The Chlorine and Ash

The hotel pool was empty at 2 AM, which is exactly why Martin chose this hour. He swam laps because his cardiologist had prescribed it, along with the orange **vitamin** D supplements that sat untouched on his nightstand. At forty-seven, he'd become a man who collected medical advice like baseball cards, careful and terrified.

He surfaced to find her sitting poolside - the woman from room 412, wearing her robe like armor. She held a glass of scotch and regarded him with eyes that had seen too much.

"You swim like you're escaping something," she said.

Martin treaded water. "I'm just following doctor's orders."

"That's not what I asked." She took a sip. "My ex-husband collected baseball memorabilia. Spent fifty thousand dollars on a signed Mickey Mantle ball while our daughter needed braces. Men and their obsessions."

Martin pulled himself from the water, dripping onto the concrete. "I'm not obsessed. I'm just... trying not to die before I'm fifty."

"We're all dying, honey." She set down her glass. "My brother died last month. Grizzly **bear** attack in Alaska. He was the kind of person who actually lived, you know? Not just existed between cardiologist appointments."

The chlorine stung Martin's eyes, or maybe it was something else. He thought of his wife back in Chicago, sleeping in their bed that had grown too large for the both of them. He thought of the vitamin supplements, the meticulous exercise logs, the safety he'd built like a fortress around himself.

"I don't know how to live anymore," he admitted.

She stood up and extended her hand. "Start by getting drunk with a stranger by a hotel pool. It's not Alaska, but it's something."

Martin took her hand. The water dripped from his skin, reminding him that somewhere, in another version of himself, he might have been brave enough to face the bears.