The Art of Drowning

The motel pool was empty at 3 AM, which was exactly what Mark needed. He slipped into the water fully dressed—dress shoes kicked off, iphone in his pocket like a waterproof anchor. The fabric of his suit bloomed around him, dark and heavy as he began swimming laps in the chlorinated silence.

Six hours ago, he'd signed the divorce papers. Five hours ago, Elena had texted: don't forget the dog.

The goldfish—Caroline's goddamn goldfish—still swam in its bowl on their kitchen counter, oblivious to the end of twelve years. Mark had almost taken it. Had stood there with the bowl in his hands, thinking about how Elena had won that goldfish at a carnival the summer they met, how it had survived three apartments, two miscarriages, and Mark's drinking. But he'd left it. Let it be her problem now.

His iphone buzzed underwater. He ignored it.

Beside the pool sat a weathered baseball, left behind by some kid or maybe just washed up from the grounds of the neighboring baseball field. Mark had played in college. Elena had loved watching him play. He'd quit the year her mother got sick, the year everything started needing to be paid for.

He surfaced. The iphone screen lit the darkness: a text from Elena again. come get the baseball stuff from the garage. i'm donating it.

Mark laughed. A harsh, ugly sound that bounced off the water.

"You okay?"

A woman stood at the pool's edge—forties maybe, tired eyes, wrapped in a motel robe. Behind them both, through the glass doors, the front desk clerk watched a goldfish swim circles in its too-small tank.

"Fine," said Mark. "Just swimming."

"In your clothes?"

"Keeps me from floating away."

She nodded like that made sense. Sat down on the edge, feet in the water. "My husband left three days ago. Took the dog. I keep coming out here at night. Waiting for what comes next."

Mark treaded water, watching her. The baseball sat between them like a ticking clock.

"What comes next," he said, "is usually not what you expected."

She smiled, thin and knowing. "No. It never is."

The iphone buzzed again. Both of them ignored it.