The One Time Water Nearly Killed Me

Photo by Zen Photographer on Unsplash
Note: For the next year, I plan to write a short story every day. Some may be 
palatable, even enjoyable(?). Others may be horrendous. If you like them, like them or share them. If you don’t, well it is whatever. I’m doing it as a challenge someone gave me. I’m calling these my fivers. I try and write them without stopping in five minutes, little to no editing after the time limit. Each story or post will come from a different prompt I am given. These are just exercises for me to be in the process of writing.

 

My first real experience with water was also the moment I remember having a traumatic experience. The trauma was brought on by myself. It wasn’t like my dad and mom acted like a mother bird trying to get her chicks to fly by pushing them out of the nest. No, I jumped into the water thinking I knew what to do. But, I’m getting ahead of this short story.

My family rarely traveled, but, for some reason, we were at a hotel that had a swimming pool. The whole family was excited, and we got ready to go to the pool as one family. It truly was a unique family moment for the Worrall clan. I remember putting on my swimming trunks being overtly excited like a kid given his first sip of coffee. I felt like I was bouncing off the walls. I wanted to urge my mother and father to get me down to the pool; what if it left. What if we didn’t have enough time! All I believed was that the pool was going somewhere and I had to be in it for wherever it was going to go. I couldn’t have been older than six when this magical moment happened. (Pause, if you know nothing about my family. Let me give you some insider information! I’m the youngest of six children, five boys and one girl.)

Alright, so some of the older siblings were able to go to the pool before myself and my sister Alice, had to be accompanied by mom and dad. My third brother, John, had a key to a hotel room. It was a huge responsibility; sort of, not really, but, in my mind, it was like one of the elven rings of LOTR. So, as I rush in giddy as all can be with a dopey smile from ear to ear. I heard my brother John say quite loudly. “Where is my key!? Can anyone see where the room key is?” Somehow, I internalized that cry for help like the Batman signal was being lit by Commissioner Gordon. I had to act, and there was only one person who could save that key. It could just be me…I am the chosen one. The key is small. I’m small. It makes total sense.

Then, in the midst of my glee and hearing the cry for help, my body without hesitation rushed towards where my brothers were at, wading through the water looking for the mischevious room key. It felt like a slow-motion scene from a feel-good action movie! I could hear the music rumbling. My little chubby body rushing towards the water. I screamed, “I GOT THIS!!!” But, I really didn’t. Then, I jumped into the water. As my little legs left the ground and my body was curling into a ball. It was like my analytical brain turned on for the first time. I heard myself say, “I can’t swim!!!”

I hit the water like a brick. Chubby fat rolls hit the water and burned like I made the gravest mistake of my life. I flailed in the water. My mind whispered, “This is it…this is how you die in front of everyone. No one will save you. Evolution kills the weak.” Besides that last sentence, this is what went running through my mind as my body bobbed up and down like an ocean buoy, except I didn’t know how to word it other than, upon reflection, realizing I was drowning.

Right before everything went black, I felt a giant tug on my hair. At that moment, my father rushed to the side of the pool. With my father’s giant hand and forearm, he palmed my head and grabbed my hair. Like a crane, my dad picked me up by the head pulling my hair, and he lifted me out of the water. I was simultaneously grateful, and I was upset that he pulled me up by my head. My dad quickly looked at me with a higher pitched voice, “What in the world were you thinking son??” “Well, dad…” stammering and coughing up water, “I thought…I thought I could find the key. And, and, and…I realized before I hit the water that you never taught me how to swim. ALL I wanted to do was be a hero and help.”

My dad shook his head, and he took me to a chair to relax. He mentioned that I shouldn’t go in the water till I was ready. I had to have some self-awareness, recognizing that I can’t do everything. I can’t be everything. It bugged me to an nth degree. I sat there shivering because the water reminded me of my frailty. My mom came over to me, and she asked me how I was doing. I remember I cried a bit because for some reason I thought dad was going to be really upset with me and that I was in trouble. My mom chuckled at me, for a few seconds. “That isn’t funny, but that is ridiculous Pip.” She told me to let her know when I was ready to go back in the water to come find her and use the stairs.

I sat there for a few minutes with the sniffles and doing that little kid thing when they aren’t crying but are holding back tears. What is that called? Oh yeah, I was whimpering/ sobbing and kinda had this face like I was permanently going to be stuck in the corner while everyone swam. I got the courage to go back in the water after ten minutes. Nothing could stop me, I knew I had to conquer my fear. But, I still didn’t know how to swim. C’est la vie; I’m still here.

 

The One About The Wall

Note: For the next year, I plan to write a short story every day. Some may be palatable, even enjoyable(?). Others may be horrendous. If you like them, like them or share them. If you don’t, well it is whatever. I’m doing it as a challenge someone gave me. I’m calling these my fivers. I try and write them without stopping in five minutes, little to no editing after the time limit. Each story or post will come from a different prompt I am given. These are just exercises for me to be in the process of writing.

Walls, we all have them; I am one of them. I’m actually a pretty famous wall. Not the Berlin dude, he had a scary existence…RIP. You may have heard people call me Juliet’s Wall. (Check out my IG story to see how I show love to my fans.) Anywho, you might remember that I am the wall that separated two lovers. Walls are always interesting. And you should listen to me, I’m a wall. I remember these two lovers looking through me, which was mighty rude, and speaking the sweetest, kindest things to each other. One day they disappeared, but I remember everything they talked about.

I’m not here to rehearse their story. Instead, I want to tell you my story. Walls are usually meant for a good thing. You’ve heard the adage, “Good fences make good neighbors.” And they can be dastardly things. But, I’m not talking about physical walls like the lovers had; I’m speaking at the more emotional and metaphorical level. Walls become huge creations that make people feel so very small, or they can be little, tiny wall that still makes people feel insecure and second guess. Imagine it with these lovers, their physical barrier, i.e., me, was also a personification of their real barrier between families.

Their barrier ruined my grout! I’m sure it chipped a good portion of my life away. On the one hand, the lovers could see each other, hear one another, yet they always let something stop them from indeed being together. While, on the other hand, their special desire, longing, and time for the other played out in such a manner that they were together. In that way, the wall was only a small leap, and it was a gigantic hurdle. It is crazy how I heard these two back and forth proclaim their affection and desire. They made the conscious effort to be the other’s person all along enabling the wall to impede themselves to a point. “Just climb over,” I thought, “I’ll support your love and weight.” Every night I sighed with every sigh, and I was glad they used me to support those massive, full hearts. But oh, how their love could have blossomed if they but traversed me together. It would have been enough.

I heard someone say they removed their wall, but I didn’t understand it. I was still here, and I was their wall. Walls can sometimes all be about perception, even physical ones. A lover’s heart can leap, and it should be sagacious to know how to scale such a wall like me. For this is not the first time that I have seen lovers dwindle. And it is not the first time that I have heard of the lover’s quarrel. But, I have yet to see lovers ask a wall how to be free together. Maybe then, lovers could learn from me on how to climb…well, someone like me.