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Her lungs burned. They seemed to be squeezing themselves tight, wanting to force her breath out to get ready for fresh air. |
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Maureen let the breath slip from her mouth. As she felt herself begin to sink, she tugged the baggy gym shorts down her legs and off. |
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She draped them over her head. |
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She guided herself slowly upward and broke the surface, the shorts hanging like a big, floppy hat. She sucked air into her lungs. |
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She was facing the deep end of the pool. |
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She slipped beneath the water, caught the sodden rag as it started to drift away, and swam for the board. She needed to get under it. There, she might be able to breathe without the rain touching her, making her crazy. |
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Her left hand touched the slick tile wall at the end of the pool. Staying below the surface, she peered up. But she saw only dark water. She pressed the shorts to the top of her head and surfaced. |
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A yard to the left of the board. |
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She plunged under, kicked and came up again directly beneath the board. She turned sideways, reached out and clutched the pool gutter. With her other hand, she plucked the shorts off her head. |
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She felt the cold water encasing her body. No warm rain striking her head or shoulders or outstretched arm. No urges to rend flesh or taste blood. |
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