The under tow spun in the saltwater river like a transparent

snake—drowning drift wood and life alike in it’s cold

indiscriminate coil.

My wife, Josephine, was struggling. The River was twisting

her down into it’s pulseless body.

“Josey! Grab on! Hold on!” I wailed, reaching over the boat

with all of my adrenaline scrunched to the tips of my

outstreched fingers. She was helplessly beyond my grasp.

“Get the rope!” Josephine choked and spat, gasping as

her cry faded into the monotones of the wind.

“The rope.” Josephine wheezed as she submerged,

thrashing up white foam that marked where she went under.

My instinct took over. I became a being of pure action and

feeling.

A frigid shock.

Saltwater stung my open eyes.

I clutched Josephine’s wavy shirt in one hand,

the taught rope tied to the boat in the other.