So this is what drowning feels like.

The rainclouds had opened above me, pouring down cold sheets as I jogged the two miles to Green’s Pizza.

The rain thumped against my black raincoat like the last beats of a dying heart.

I’d never felt more smothered, so completely drowning in everything. It was as if nature itself had bent its powers to fit the mood of my soul.

Sarah had broken up with me last night.

I still couldn’t put words to how I felt; or even what had really happened. But here I was on the other side of that breakup, and the only word I could use to describe what I was feeling was “drowning.”

The sidewalk dumped into the parking lot of Green’s Pizza. Green’s was a local chain that people either loved or hated—whether the controversy was about the garlic-y crust or our less-than-stellar customer service, I didn’t know.

The building was a little cube of brick topped with green sheet metal and a blinking sign that said “Best Pizza in Ohio!” There weren’t many cars out—typical Monday evening in March.

I approached the back door, took one glance at the rain drenching the cloud-darkened air, pinging off the dumpster behind the shop, soaking the thick forest behind it.

I went inside, was met with the bright lights of the prep room where the morning shift made dough and cut toppings. Tad stood at the sink rinsing sauce from his hands like Caesar’s blood, and before I had slammed the door behind me there came a “HI MILES!” from somewhere near the front—Katie.

I kept my head down and snuck to the stock room where all our coats were piled on the cold stainless-steel table.

I unzipped my raincoat, shaking it free of the rain before piling it with the others. Katie was probably the nicest girl here, but her bubbly-ness was not going to be helpful today. I just needed to put on a smile and pretend everything was a-okay and if she asked how Sarah was I’d just say “She’s doing good” because I’m sure she was doing good. I wasn’t.

Just as I donned my Green’s Pizza cap and tied the white apron around my waist, Katie’s voice burst into the stock room.

“HEY MILES!” She walked over to me and leaned against the table, grinning under her green cap. “It’s been DEAD out there,” she said, “Brian will want you up front, coaxing tips out of old ladies.”

I faked a chuckle.

Immediately Katie frowned, the freckles bunching up on her face. “What’s wrong?”

A pang like an ocean swell broke in my chest, and my breathing came short. 

“I’m good,” I squeaked, sliding toward the doorway.

Katie watched me as I backed away, a sad sort of look in her eyes. 

“How’s Sarah?” She said it barely above a whisper, but to me it sounded like she had blasted it through the entire shop at full volume.

“Good,” I said, and fled to the front where I clocked in at the register sitting like a lonely island beside the pickup window.

The rest of the shift was torture. Every few minutes Katie was cracking a joke or—worse—asking me how I was doing. At the end of the shift when we were in the stock room donning our coats again, she turned to me and said, “Hey, Miles?”

I froze where I stood with one arm halfway in my raincoat. I turned to face her as she was shrugging into her own coat. “What?”

Katie smiled. “Miles, we’re friends. I see you at church every Sunday. How’s Sarah?”

I bit my lip, feeling the emotions within roll like the ocean preparing for a tsunami. I would not—could not—let them out. Doing so would destroy my friendship with Katie, would—would expose my soul when doing so before—with Sarah—had already ended in disaster.

Katie seemed to know what I was thinking. She zipped up her coat and said, “Miles, it’s not healthy to keep everything to yourself. We need community. It’s in the Bible, somewhere.”

“Well, when you find it, I’ll think about it.” I zipped up my own coat, clocked out, and left.

I crouched behind the dumpster for a few minutes, watching Katie and Brian pull away in their cars under the moonlight.

I knew what she was saying was right. I knew I’d felt so much better inside when I’d had Sarah to be open and honest to, and her friends to hang out with. I wanted to be loved, to be vulnerable with people.

But look how that ended?

The rain pattered off the hood of my raincoat, each droplet echoing like the snap of a shark’s jaws. I shivered, wrapped my arms around myself.

I stared out at the empty parking lot, the lonely streetlight shining down on the asphalt—a lighthouse illuminating a roiling sea.

My chest clenched.

I didn’t want to feel the emotions—let the memory of the breakup swallow me and boil out into the rain. Part of me knew I needed to let my ribcage open up so the sadness and hurt could pour out and poison me no longer.

Maybe Katie was right—maybe I needed to share that with someone.

Tonight, that someone would be God. I didn’t have the courage to pull out my heart again and let another human look at it. But this would be a start.

So under the splashing rain, I let a prayer escape my lips: “Jesus…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling. Please help me through it. And please help me to learn to share it.”

And in that, I felt a part of that churning storm inside me slip from my chest to join the rain soaking the pavement. I steadied myself against the dumpster, letting the tears fall at last.

So this was what drowning felt like. And this time, it was okay.

***

This story was written to inspire those participating in the Spring Writing Challenge over at the Company.

This author will also be featured in the Fantastical Summer anthology!

Noah J. Matthews

Noah J. Matthews is a writer and aspiring filmmaker from northern Michigan. He has a passion for helping people identify and pursue their dreams. You can find him at noahjmatthews.com.