He pulls me into an embrace and kisses the top of my forehead, my heavy sobs buried into his chest. The emotional trauma of almost drowning has finally caught up with me. Although there are parts that remain hazy, the terror I felt when I lost control and got caught in the riptide start to invade my memory, leaving me shaking as my sobs echo throughout the room.
“I was terrified, Zo, but you pulled through. You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”
In between my cries, I softly murmur, “Thank you… for making me come alive again and for everything you do for me…” I pause and then yell out, “Pineapples.”
“Pineapples?”
“The pineapples… on my bikini. It’s good luck. Maybe that’s why I’m still here.”
My eyelids become too heavy, and sleep is imminent. With the warmth of Drew’s body beside me, I bury myself into his chest, never wanting to let go. His lips brush against my forehead, the sentiment not lost on me even in my exhausted state. Soon, I fall into a blissful and dreamless sleep.
When I wake up, it feels like I’ve been hit by a truck. It’s dark outside, and the moon is hiding behind the clouds, shadowing the walls in my room. It’s a struggle to move, and I barely manage to twist my body to see the time. It’s after eight.
Have I really slept that long?
What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I have anywhere to be.
My bed is empty, and for a split second, I imagine things. But soon after, the aches and pains seep throughout every muscle in my body and becoming difficult to ignore.
You nearly drowned. How could you forget that!
Tilting my heard toward my nightstand, I stare deeply at the gold pineapple ornament sitting beside by lamp. I have this thing—about luck—and pineapples are supposed to bring luck.
When I was nineteen, I took my first trip to New York City with a couple of girlfriends. We ate at a small restaurant in Chinatown that was oddly decorated with gold pineapple ornaments. Curious, I asked the lady serving us, “Why all the pineapples?” I remember her exact words, “Pineapples bring you wealth, luck, and fortune.”
With an aged face and gray hair, her wise words always stuck with me. That, and she looked like the female version of Mr. Miyagi, even sporting a slight beard.
When it came time to crack the fortune cookies, my cookie was not fortunate saying something about a storm ahead. I remember sinking into my chair jealous that all the girls got messages about love and happiness but then Mrs. Miyagi handed me one of the gold pineapples. She told me never to let it go and to keep it somewhere safe.
And I did—beside my bed.
I don’t know what saved me today, but the pineapple appeared more golden than before. I’ll keep this theory to myself since Drew doesn’t share the same beliefs as me.
The apartment is dead quiet. Nothing unusual for a Saturday night, since Drew works three weekends in a month. I stand, a little unsteadily, and make my way down the hall to the living room. There’s a faint light flickering against the walls. It’s the television which happens to be on.
The moment Drew lays eyes on me, he jumps to his feet, helping me onto the couch. “Hey, how you feeling?”
“I’m okay. Just a little sore,” I offer, not wanting to worry him further.
I grab the small pillow and place it on my lap, hugging it as we watch some thriller playing on the
television. Drew knows that movies involving possessed children freak me out and switches the channel to a more laid-back program.
We watch in silence until Drew disappears into the kitchen, returning with some painkillers and water. Standing over me, he extends his hand, and I reluctantly take the pills. I hate taking medication, especially when the pills are the size of a crater. Something about them terrifies me. It usually takes multiple tries to swallow even when I cut them in half. What idiot invents pills so big, anyway?
“C’mon, Zo, just swallow. Don’t overthink it.”
“Such a guy thing to say,” I deadpan, before throwing them to the back of my throat, following with a huge gulp of water. It fails on the first attempt, forcing me to drink more water and attempt round two.
“See, not so hard. Excellent gag reflex,” he compliments.
A trickle of water escapes the corner of my lips. I smack his arm, then wipe my chin.
“Don’t ever make jokes mid-swallow.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Uh huh, whatever. What time are you heading out?”