Keeping Your Head Above Water

Immersed up to her neck in tepid water, Marisol had a thought that should have disturbed her greatly. What if she were to suddenly submerge, open her mouth wide and inhale deeply, allowing the surrounding liquid to fill her lungs? Why she was possessed of a morbid curiosity to experience drowning she didn't know. She was not depressed, nor given to such macabre whims. She was alone on that sultry night in late August, in a place where the only sound of which she was aware was the soft humming above her. She could see neither sky nor clouds nor moon. Marisol gradually fell into a trance, her head and the knuckles of both hands protruding from the clear water.
Maybe death wasn't so bad, Marisol told herself. She recalled studying Existentialism in a high school Philosophy class. Life had no real meaning, leaving two logical choices: terminate this pointless embodiment, or give it a purpose. A deep breath. Then two or three more. Terminate this pointless embodiment, or give it a purpose. What purpose?
Marisol was keenly aware of a slow spinning sensation, as well as the feeling that someone else was present. The latter did not frighten her; she didn't even feel the need to open her eyes. Whatever happened would happen. Human beings all had the gnawing desire to act on dangerous, even deadly, impulses. To jump from the top of a tall building, perhaps to experience falling through the air. To steer one's automobile directly into the path of an opposing truck. The rush. The thrill. The adrenalin. The end.
When Marisol was in fourth grade, she brought a doll to show-and-tell, a doll that ate, drank, cried and. . .yes, that too. Living Lucy, she was called. A gift from Grandma Susie. But Devin McGannon and Charlie Shupe killed Living Lucy, accosting her and Marisol on the playground after school and twisting her plastic head until it snapped off. Lucy had emitted a final, eerie wail in her artificial death throes. But this was not enough for Devin and Charlie, who then threw the hapless, headless toy to the ground and stomped her repeatedly, punctuating each stomp with a diabolical yell. Laughing, the pair of miscreants had left Marisol standing on the bleak, cold concrete, sobbing hysterically and clutching her decapitated doll. But that was long ago.
Terminate this pointless embodiment. The initial sensation had transformed from a strange caprice to a strong urge. No, Marisol insisted, she was not sad. Life was not tragic, but it was superfluous.
The water, as well as the ambient temperature, seemed colder, although still not uncomfortable. An aura of happiness had descended upon her, happiness which seemed to emanate from another source, yet embedded itself in Marisol's consciousness. Breathe in, breathe out.
But the happiness was tainted, almost like the gloating of a scolded sibling who succeeds in getting an older brother or sister disciplined. She imagined that the same kind of "happiness" seeped surreptitiously into drunks and drug addicts lounging in dank alleys, and waiting resignedly for death.
Would it actually work? There was only one way to find out. All that Marisol had to do was lower her head, open her mouth. . .
With a horrified start, Marisol grabbed the porcelain edge of the bathtub and hauled herself to a sitting position. Panting hard, she pulled the drain stopper out of the basin, listening to the potentially-deadly water being sucked down the drain. Then she remembered. Marisol wasn't superstitious, and had thought nothing when she heard that the previous tenant had drowned right there, where Marisol was taking a bath. There was no note, but the large amount of sleeping pills and alcohol found in her system left no doubt as to her intention.
The tub was empty. Marisol distinctly heard the humming of the overhead fan, much louder than before. The temperature in the bathroom had returned to normal. Shivering in spite of this, Marisol carefully stood up, stepped onto the waiting bath rug, and grabbed a towel. Some spirits haunt subtly, she thought, running the dry towel over her naked body, which was now bristling with goose bumps.