Unable to Swim
I sat on the dock every day. I enjoyed the breezes off the lake, like the solitude of the water. My pole and my tackle box sat beside me. Inside the plastic container, I kept a school of minnows; also, I brought a small container into which I planned to put worms when the bucket emptied. With the water warm below me, I took off my shoes and put them by the yellow bait box. My feet fell into the liquid. They chilled immediately, and I wiggled them quickly and happily.
I took a minnow from the plastic container. Like my feet, it wiggled like it wished to flap in the water and stay there. A blot of blood oozed from the fish when I hooked it. The minnow didn’t fight as badly as I thought. Truthfully, it didn’t fight as badly as I hoped. Casting a lengthy line, I threw it into the lake. It landed as far from me as I could hurl it. Soundlessly, it plopped into the liquid. A bite jabbed the line. Another took my ankle; it nearly pulled me into the water.
Recently, my mother had offered a gift to my friends and me. She had taken everyone to the water park. One problem had existed which my mother hadn’t planned. I had never learned to swim. My brother had understood it at the park. With a slimy hand on my ankle, I had stood painfully; I couldn’t break the hold. With the pressure of his fist, I had jumped off the small platform into the shallow end. Then he had laughed while I had paddled helplessly. Finally, I had stood upright, with my face red and my limbs sore.
Holding the dock, I fought until my ankle lifted. Without the light of daytime anymore, I went down to the shoreline, and tried to look for the intruder who broke my solitude. Waving the flashlight, I found nobody. My brother probably took my leg and pulled it, like he had below the bridge at the park. With my light, I looked but I couldn’t find any footprints. Only animals had pressed their feet near the edge–a lot of animals, actually, had left tracks, which had already filled with black liquid.
Walking back to the dock, I tripped on a knotty vine and fell into the lake. My head submerged; liquid filled my nose and mouth. As a fish would on land, my body flopped inside the wide spirals of water that surrounded it. Weeds floated by my eyes, and I could feel my stomach fill with muck. An ugly sight warned me that I didn’t struggle alone. Although my brother hadn’t, someone had indeed pulled my calf.
A blurry blue spot looked like a fish eye. Only, it stared steadily; it didn’t swim or bob. Naturally, fish didn’t get that big by my house. A fluffy bushel of hair waved below the water. Around the shoreline, the brush looked sticky, bloody. Small flies jumped off the mud and buzzed loudly; a mess of insects bounced off the shiny surface.
Grabbing a root, I pulled myself back. I found a foothold and a place for my hands to yank my body to the surface. Although I didn’t die, I could have; briefly, I believed I did. As I walked home, with my body jittery and my throat scratchy (I still coughed loudly), I realized that I should take lessons on how to swim properly. With the lake by my house, it could keep me alive.
In my haste, I forgot my pole. When the sunlight shone, I went back to retrieve it. When I did, I found a smelly sunfish hooked to my line. Like the body below the dock, it too had lost its fleshy meat and had decomposed to its empty bones. I took the bait box, ran quickly, and never enjoyed the solitude again.
