021.01 VIKTOR – Stormy Ridge September 9 – September 10 at 6:00 PM – 2:45 AM

9.9. – 10. 9.

The wind starts running through the tree crowns and tears them open as if reading a fast, unreadable manuscript. The sky is a dark azure, but in its center pushes an almost round moon – impatient to reveal itself completely. A rustle rises from the grass, a plastic bag dances its own choreography. It seems everything is running faster, the pulse quickens, the tongue sticks to the roof of the mouth. Voices turn into shades of a single, shared night.

♫

Kavinsky – "Nightcall"
(1:12 – 1:32) The bass rolled beneath the roof like another thunderclap. The rain had been falling inside for a long time, leaving cold little stars on the skin. The night water smelled of electricity and the promise of a collapse.

VIKTOR

The last hour of practice. The ropes are still trembling slightly from how we rushed to the edge just a moment ago. The sky above us is turning purple, thunder rumbles in the distance, and I feel sweat trickling down my back.

Bromlil is examining the stopwatch as if it were about to reveal the secret of the universe. He runs his fingers through his hair and then points at me.

"Good start, Polesný, but the second fifty is dropping off. At the end you're like a wet rag."

I say nothing. I feel as if the water in my veins is thickening again. Whenever he chews me out like that in front of the others, I feel everything getting heavy.

Tom is leaning against the wall a few meters away, drops of water are running down his eyebrow and his look… damn, he's staring at me again. When I catch his eyes, he looks away, but a moment later I feel him on my shoulders again. I don't get what's wrong with him all the time.

Tony walks around handing out towels like some sort of saint. One for each person, neatly folded. When he raises his hand, his left biceps suddenly twitches. I see his face twist in pain for a second, but he covers it up with a smile right away. He always has to look perfect, even when something's wrong with him.

"If that storm comes, the pool's finally gonna be a proper water park," Adam drops the line and Mára laughs at it like it's the best joke of the year. Jirka just silently watches that black pillar of clouds rolling in from the west.

I slide back down into the water to cool off. It's warmer than the air outside and for a moment it embraces me like—actually, when was the last time anyone hugged me? Here I always felt at peace. Even now, before the storm, when everyone else is nervously glancing at the sky.

At the fifteen-meter mark, when I'm almost at the edge, the surface lights up for a moment. Lightning. I blink and the gray image of the clouds suddenly tears into crystal shards. The water around me looks like liquid glass for a second.

I surface and hear Tom's voice: "Time's up, coach has locked up shop!"

I turn to him. Something strange flashes in his eye – it is not malice, it is not peace. Something in between. As if he wanted to tell me something, but didn't know what himself.

When I climb out of the water, the first lentil-sized drops hit the surface. A sound like someone drumming in the rainforest. And then the squall hits.

I sit on the sofa, flinching as a cold gust sweeps across my skin. Outside, a tram rumbles and I feel the vibration resound in my bones.

Somewhere beyond the window, Prague is drowning in a storm. Rain lashes against the sill like a drummer's fingers and the glass in the frame trembles as if about to shatter any second. But I stay seated, because if I get up now, I have to do something. And I don't know what.

On the table next to the photo with Denis lies a crumpled scrap of paper from the press room. Seven three breath. My incantation for tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm supposed to see Tom again, but right now, in this rain, it sounds like something that happens in another life.

A mobile phone beeps, its display momentarily lighting up the dark room. Tony. He sends a GIF of someone coughing, then a storm cloud and a sweat emoji. I pick up the phone, my fingers flying across the screen, but then I put it down again. What am I supposed to reply? Am I okay? I'm not. Can't I breathe? I don't want him to know. Am I scared? Definitely not.

So I'd rather turn off the light completely, even the last one I'd left on. At that moment, lightning cuts across the sky and illuminates the room for a second. I see a crack on the ceiling stretching like a lap pool. Last summer, the neighbor's water pipe above us burst, and when I got home, I was ankle-deep as if in a paddling pool.

Then thunder rolls and, as if someone switched off a television, the fan falls silent. And the silence that follows is suddenly louder than anything else. I hear my heart pounding in my ribs. I taste metal in my mouth, as if I were licking an old coin.

I think of Tom. Again.

I reach for the can of cola, press it to my forehead, and the cold metal brings relief. At least for a moment. I take a breath, but it's like I'm trying to breathe underwater. There's not enough air, not enough space.

Finally, I'll write to Tony: "Save your strength, tomorrow breath."

And then I just listen to the rain beating against the windows and Prague disappearing in the storm.

The ceiling above me ripples. The swimming pool in Podolí, but upside down—water on top, me at the bottom. The blue tiles are cracked, the lines on the bottom turning into fissures down which water trickles.

Suddenly the tiles are peeling off like skin and falling on me. The lines are stretching out, turning into long, black, wet hair that sticks to my face. I can't breathe.

Water is running into my mouth. I swallow it. It's salty. A pool, or tears? I don't know.

Clink.

Phone next to the couch. I open my eyes. The room is gray, it's thundering outside. I don't remember when I fell asleep. I look at the screen – 2:45. In the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

From the shaft behind the wall I hear a hairdryer. Who the hell dries their hair at three in the morning? I press my ear to the wall; it sounds like a waterfall, as if an entire pool had spilled out above me and someone was drying it up. I'm sweating, my t-shirt sticking to my back.

My phone vibrates in my hand. Grindr. Right, what else at this hour.

New profile near you: BlondJock

The avatar is blurry, but it looks like a hairdryer. Why would anyone put a hairdryer on their profile? I turn off the screen. I put the phone on the table.

"Dry your hair before you drown," I say aloud to the empty room.

I don't know why I said that. But it hurts. Like when you remember something that hasn't happened yet.

I sit back down on the couch. Rain drips from the windowsill, rhythmically, like a metronome. Tap. Tap. Tap. The drops make small puddles on the floor. On the ceiling I can still see the image of the pool, maybe it's just the reflection of street light, maybe I'm hallucinating.

An ambulance is wailing outside. Suddenly I feel like running out, standing in that rain and staring at the sky. Just being there until the storm is over. Until something else begins.

The lights go out. The power's out. Again. The digital alarm clock went dark as if someone erased time. Everything around me is blue-gray now, like at the bottom of a pool. Only the lightning outside counts the seconds. One. Two. Three.

I get up from the couch. I put on my sweatshirt. I go to the door. I take the keys.

Today I have to look the storm in the eye.

I set off on foot. Through the rain. I didn't even really know why I was trudging out here. I just felt I had to. The Podolí rocks – a place you go when you don't want to be alone, but can't stand people. A sort of private purgatory of mine. Only today it's more like a global flood.

Through the veil of rain almost nothing can be seen, but I'm heading for the lookout above the pool anyway. Water is trickling from my hair down my neck and making little streams across my back. It's actually almost pleasant. It hurts, but in a sort of right way.

And then I spot him.

A silhouette against the night sky. Tom. Soaked too, hands instead of a hood. He's standing there as if waiting. For whom? Definitely not for me. But still something is pulling me toward him. As if I had to convince myself it's really him.

A flash of lightning cuts through the sky and for a second I see the outline of the city. Everything is shimmering. The water on my skin stings, but inside I feel a strange chill. Peace.

The kind that comes when you know you're totally screwed, so you might as well just make peace with it.

I make it to the overlook. He's there. We're breathing in sync, like we're hooked up to the same wire. I reach into my pocket and my fingers find a rubber band. I don't know why I carry it around. I run my thumb over the latex. It's like a talisman. It reminds me of who I am.

Tom raises a hand. The other is in his pocket, squeezing something, I can see his fingers moving under the fabric. He grabs the railing, at the exact same moment as me. I feel that electric tremor jumping from the metal into my skin.

Lightning illuminates our faces again. We're standing facing each other. Our shadows merge into a single dark cloud. Then it thunders. I feel it in my veins, how it sets everything vibrating.

I don't take a step closer. Neither does he. But still, there's something between us thicker than the rain. Something you can't wash off.

Another flash.

"Tibor," he says suddenly.

I let out a breath. I don't understand what it means. Maybe I misheard. Rain, wind, thunder... it's all so loud. And then suddenly silence. As if someone turned off the sound.

I see how he's thinking. The name "Tibor" hangs in the air between us. I don't understand, but I feel like I'm suddenly closer to him. Out of nowhere. As if he cracked open a door to something he guards.

And me? I feel like I've peered into the darkness of his heart. As if he invited me to a place where he lets no one in.

And then it starts raining again. Even more. As if the sky decided that moment was already too strong.