me blurred into a white noise, the crying students, the shouts for
911. I remember the young lifeguard, likely not much older than we were. His
face pale and his hands trembling as he counted compressions. His chest heaved
with broken sobs between each press, but his hands never stopped. The sickening
rhythm of his desperation echoed throughout the room, the unforgettable sound
mixing with the dreadful whispers of my peers. Combined, it had felt as if time
itself had bent around that moment, stretching and pulling, the world was
holding its breath.
Someone, maybe a
teacher or maybe just another student pulled me off of the diving board. I
don’t remember who or how. All I remember is walking past her, past the frantic
attempts to save her, past the cold body with foam seeping from its lips, and
walking away.
The bus tumbled
along, indifferent. I started out the window and imagined her still floating
there, lost. The water wouldn’t let her go. I saw her blue lips, her arms limp
like seaweed, her eyes glassed over. To me she had never left the pool,
instead her body stayed behind. She was sinking beneath the surface every time I
blinked.
I couldn’t bring
myself to feel anything anymore. It was as if the whole world had fallen
silent, and I was stuck in it.
When I got home,
my mother and grandmother tried to talk to me. They wanted to understand what
had happened, how I had felt. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t find the words
for a feeling I didn’t understand. I stared at the tv behind them, pretending
to listen but really hearing nothing. I didn’t know how to process what had
happened. All I could think was about how I felt nothing for her, how that
absence of feeling seemed to confirm everything I had feared about myself.
In the days that
followed rumors began swirling. Was she dead? Will there be a memorial? The
silence around the situation only made it worse, amplifying the shame I had
felt inside. How could they cry for her? These were the same kids who never
spoke to her, who teased her when she wasn’t around. How was it that they could
feel something I couldn’t?
Then, we learned
the truth. She was alive. Stable. In the hospital.
But still, I felt
nothing. I was numb. I was empty.
She never came
back to school. I never saw her again, never learned if she recovered. Her
absence should have weighed on me, but it didn’t.
It was as if
she had never been there at all.
Chae Santana is in her first year at ICC. She likes to spend her free time reading, traveling, or
watching true crime. She's majoring in sociology and likes to write as an
outlet.