Sarah stood barefoot in the cold river and peered farther out into its depths as if she were peering over a cliff. She was completely alone. She took two steps away from the rivers edge and felt the icy sting rise to her calves. The deeper water farther out was a magnet that tugged at the edges of her frayed mind. It wanted her. This was as far as she would go. Her legs began to ache from the freezing snow-melt and she welcomed the pain. Closed her eyes and focused in on it. Stood there until her brain felt as numb as her toes—until Jim’s hands and the bruises that purpled her body faded into the distance. For about ten minutes, Sarah was free.
Her eyes flew open at the sound of voices and she saw a raft filled with people drifting down the center of the river. Panic rushed in and filled the places that had only moments ago been completely blank. She whirled around and scrambled toward the shore. Her muscles cramped immediately in protest and Sarah fell, soaking herself to her waist. She half crawled/half dragged herself the last two feet to solid ground. Looking and feeling like a scared animal, Sarah grabbed her flip-flops and scampered away from the river to her car.
As Sarah pressed on the gas pedal, her leg shook uncontrollably. “Damn it,” she said out loud. Her thoughts raced. How could I have been so careless, so stupid? Though she had found what seemed like a secluded place, the nearby parking and the paved, narrow pathway snaking beside the river should have clued her in to the fact that she would never be the only visitor to the water. What have I done?
In truth, the fact that hundreds of people enjoyed rafting in the area shouldn’t have come as such a shock to Sarah. Small, colorful booths dotted the edges of Main Avenue and signs in front of each one displayed times for the next raft trip or jeep adventure. Each booth came equipped with a tan, athletic, usually good-looking person wielding fistfuls of flyers—forcing them in the faces of anyone that came within ten feet of their territory. It was almost impossible to visit Durango without having seen at least one of these establishments. But Sarah had missed them all. Even though Durango was small compared to most cities, Sarah knew to stay away from the downtown area. More people meant more possibility that one of them would be Jim. He had made it clear on more than a few occasions that not only was she a “good-for-nothing bitch,” but also that no matter where she went he would find her. He would find her and he would make her pay. She had bet with her life when she fled to Colorado. She couldn’t afford to take any unnecessary risks now. And yet, she just had. But why, she wondered.
Sarah didn’t stop shaking until she had reached the safety of her home. After shedding damp clothes, she wrapped herself in her favorite pink robe and boiled some water for tea. She grabbed her cell phone off the counter and slumped onto the couch. A friend, a reassuring voice, any voice but Jim’s would be welcome. She had no friends. Sudden relocation often had that effect on people. She stared at the blank screen underneath the word contacts. The phone hit the wall with such force it shattered into enough pieces of plastic that it would take days to locate them all. In the absence of admonition for such behavior, she knew she was completely alone.
The only visitor Sarah could always count on was her nightmares.
Jim’s hands around her neck. Can’t breathe. Begging. Pleading. Water. Why was she underwater? Muted screams. Eyes bulging. Looking up at light filtering down through liquid. Jim found her and he was making her pay. She struggled and gasped, tasted a mouthful of river water and…sat bolt upright on the couch.
The only way that Sarah knew that a world still existed was through her laptop computer. She could simultaneously explore that world and remain detached from entering it. Through dot coms, dot orgs, and dot nets, she skimmed its surface like a flat stone skipping across a lake. Wiping the dream-sweat from her face, she reached for the only friend she had. The river called out to her and she needed to know why. A few clicks later her eyes came to rest upon these words, “Rio de las Animas Perdidas,” The River of Lost Souls.
Yes, she thought, that is what I am. I am lost.
To remain a prisoner in her own house would be to invite certain insanity. The Animas fascinated Sarah so she decided to go back. This time she would be more careful. She did her research online and memorized the way the river snaked through town. She discovered that she could park down less traveled side roads and pick her way through bushes and weeds to finally arrive at the water’s edge, unseen. She learned about the rafting companies: how they all put their boats in at 32nd Street, how they pulled the boats ashore at Santa Rita Park, and how it took about two hours to get from start to finish. Using this information, she was able to avoid being surprised by boat-loads of people. She paid attention to time and made sure to be hidden in the bushes when the rafts floated by. It was a perfect vantage point. She could see the doughy white skin of bodies that obviously were not used to the outdoors. Laughter and the occasional bit of information about the area floated on the breeze. The tourists and raft guides never knew they were being watched.
Day after day, Sarah visited the river of lost souls. She waded out into swirling blues and greens. Refreshing, healing liquid. Her hands dipped down under the surface and came up thick with mud that slid through her fingers. Globs of it fell back to the water with a splash and a plunk. She brought her hands up to her face, inhaled the river’s scent—a melody of pine trees and snow, elk and Columbine. She sat amongst the tall grass and listened to the river’s voice as it washed over slick boulders. Sarah contemplated the yet unexplored water at the river’s center, even stared at it with feverish intensity at times, but never allowed the water to touch her above the knee-caps. She needed the comfort of being in control.
Sleep came easier now. Nightmares of Jim were slowly replaced by dreams that she didn’t remember upon waking. The nothingness of these dreams was bliss. The constant fear that Sarah had known for so many years began to change into something that felt funny and foreign. Warmth radiated from places inside of her that were previously frozen and dead.
Over the next month, Sarah continued to visit her river daily. It was nearing the end of summer and she began to notices changes in the water level and the amount of people she had to avoid. One day, she waded out into an open area and turned her face up toward the sun. She lost all track of time and allowed herself to feel happy and alive in ways she thought Jim had stolen from her forever. A raft drifted her direction and by the time Sarah saw it, it was too late to hide. The people in the small boat shouted out hellos and smiled and waved.
Sarah smiled and waved back.
Adrenaline rushed through her body as the people floated farther downstream. This is what it feels like to be normal she thought. She laughed out loud. Laughed until her sides ached and tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked out to the river’s center where the boat had floated by and took a step toward it. She kept walking. She felt the water rise past her waist sending shivers up her spine and still, she kept walking. When she had gone so far that she felt the river tickling the bottom of her chin and the only thing touching the bottom was the very tips of her toes, Sarah pushed forward and floated out across the water on her stomach. She trusted the river and it embraced her fully. She swam against the current and giggled when she looked toward shore and realized she was swimming in place. She rolled over, laid her head back and spread her arms away from her body. Small waves, golden with sunlight, gently moved her downstream. Sarah was in love—her soul belonged to the Animas.
