he loved the water. it made him incredibly happy. he loved the water, but it was dangerous to live so close to the river. he could cross the road and walk to the shore and fall right in. he didn’t know how to swim, the current was too strong, it would overtake him in an instant. he went swimming sometimes, but he always stayed in the shallow end, covered head to toe in orange floats. water brought the brightest smile on his face.
he not only loved the water, he loved all liquids. he could swallow any of them, so long as they were within arm’s reach. he loved pop and fruit juices the most. he even had a short stint with turpentine, though it was short-lived, and he got his stomach pumped immediately afterward. he wasn’t too fond of prune juice, though—even he knew its purpose, elemental.
we lost him, once. the latch on the backyard gate was left unhooked, and though the backyard was full of able-eyed uncles, aunts and cousins, we lost him. we couldn’t find him. we thought he might have gone to the river, and we panicked. we knew he would never know how to ask for help. he didn’t have the words. he never knew the words, and only we knew how to interpret his wails. we could be a second too late.
but we found him.
poolside, three neighbours down.
and at that moment we loved him even more than he would ever love the water.