Breathing Underwater

The spinach sat wilting in my crisper drawer for three days before I finally threw it out. Just like everything else in my life lately — good intentions rotting while I watched from the sidelines.

"You need to come back," Elena had said the last time we spoke, her voice tight with that particular blend of concern and judgment that only childhood friends can perfect. "We miss you at the group."

I'd stood in my kitchen, phone pressed to my ear, watching steam rise from my tea. "I've been busy."

"Busy swimming," she'd deadpanned, because she knew.

She knew because she'd been there that night at the community center pool, the one with the harsh fluorescent lights and the smell of chlorine that never really leaves your skin. She'd watched me swim lap after lap until my arms burned and the lifeguard had to tap my shoulder and tell me they were closing.

Swimming had become my anchor — the only place where the constant static in my head quieted. underwater, there was no cancer diagnosis to discuss, no well-meaning coworkers asking how I was doing, no awkward silences with friends who didn't know whether to treat me like I was dying or like everything was fine. Just the rhythmic pull through water, the bubbles, the surface always there when I needed it.

But I couldn't tell Elena that. Couldn't tell any of them.

So I'd started running instead, early mornings when the city was still gray and the only other people awake were the ones running from something or toward something. I ran until my lungs burned and I could convince myself that the tightness in my chest was just exercise, not the slow erosion of everything I'd thought my life would be.

The irony wasn't lost on me — running from the very people who wanted to help. But there's a particular kind of loneliness that comes with being the sick one, the one everyone's watching, and I'd found myself preferring the solitude of predawn streets to the weight of their careful attention.

Tonight, standing in my kitchen with the bag of spinach in the trash, I realized I hadn't spoken to anyone in four days. The silence in my apartment had grown teeth.

I picked up my phone. Elena's number was still there, still the first one I'd dial in an emergency, even if emergencies were all we seemed to have anymore.

"Do you want to get dinner?" I asked when she picked up. " somewhere with actual vegetables this time."