Things We Lost to the Water: A Novel by Eric Nguyen

Author:Eric Nguyen [Nguyen, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780593317952
Google: 4HInEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0593317955
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2021-05-03T23:00:00+00:00

Ben

1992

That summer, Addy wanted to join the swim team. In her front yard, she’d stretched like a swimmer, straightening her legs and touching her toes before racing across the grass as Ben watched from the porch.

“Imagine that’s me in the water,” she would tell him.

By July, she was ready for the pool, all the way out in Gentilly, and Ben followed along despite not knowing how to swim.

He sat on a vinyl lounge chair off to the side with a book and watched boys jump off the diving board, each yelling playfully before hitting the water.

“I get seasick just looking at it,” he told Addy.

“Don’t, then,” she said.

“I can’t help it.”

Another boy hit the water and Ben imagined himself doing the same, but instead of popping up on the other side, he’d drown and die. He shook his head and returned to his book. There was summer reading to do, and he was already ahead, with two of the three books done. He read a chapter before deciding it was a good time to stop. He let the book lie open facedown on the chair and left for the concessions stand.

By the time he got back, a skinny, older white boy and what must have been his father sat in their chairs. The father had a bad, uneven tan that made him look like he was wearing a pale shirt. The boy was just pale all over. Ben’s book sat on the concrete, closed.

He ran over. “Hey, hey, hey!” he yelled. He waved his arms in the air to get their attention. “Don’t you see our stuff?”

“What stuff?” said the boy. His voice was sharp and it sounded like he was chewing gum or had something in his mouth.

“Our stuff,” Ben said, then to clarify, “our bags, our towels, my book!”

“Where?” The boy held his arms in the air and shrugged his shoulders, cool—Ben would remember later—as a glass of lemonade. “Where? Where? Where?” The boy was mocking him now. And his father, having set down his glasses, walked away.

“There,” Ben said.

The boy looked under the chair and picked up the book. Water had splashed on the cover; a dark patch stained the front. “Oh,” he said. “These?”

“Duh, those!” Ben reached over and grabbed his stuff with such force that everything fell out of his hands and scattered on the ground. He picked it all up and began to leave.

“Hey, you! Hey, kid!” the boy called after. His voice was loud, tightly coiled, controlled. “You forgot something.”

Ben looked around and saw the boy waving Addy’s shirt and shorts, both hot pink. He turned his head toward the pool. Addy was still doing laps, oblivious to what was happening. He imagined what he’d tell her. “This white boy…” he would begin with a smack of his lips, the way they always began when they told stories about the crazy white people they met—This white man thought I stole something from his store; this white lady thought I was someone else because apparently all of our kind look the same….

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