I hadn’t felt anything like this in years.
I stood on the dock, feeling small and
exposed. I wore only a pair of
swim trunks as I squinted at the dark water without my glasses. It was 6:30 AM, and only 10 minutes
ago, I was warm and insulated from the world by a down comforter. The ignorance imposed by my heavy eyelids
was bliss.
Now I was shivering, standing in a slight breeze, trying to act
like a leader by joining our lifeguards on their morning distance swim.
I hate the water.
Always have.
One by one, the lifeguards dropped into the water and began wriggling
their way toward another dock; a quarter of a mile away, still screened by the
morning mist.
Now it was my turn.
I held my arms folded tightly across my chest. Did I mention that I hate the water? I plunged in, clawing at the air as I
did, hoping to find some invisible ladder that might lead me back to bed.
