My father threw me in a river once and said, this is how you learn to swim. I don’t remember if I was scared. Only gliding through water so clear I could see everything the world might be made of.
The weightlessness thrilled me. And the cold that warmed me the longer I wore it. I glued my legs together with the wish for a fish tail and propelled my mermaid self through uncharted waters and forgot all the things I thought I knew.