'Impossible Indigo' by Julia Ruth Smith

When they said there could be complications and you prayed. When they called him a miracle of science and you breathed.

When he’s picking up speed; brown as a berry, hair down to his sticky-out shoulders and he’s doing hop, skip, jump, then flies up, flips over, arms straight out and disappears; when you’re running running running and arrive in time to see him enter with studied perfection the deep blue water of the Adriatic Sea; when he emerges triumphant; when he looks up and indigo sparks from his salty face, and you think that they could have better-defined ‘complications.’