—YOU’RE SO FUCKIING GORGEOUS Snake River The otters were playing that day on Snake River when you jumped in. We all thought you were joking, or drunk again, until the splash hit us in the face like a fist, like our father’s grease-stained knuckles. None of said a word. We just watched you stroke and swim, your wake nothing like the otters you chased, but just as meaningful, just as determined to be free.