~*~*~*~ Dreaming ~*~*~*~

"Wake up! Please, wake up!"

His hand, still warm and wet, is clasped between mine as I kneel beside him, the rough concrete of the pool deck digging into my knees. I take in the way his eyelashes flutter, clinging to that sign of life.

"Come on, Chris. Stay with me, stay with me."

I lean closer, desperate to find a heartbeat. His bathing suit is changing colours, from red to green and back to a shade of red. My heart pounds, echoing in my ears as I place my hands on his chest and will it to move, all my CPR training coming into focus. Compress, compress, compress—

And then he breathes—a loud gasp that has me rushing to support his back as he sits up on his elbows, coughing and struggling for air. I watch, feeling helpless, willing the water to get out.

Finally, he lets out a deep sigh, and I take my first real breath since he stopped taking his.

"Jessie."

I don't think I've ever been so happy to hear my name. I choke on a sob and wipe at my eyes, feeling the weight lift off my chest. "You're okay."

He lies back on the floor, coughs again and sputters, voice hoarse. "Where are we?"

Relief loosens the tightness in my throat. "At the pool."

"The pool?" He directs his gaze to the Olympic-sized pool floating above us.

"We were practising for tryouts."

He takes a shuddering breath. "I remember now. What happened?"

Just the thought of saying it makes me choke up again. I clear my throat, trying to drag out the words and soften them at the same time. "You almost drowned."

"What?! How?"

I still don't understand what happened. "We were both doing laps and—" I remember the terror seizing my heart when I saw him sink towards the bottom of the pool. "Suddenly you were unconscious."

He swallows hard, quiet for a few moments as we both catch our breath. I know we're both thinking it: How does one of the strongest swimmers on his high school team almost drown in the middle of a lap?

I lie next to him and wrap my arms around him. "That was scary."

His arms press against my back, hugging me tight. I watch his chest rise and fall, monitoring, noticing his breathing slow to its regular rhythm. "I know."

I find myself counting the moments that are putting me further and further from losing him. Not him too. Please, not him too.

We lie like that, staring at the skylight of the campus gym, saying nothing for a long time. Even in our best moments, silence is never awkward. And for once, I'm too busy feeling grateful to think.

He rubs my shoulder soothingly, then stops. "Did you pull me out by yourself?"

"Yeah." I remember getting us both to the wall and pulling him out, shouting his name, as if I could just wake him up.

"This doesn't feel like enough to say, but thank you."

I squeeze his arm. "Of course. You know I'm always here for you, just like how I know you're always here for me."

He cranes his neck to make eye contact. "Always." He rubs my shoulder again in agreement, then jerks to a sitting position. "Wait, that pool is massive. You swam all of that while keeping both our heads above water? Are you okay?"

"I—hold on a sec." I sit up, my foot sloshing in a puddle. It's so easy to be completely open with each other, but I resist to keep the focus on helping him. "Physically, I'm okay. It's you we should be talking about."

I take in his dark brown eyes, almost positive I can pick out every thought swirling there—he's confused, he hates that I could have gotten hurt too, he's tired, and he's afraid.

I know he is because I am too.

I stand up and hold out my hand. "Come with me."

We start walking, the inviting warmth and smell of chlorine replaced by a cool, pine-scented breeze as we cross a field lit only by moonlight. The refreshingly cold grass beneath my feet is suddenly replaced by slick linoleum as we walk through the mall to the food court. The brightly lit signs over each vendor compete with the loud chatter of people rushing by.

I walk up to our favourite Italian fast food spot, which magically has no line-up. "Hi, could we please have the spaghetti and meatballs?" I ask, and the next thing I know I'm holding a tray of pasta and dropping it onto a table for two. We slide into the booth across from each other and start eating.

For a minute I think it's working, but then he puts down his fork and shakes his head. "I can't believe that happened."

I feel myself lose whatever appetite I had. "I know."

"There's more."

More?

When his voice comes out, it's extremely gentle. "What was I doing when you saw me in the pool?"

I swallow, suppressing the images my brain is pulling up to answer the question. "I—"

His face softens. "Sorry. I can just explain what I mean. I don't want to put you through that agai—"

"Hey, it's okay." I look at him, my voice softening too. "I know you don't. But this is important."

He lets out a breath. "Thanks."

I think back, shutting my eyes as I force myself to relive one of the scariest experiences of my life. I told him he was sinking towards the bottom of the pool—but suddenly I remember how.

I open my eyes. "You were kicking and moving your arms a lot."

He nods, his expression unchanged except for a hint of despair in his eyes. He was hoping for a different answer. "Me, in the water, kicking and waving my arms but going nowhere. Does that sound familiar?"

"Famil—Oh." If possible, my eyes widen even more. I look at him, and I hate that I can't keep my worry off my face. "Your recurring nightmare. How..."

"I don't know." He sounds lost, like he's in a trance. "But it actually happened. And I blanked out. In the pool." He looks at me, and I feel my heart sink. "Why?"

The word "why" runs around my mind in vicious circles, scary combinations of words tailgating it to the finish line, where absolutely no answer is waiting.

Why does he keep having that dream? Why did it actually happen just now? Why him?

I watch water droplets trail down his red-brown hair, pooling onto his white shirt. Just minutes ago I was right there, urging him to breathe.

I lean in and press my palms against the table. "Hey, I'm here. We can figure this out together. When did you first start having these nightmares again?"

He pushes the last meatball to my side of the plate, saving it for me. "I can't remember that far back. Maybe since I was a kid?"

"And it's never happened in real life before."

"This is the first time."

I bite my lip. "You know, maybe it's from nerves. Or exhaustion? You've been practising a lot for tryouts."

He looks up. "You think so?"

"It's totally possible." Then a hopeful, rationale thought enters my mind. "This only happened once. That doesn't mean it's going to happen again."

"It might just stay a recurring nightmare," he continues, following my train of thought.

"I mean, I know the nightmares are already a lot," I add softly, cutting the meatball in half so we can share. I'm holding onto hope, but I also can't help thinking of all possible scenarios. I force the question out. "If it did happen again, would you consider...not swimming?"

He straightens. "Not swimming? That's like asking me not to breathe." He looks at me. "Right? Would you?"

I try to picture never getting into a pool again, never pushing off the wall and melting into the water, trusting it to carry my weight as my arms and legs pull me from one end to the other.

I sigh. "I can't imagine it either. But, what if..." My voice catches. "What if it happens again and no one's around, or you don't figure it out in time? You could get hurt. Very hurt."

He lowers his voice, and I can hear the emotion in every word. "Hey, nothing's going to happen to me. If it happened again, of course I would take a break, and we would figure it out together."

I'm supposed to feel relief, but new thoughts pour in: Will he be able to try out for the swim team? If he makes the team and it happens again, will they let him take a break or will he get kicked off? If he loses his scholarship, which school will he go to? How do we keep him safe? How do we stop it from happening if we don't why it's happening?

I don't say anything and he reads the sadness on my face. "Hey. You're right—we'll figure this out. We've been best friends for how many years now?"

I can't help but smile. "Too many to count."

He laughs and for a second, it's like the clouds have opened up and the sun is shining through. It feels good to hear him perk up a bit. "And so far we've always been able to work things out together, right?"

He looks at me and I stare back at his warm brown eyes, a wave of comfort washing over me. His gaze has always had that effect.

"Right." I smile. "Plus every time I ask if you're okay, you say..."

He picks up our tray and winks. "Always am."

I watch as he dumps the uneaten spaghetti into the compost. I promise myself, I will make this better.

Though I have no idea how.