The Sphinx at the Pool's Edge

The hotel pool was empty at 3 AM, which was exactly what Elena needed. She'd left David sleeping in room 412, his breathing that heavy, rhythmic sound of someone who'd given up on asking questions.

Marriage, she'd learned, could turn you into a **zombie** without you noticing—moving through motions, eating meals, watching **cable** television until your eyes glazed over. David still brought her flowers sometimes, still asked about her day, but they'd become experts at the art of simultaneous parallel existence.

She slipped into the water, **swimming** laps with desperate precision. The chlorinated quiet was the only place her thoughts stopped their relentless spiraling. In the water, she wasn't a wife who'd stopped wanting children, or a daughter who disappointed her mother by calling too rarely, or a woman who'd somehow reached forty-two without figuring out what she was actually supposed to do with this life.

"You have excellent form," a voice said from the edge of the pool.

Elena stopped mid-stroke, treading water. A woman sat there in the moonlight—maybe sixty, silver hair pulled back, eyes that seemed to see entirely too much.

"Sorry if I startled you." The woman's name, it turned out, was Mara. "I couldn't sleep. My husband **swimming** too?"

"My husband is asleep." Elena pulled herself from the water, wrapping in a towel. "We're here for our anniversary."

"Ah." Mara's eyebrows rose slightly. "And are you happy?"

The question hung there like **spinach** between teeth—awkward, unavoidable, impossible to ignore without someone noticing.

"I don't know," Elena said, and the honesty surprised her. "I think I forgot what that means."

Mara nodded, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "I left my husband after twenty-three years. Woke up one morning and realized I'd been **swimming** through my own life for decades, never actually getting anywhere."

"What happened?"

"I started living." Mara smiled, and it was the smile of someone who'd survived something. "It was terrifying. It still is. But at least it's real."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the water lapping against the pool's edge. Elena thought about the **cable** bill that came automatically from their joint account, the **spinach** rotting in her refrigerator's crisper drawer, the way she and David had perfected the art of not saying what they meant.

"You're like a **sphinx**," Elena said finally. "Appearing out of nowhere with impossible questions."

"I prefer 'woman who couldn't sleep.'" Mara stood up. "Your anniversary—congratulations, I suppose. Or whatever feels appropriate."

Elena watched her walk away into the dark corridor, and for the first time in years, she didn't immediately go back to the room where her husband slept. She sat on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, and let herself wonder what would happen if she stopped swimming and simply started drowning—or maybe, finally, breathing.