Electrical Current

The pool was empty at 2 AM, which was exactly why Maya liked it. She'd been swimming laps in the darkness for weeks now, ever since the divorce was finalized. Her ex-husband had called her a zombie during their last fight — someone going through the motions of life without actually living in it. The insult had stung because it was true.

Tonight, the water felt different. Charged. A storm was brewing somewhere beyond the city lights, the sky bruising purple at the edges. Maya floated on her back, watching the clouds gather, thinking about how she'd ended up here at thirty-five: alone in a communal pool, her life reduced to this nightly ritual.

Then she saw it — an pool float shaped like an orange slice, abandoned near the edge. It belonged to the teenager in 4B, the one with the headphones perpetually glued to his ears. Something about its ridiculous cheerfulness made her laugh for the first time in months.

"You find that funny?"

Maya gasped and went under. surfaced sputtering. A man stood at the pool's edge — the new neighbor from 2C. What was his name? David. He was holding a leash, his old golden retriever sitting patiently at his feet.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said, treading water.

"Neither are you." David sat down, dangling his feet in the water. The dog whimpered. "Buster loves it when it rains. The air smells like ozone before it hits."

"You talk to your dog about meteorology?"

"He's a better listener than my therapist."

They talked for an hour as the storm moved closer. David had lost his wife to cancer two years ago. Maya told him about her marriage slowly dying over a decade, how it had taken becoming a stranger to herself to finally leave. The dog fell asleep between them, snoring gently.

When lightning finally cracked the sky — brilliant, branching forks that illuminated everything — Maya saw David's face clearly for the first time. He looked tired. He looked lonely. He looked like someone who understood.

"I should go," she said, suddenly aware of her wet hair, her old swimsuit, the absurdity of this midnight encounter.

"Swim tomorrow?" David asked. "Same zombie time?"

Maya laughed. "Zombie time."

"Tomorrow then."

She walked home in the first drops of rain, feeling something stir in her chest that had been dead for a very long time. Not lightning exactly — something slower. Something that might, given enough time, become whole again.