Honey From The Rock

When I lifeguard, I dream about drownings. I always see the victims from above; they're completely still, lying at the bottom of the pool. Adam, another counselor, the hipster of Camp Pathway with long, curly brown hair, bandanas, skinny jeans, and the kind of band junkie who, when you get close enough, you can hear humming a fast, drum beat, was life guarding. I wasn't in the pool room; I was standing out in the hallway that runs parallel to the pool. People began running past me, paramedics and policemen and other counselors. And then I saw the body from the bird's-eye-view that always accompanies these dreams. The body was long, lean, and tan, a young teenage boy, a volunteer for the week, I think; his name was Cullen. He was pronounced dead. And then, I was at the pool again; this time I must have been guarding. Normally, Isaac, my older brother, wouldn't be swimming at the camp pool, but he was there, wearing exactly what I saw him in last; a white t-shirt and