she thought she woke alone on the lakefront beaches of the city, though the sand was different, white and smooth. she woke on her back with the noon sun beating down on her and lifted her torso up onto her forearms so to look out over the waters. they were still reflections, blue lagoons that opened up to receive the rolling clouds that passed overhead. she’d never seen the lake so still before, and was never less certain of where the sky and the waters began and ended. grabbing a fistful of sand in her right hand, she watched over the top brim of her sunglasses as it passed from her tightened fist, dripping like water into the southbound winds. to her left and right was nobody. no sounds from the city. no passing cars along the lakeshore highway. no rattling of the trains. no birds overhead. she leant forward and stood herself up, brushing the sand away from her thighs and calves. a can of campbell’s chicken soup was embroidered on her beach towel, but the can had been torn open at the top, forming a jagged ridge of steel crenellations. soup oozed down the sides in frothing red blotches. weird, she mused, that chicken soup should be so red.

looking up from the towel, perhaps twenty feet back, was an old bathing machine: a wooden changing shack for swimmers, placed atop a two-wheeled handcart. a swim would be wonderful, she thought. the midday light was electric and bright, though she felt no heat or humidity on her exposed forearms which grew only more porcelain the longer she stood there. she skipped to the machine and flew open the door, discovering in the corner of the sunlit interior a blue one-piece bathing suit, the perfect color of the lake. and sitting beside it, staring up through the skylight in the ceiling, was the young boy she had seen yesterday in the bank, the one who sat quietly with his book in the waiting area.

she said hello to the young man. he can not be older than fourteen, she thought, as he stood to take down the bathing suit and present it to her with a slight bow of the head. she was suddenly naked, her sundress nowhere to be found. but she took hold of the young boy’s hand, allowing him to help her step one foot and then the next into the cerulean suit. from the floor he pulled it up over her body until it hung loosely over her shoulders. there was a zipper in the back which the boy closed before stepping down back onto the beach. the boy took hold of the hand cart, dug his feet hard into the sand and pulled the bathing machine down into the water, his freshly pressed trousers and dress shirt fluttering in the pools. when perhaps two or three feet in—just up to the waist—he stopped the cart and turned to her. she smiled and let the cool breeze catch her off guard.

for the first time she could hear the sound of the water, calling and responding to the their presence, tightening around and taking shape against them, like a closed palm which had caught something precious. the boy offered her a hand, and she stepped down into the lakefront waters. they were cooler than she’d expected, and she took a sharp breath in to stabilize her core and allow the legs to go forward.

hand in hand, she stood with the boy gazing out over the lake. turning around to look behind, she saw that the beaches were gone. and so was the city. so were the people and the cars and the highways and the buildings. behind her, in front of her, all around her, were nothing but the vast and empty sky-waters.