there was a mid-backstroke collison in swimming (it was awful, folks, just awful); the boy who isn't frank was launching backwards as I was approaching the wall.

a surge of water and the dull sound of heads hitting. arms flailing, are you ok, panic in his eyes. yeah, automatic response, I clutch the wall and double over as my head starts throbbing. he's off, swimming again, I'm 20 feet behind everyone, still reeling and trying to identify why I'm suddenly gasping and dizzy and have tears streaming down my face. everything's chlorine.

torn between not wanting to make a scene and the innate urge to fall down sobbing, I make my way to the other end of the pool, trying to explain what happened to the teacher, who, sitting in her aluminum chair, missed the whole thing. who did you run into, she asks. I grit my teeth, slightly more concerned about not passing out in the water than who I collided with. I can't think of his name, only that he sometimes wears purple trunks and isn't frank.

I sit on the bleachers, shaking and running though a mental checklist of the symptoms of a concussion. the teacher offers me a bag of ice and out of habit, I refuse.

I'll go to health services, before english. I'm still wet, and my hair's curling up around my face.
it's beautiful out, but everything's a little blurry.

ash @ 10:04 AM