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It reminds me of the swimming pool game when I was a child, eyes closed, calling, and the others answering as I struggled, not knowing how to swim blind. I reached for their voices, their bodies already elsewhere. "Marco." "Polo." "Marco." "Polo." MarcoPoloMarcoPoloMarco.

Sensing my fear, relying on it, the others climbed out of the pool. "Polo," they called from the cement, while I searched, never guessing, until finally, pretending to have swallowed water, I opened my eyes and saw them there above me, their dripping swimsuits leaving wet splotches on the ground.

That's what I remember when you say it back, a little louder. And it is a struggle, like weight against water, to stop myself saying it again.

image: Ryan Molloy