I am a kernel of stillness in the swirl. I go back to the Ferryman. He is fishing me out of the river in bits and pieces, dropping the parts into the bottom of the boat, like so many hunks of meat. “What happened?” I ask.
“Yes. I see, but how? How did it happen?”
“Don’t you remember?”
All I remember is a point of light, a pinprick spark and only darkness for answer. I remember the tightness of pressure and then nothing.
“Maybe the how of it’s not important,” he says, preparing to dive again.
“Are you angry with me?” such a mess I’ve made. Again.
“Well, it’s not my favorite part of this job, but it is part of my job and I’m doing it, see? And I will do, whenever it’s necessary. No, I’m not angry with you darlin. I’m not the one bleeding in the bottom of the boat though, am I?” He gives his head a small sad shake before diving back in to troll the river bottom for any remaining scraps of me.
I see the grandmother making her way up the river bank with her sewing bundle. She tsks at the mess of me and settles in to begin her mending. “Grandmother please,” I stay her before she begins, “this time please would you sew in a center of gravity for me? Something that might help hold me together in high winds.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says and chuckles to herself as if she knew all along that it was just a matter of time before I worked it out.