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CEDARVILLE
REVIEW
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execution should have been equally as simple—I used to play games like this as a child—except the
brick would be a rock named Bob. I made one crucial mistake: I panicked. I’ve learned panicking
causes hyperventilation—also called overbreathing. I overbreathed—my blood with low levels of
carbon dioxide—my head sinking lower into the water. I should have let go of the brick—every-
one was telling me to. But my carpals and phalanges were locked. I was holding on.
Fluid—fresh water filled my lungs. That familiar burning salinity lulled me into apathy.
Finally, the brick dropped.
“We’re finished.”
The tears on my cheeks had dried in stiff salty lines—the drool also left its enzyme-rich white
residue. The needle was no longer invading my lumbar sack—I knew because I felt it removed.
As it was pulled out, it felt kind of like the time I had to pull my big toenail out of its roots. It had
become a part of my physiology—a dead thing removed.