It is night time on that lake where The Woman drives her boat. The patterns of her trip are not straight, creating “S” lines through the waves, as though she knows she will die today but is particular about where. As she can no longer see the shore, The Woman has decided it is time to bail ship, to jump into the water she cannot swim in, wearing her heaviest shoes and heart of great mass. She leaves on her red hat, hoping it will be her grave marker, should anyone wonder what happened to the boat and why it is floating out in the great lake. Then she is distracted. About two-hundred yards away is a floating white mass. It looks like a small white island, paled by the moon. Standing tall and closing her eyes, she prepares to jump, holding her arms out far like a ballerina. But she can’t do it, irked by the mystery in the water that might bear witness to her suicide. Paddling with her hands, as she did indeed turn off the motor, the woman finally reaches the shape only to discover that it is a fetus. A fetus contained in the uterus of its mother, making the small island. It is only the large pregnant belly that keeps the woman afloat. When the woman in the boat finally comes to terms with the fact that she has tried to kill herself only to find someone else who is dead, just when her heart fills with sadness, adding more weight to the already troubled soul, the woman in the water breathes.