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Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Instant Karma the Down in the Dirt September-December 2023 issues collection book		get the 422 page September-December 2023 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Swamp Girl

Sara Sanguinetti

    The soaked cuffs of my jeans drag behind my sopping wet shoes. Above, the moon curves gracefully overhead on its journey across the sky. When I began it was just peering over the tops of the willow trees. Now its silver rays shine down on my back.
    I was too damn slow to catch the sun. My fault for thinking I could stand a chance. It’s left me with the frigid night winds that bite down on my bare skin. Soon enough dawn will let the light in and show me what wading through a swamp does to a city girl. The curiosity living in the back of my mind wonders what I’ll look like when nature’s done with me.
    Mama would’ve hated the fact that I’m knee deep in this “slop,” as she would call it. Hmph. Well, even in times when our cupboards were nearly empty, she sneered at my dirty nails and tangled hair. As if being a bit frazzled was more shameful than what’s happening to hardworking people in this country. Mama’d have us wearing our best in the Hoovervilles if we ever landed there.
    She’d lived proud. Died proud too. Her head didn’t simply rest on her pillow as she forced down her last breath, no; her chin was still turned up high, just as always. It was like she was gonna give God a piece of her mind too. I had thought it was funny, so I snorted. The Lord hasn’t stricken me down for that yet, amongst other things, so I should be alright.
    Mama wouldn’t have been surprised that I laughed at her. Well, if that was the last thing she saw I don’t mind. She always said happiness looked ugly on me.
    I must tell Tommy what happened. Last I heard, he’s been homesteading around these parts. Guess he can’t make a dime to even board somewhere, which makes two of us. Took me hours of talking to some townies to get his address. That’s enough punishment for being the daughter I was.
    “Old Tommy?” Mr. Leo, the bartender at the local tavern, raised his bushy eyebrows as soon as I asked him. “Well, you ain’t the first woman to come lookin’ for him.”
    I scoffed at his tastelessness. “Good to know. Where’s he living at these days?”
    “I don’t recommend going out there, missy.” He shook his head, then turned to help the paper-thin man stooped like a dying flower next to me. He was the only other patron. Just a matter of time before this joint shuts down.
    I slammed my hand on the counter and ordered a rum and coke on the spot. Now Mr. Leo had no choice but to fix me a drink. Mama wouldn’t have approved in the slightest.
    “I’m not trying to cause any trouble. Tommy is my older brother. I’ve just gotta tell him that our mother’s dead and then I’ll get out of here,” I said.
    Mr. Leo set my drink down on the counter gingerly, as if I might shatter along with the glass. He looked at me with soft round eyes, the way someone does to a lost puppy. “That sounds like causing him trouble, darlin’.”
    “I need to tell him, ‘cause otherwise he’s never gonna know,” I insisted. Did Tommy tell him to fend us off if we ever came sniffing around? Well, what the hell did I do to him? I was only eleven years old when he left. What could I have been guilty of then?
    With a sigh, Mr. Leo crossed his arms. “Tommy’s been living in this area for years. He drinks here once in a while, when he scrapes up enough money, but I can’t predict when he’s coming. When he does, well...” he trailed off, looking thoughtful. When someone’s thinking that hard they’re trying to deceive you. “You and I both know him, sweetheart. Don’t you think it’s for the best that we don’t tell him the news?”
    Who’s“we”? I wanted to scream, but then I would most definitely be taken away and put in the loony bin. So I straightened up and tried on a smile. “Mr. Leo, I must tell him because there’s going to be a reading of the will in a couple weeks. Everyone needs to be there. My husband turned down a job interview to attend. That’s like jumping off a cliff these days. So my brother’s got no excuse.”
    Mama had no money to her name when she died. The depression ruined her like a lot of folks. I think whatever bank let her keep her house just felt sorry for her. Now that she’s gone, it’s gone too. I’ve got no husband either. But what I lack in money and men, I’ve got in little white lies.
    Mr. Leo believed me. He told me the exact coordinates and even gave me a map with a circle around Tommy’s residence. As I was hightailing it out of there, he hollered, “Wait! Ma’am, please wait!”
    I turned my head half a fraction towards him, my legs still carrying me to the door. “What?”
    Hands thumping hard on the counter, he said, “I can’t let you go without telling you this. The area Tommy lives in, there’s some sort of monster that haunts it. So don’t go there at night.”
    His warning didn’t faze me one bit. I was used to monsters. I had lived with one my whole life. That’s what Tommy and I got in common with each other.
    The swamp was just outside of town. Though the sun was sinking deep into the horizon, I dove into the wilderness. Look at me, Mama. This would kill you again, wouldn’t it?
    Maybe I could’ve been more grateful to Mr. Leo. But there’s no going back to give him my thanks. Here I am, wading underneath the cypresses all night. So far I haven’t been killed or eaten. I swear these hicks just start rumors to keep people out, just like when Mama said I’d get worms if I played in the garden.
    That said, I guess she and Mr. Leo are kindred spirits. So screw him.
    Moonlight bounces off the water and sparkles around me like fairy dust. Cattails reach out to stroke my shoulders and cheeks. Willow leaves flutter together in the wind, flowing like a silver gown. I can see as clear as I ever have. Up until she died, Mama never let me run much less explore nature. But I’ve had dreams about it. About me as an ant, crawling under trees taller than mountains. For some reason that comforts me. I’ve always felt better imagining myself as an animal.
    My belly growls. Perhaps I could catch a fish. The way I see it, I could grab it with my bare hands. The thought of biting into its cold, slimy flesh crosses my mind, its juices running down my chin.
    If Mama could read my mind, she’d be horrified I conjured up such a thing. I swear when she was alive, she could stare into my soul and see all the black spots on it. She was shocked I was capable of bad things. Like I didn’t learn them from somebody.
    “Are you watching me, Mama?” I ask her. The rhythmic chirping of insects answers back. She is watching me. I know it. After all, the swamp is made of dead things. Hard to believe she’s not among them now.
    I gnaw at the corner of my inner cheek. The eyes of animals dissect me from the shadows. Night birds, eels, fish, gators. All of them are here with me, feasting on the sight of me. I think if I stay here long enough, I will become one of them. Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. A fish doesn’t have to think about the past or the future, what they’ve done or what they will do. It just thinks about its next meal.
    If there is a monster here, I’m not scared of it. It’s just like everything else here.
    Ahead, a yellow light blinks throughout the trees. My breath hitches. I run like the wind. Water splashes all around me, trying to hold me back in its embrace. But nothing’s going to stop me now.
    I’m coming for you, Tommy!
    Because our father died, Tommy was the only man in our house. He had always hated Mama. From birth, it seemed. So I decided I should too. For years we stood on her back together, making messes and running away and calling her names. That saved me, for a time.
    Then Tommy left, taking all my spite with him. When it was clear he wasn’t coming back, Mama smiled again for the first time in ages. She made me a prisoner, tying me to chairs and beds to keep me sitting pretty. I only saw the sun through our windows. I only felt its warmth through glass. Maybe she wanted to show me what it was like to be our mother for all those years.
    Until I decided I’d had enough.
    I never understood why Tommy abandoned me. But now that I’m finally free, I don’t hold any grudges against him. It’s all over, and now we can be together. That’s what everything I did was for.
    A shack surrounded by willows appears before me. A normal person can’t see it, but I can. Because I made it this far. After everything Mama did to me. After each word of hers picked me apart like petals. Now that I’m here I can do anything.
    My blood pumping hard in my ears, I trip and sink up to my eyes. Just like a gator on the hunt. What would happen if I took a breath? I wanted to know. Hesitantly, I breathe in like a fish. My lungs drink in the water like wine. Breathing comes easy. Natural, even. I have Mama’s air, after all. Her last beautiful gift to me.
    I submerge my head. I can see underwater clear as day. The silt riverbed stretches out in front of me, slick and slimy with moss and broken shells. Four pairs of yellow eyes stare back at me. I swim straight ahead, paying them no mind.
    Finally, the water spits me out. I crawl up to the shack, my blackened fingernails sinking deep into the sand. Gray mud cements my clothes to my skin. My limbs ache. How could I go back to walking now that I’ve lived and breathed like a fish? How could I ever stand again?
    But here I am. Tommy, I’m here.
    What will I do when I see him? Cry? Scream? Throw my arms around him? I picture myself holding him close in my arms. I will not let him go. Never again.
    The door swings open. Someone stands before me, a bleak shadow against the firelight. Birds fall silent. Fish stop swimming. The vibrant hum of the swamp ceases. All that’s left is the growl rising up in my throat.
    BANG.
    A starburst of agony explodes in my chest. My body flies back. Water wraps around me like a shroud, pulling me under. I scream my brother’s name. Over and over again. But all who hear me are the yellow eyes.
    Mama is dead, I whimper. It was all for you.
    My words are dead in the water.

~

    Tommy stood at his doorway. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead. He held his breath and counted silently.
    The insects slowly resumed their chirping. Somewhere off in the distance, an owl hooted. A soft breeze rustled through the willows, tousling his hair. The night had become peaceful again.
    He sighed. “Damn monster.” Lowering his rifle, he turned and went back inside.

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