• 

  Vol.3 Spring 2009
  
  
• Editor's Note Alicia Thompson


• Poetry
  Poetry Spotlight: Ilyse Kusnetz
  Coastland Susan Meyers
  Secret Garden Barbara Crooker
  Postcard from an Old Lover Liz Robbins
  The Coming of Eve Scott Ward
  Aerial View Kathryn VanSpanckeren
  Divorcee Cleans the Stagnant Pool Melanie Graham


• Fiction
  Ms. Chisolm (excerpt) James Whorton Jr.
  Oranges Genanne Walsh
  Bones (excerpt) Wendy Thornton
  You Who Never Arrived Susan Hubbard
  Blue Green Red (excerpt) Sarah Prevatt
  Texaco on Biscayne (excerpt) Lynne Barrett


• Nonfiction
  Playtime (excerpt) William Bradley


• Art
  Matt Larson
  Bruce Marsh
  Nikki Devereux
  Anna Tomczak
  Dolores Coe


• Book Reviews
  Paradise Interrupted Reviewed by: Adam Pridemore
  The Shipwreck Dress Reviewed by: David Moody


• Interviews
  Novelist Connie May Fowler Interviewed by: Erin Trauth
  Florida Flash: Peter Mienike Interviewed by: Daniele Pantano


• Places to Stand
  29° 50' 7" N 82° 41' 48" W Kristin Hoyer
• Contributors

Places to Stand in Florida

Kristin Hoyer

29° 50' 7" N
82° 41' 48" W

It’s awfully cold, for Florida. I shiver as the chilly water laps around me. Standing on the last step, I’m unwilling to take the plunge into what feels like ice. I shouldn’t be scared, everything is perfect and clear around me. I lean down and splash some more water on my unwilling legs. My camera bounces around on its string around my neck. I adjust it and lean forward for the big plunge.

“Snake,” someone yells and suddenly the stairs I’m standing on are priceless real estate. Four chubby boys rush past me, shaking the wooden stairs in their haste. Mom still lazes in the water. “I’m sure it’s gone now,” she calls to their slick backs. She leans back on her inner tube, diet coke can in one hand, enjoying the warm sun on her stomach. She’s the only one in the water now, and I’m glad.

The stairs are mine again and the process starts over. I lean, I adjust, I observe. I can see every rock glistening under the water. Bubbles shoot out from divers much braver than I. They are in the same cold, but there it is also dark, and they could be lost. This fills me with shame, and I ready myself for the shock ahead. I slip my goggles over my eyes and push back stray hairs. My camera is on, film ready.

I dive.

My body arches back as it enters the water but I force it forward. My legs kick and my eyes open, peering into another place. This is my favorite part. I’ve conquered my fears and left the world. It is empty down here, and tranquil. My goggles put me in charge. I swim slowly, slowly around, surfacing every couple of seconds for a breath. I hate to have to surface. It reminds me that I’m different from the tiny fish that dart by, or the turtle swimming near the mouth of the river.

I let my hands drag along the rocks, feeling every detail. I swim as close to the logs as I can, forcing shy fish to dart past me. I float above the divers’ bubbles, feeling the gentle tickle on my stomach. I don’t see any snakes. The stairs look like they lead to nowhere, and I wonder why they ever bothered to build them. The surface is a mess of colors, impossible to make out. Aside from the woman in the tube, feet bobbing in the water, it might not even exist.

Finally, I pull my camera forward. I surface and dive, surface and dive, snapping what I see. My pictures show the real me, cold-blooded, oxygen absorbing, and comfortable under the water. I never want to get out. I can feel what it’s like, for a few minutes, not to have to be human.