"The True Identity of a Swimmer" by Stephen Zautke
My name is Butters. Many people say I look like that uncanny character from South Park because of my sun-soaked hair. If you asked anybody else, they would deem the name an insult, but I find it fitting. I spend a lot of time at the pool, so it makes sense that I would resemble Butters in appearance. One day at practice while gliding effortlessly through the crystal blue water, I bungle my flip turn and nearly drown. I approach the wall with my eyes closed, lost in a trance, and all of the sudden I feel a sharp pain on the top of my head accompanied by a loud THUMP! The darkness engulfs me. I open my eyes to a classroom full of people I don’t recognize. A chalk board sits in the place of a white board at the front of the classroom and a slate board full of numbers and symbols rests in my palms; this must be math class. The name on my slate reads, Mike Stevens. I’m my very own grandfather who worked as an engineer for Medtronic. As class continues, I find myself answering every problem correctly and eventually the teacher asks me to stay after class. The bell rings and everyone scatters; it’s just her and me. She inquiries about what I want to do with my life. My newly acquired persona seems to be set on fighting in the army. The teacher sobs and cries, “Mike, you are such a bright young man, let me help you go to college so you don’t have to fight.” I realize my grandpa lacks sufficient funds and respond, “Where would I go?” “I could get you a scholarship at South Dakota School of Mines right here, in-state.” Something inside of my grandfather starts to turn; I can feel it in this heart. A new dream arises to do something productive rather than destructive. The day turns into a daze and night falls upon me along with a glorious slumber. When I stir, an ebony grand piano glistens before me and copious sheets fill the room. The pages on the piano read “Beethoven’s 9th Symphony;” now I know I must really be dead: I’m Beethoven. My hands stroke the keys and my ears hear nothing, yet a confluence of notes mash in my head. I can feel the music as though it is an inner instinct. I am enthralled by all this piano has to offer and I get into the zone as I add to the sheets in front of me. It feels as though a radiant aurora has filled the room and then I flash back to all of those nights I spent playing my own piano back in my real life. I lose track of time and my eyes start to feel heavy. I place my head on the piano and peer into the pitch blackness. I awaken and night still fills the air, but I’m in a car. I look to my right and cannot fathom what I perceive; it’s a gorgeous young woman with blonde hair flowing in the wind of the window. Her charisma fills me with joy. Newspapers lie stacked in the back seat; we must be delivering them around town. I recall hearing stories about my mom and dad delivering papers together. Then I look at that beautiful woman again and realize I am my dad. The energy between us radiates as we drive into the night and my mom keeps glaring into my eyes. She can’t stop laughing as I smile and make comical remarks. I feel like myself in a different body as we ride into the darkness and a bright spark emerges in this heart. I grab my mom’s hand and close my eyes. I look around and see the whole swim team surrounding me. I guess I didn't die after all. Everyone is there out of compassion and support. "Are you alright?" I hear from Danny in the crowd. "Yeah, I just had a crazy dream." I respond. "Ada boy Butters! You had us worried man!" Just hearing that Italian accent makes me laugh inside; I feel better already. I reflect on what just happened. Our genetics and our environment define who we are, and I must have really been blessed by those who walked before me. So, call me Butters if you will, but those who really understand me will call me Connor Zautke.
