Green Water

Living on the water and watching the sunrises and sunsets was my favorite. I would only sleep in as a kid because I stayed up all night just to see the sunrise in the morning. While I waited, I didn’t mind the midnight commercials of Ms. Cleo. I wanted to call her so badly to tell my future. I wonder if I ever did, and I wonder if she promised a long-lasting life?

The water oftentimes brought me gifts. When the water would recede, it would expose the beach, often showing treasures like colorful stones, and railroad planks weathered by time. I remember going fishing on a boat where my grandpa would show me a sunken ship, and I would wonder what treasures were in there, imagining gold coins and ancient relics lying beneath the waters. My grandpa would oftentimes fish across the street from where he and grandma lived. This would form the iconic fishing spot known to our family, a place filled with laughter and stories shared over countless fishing days. It became our little haven, where every cast of the line held the promise of a big catch. Further down, there is a boat marina bustling with activity, where fishermen and families gather to enjoy the day. I would often find myself going to the soda machine there for a twenty-five-cent can of soda, enjoying the fizzy refreshment while watching the boats come and go, each carrying its own adventures and stories.

I remember trying to be friends with a girl. I don’t recall her name; however, she had a sister that my brother Kennith was really interested in. Anyway, one day the two girls and I were hanging out, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the fresh air. As we were walking, there were several slips that had boats gently bobbing in the water. One of the girls told me she dropped money on the boat and she wanted me to go check, her eyes filled with excitement and a little mischief. Being that I was trying to impress kids, I wasted no time to jump on board this boat; a place I had no business being in, but the thrill of adventure was too tempting to resist. I looked at my so-called friends at the time, hoping for support, and said there was no money to be seen. As I turned to exit the boat to the pier, I felt a rush of adrenaline and anticipation. In a moment, time froze, and I began to fall, my heart racing as I realized what was happening. I hit the water with a splash… I didn’t know how to swim, and all I could think about was how I wished I had listened to my instincts instead of trying to impress others.

In this moment of time, it’s really hard to fit the memories together in my brain, like pieces of a puzzle that just won’t align. I didn’t know how to swim, and I have fallen into the water, panic gripping me tightly as I flailed my arms in an attempt to stay afloat. Thinking about this now, I can see the green of the water, murky and inviting yet treacherous, wrapping around me. The massive bubbles in front of me rise and pop as I try to breathe for air, each one a reminder of my fragile existence. I remember the splashing and the cries for help as water entered my mouth and forced its way inside me, each gulp feeling heavier as despair settled in. The feeling of no air, coupled with the reflex of my lungs forcing me to fight for survival, ignited an instinct deep within me. I distinctly remember the feeling of dying, that surreal moment of surrender, engulfed by the depths of the unknown. And then just like that, I saw the light.

What happens next is all a blur, a whirlwind of emotions and events that I can barely piece together. My grandma and grandpa told me the story of what they observed from the outside, how they witnessed the chaos unfold while feeling a mix of anxiety and concern for my safety. My father was extremely mad because I knew better in a sense; he had entrusted me with specific instructions, and he felt that I had disregarded them. Again, there was no reason why I was on that boat, a decision which, in hindsight, seemed reckless and impulsive.

The story that was shared with me was that a local man, someone I had never met before, courageously pulled me out of the water, when he noticed I was struggling, while my father ran to the scene, fear etched across his face. Frustrated, my father pulled me by my hand and made me walk from the pier to my house, his grip firm and unyielding, a mix of relief and anger in his expression. I don’t recall any of this, the details lost in the fog of my memory. The only memory I have is waking up on my living room couch surrounded by EMS personnel, their voices blending into a hum of reassurance, wrapped in my Barney blanket and sitting next to my grandpa, who held my hand tightly, his presence calming me amidst the panic. The paramedics said I didn’t need to go to the hospital by ambulance; however, I needed to go for a thorough check-up, just to be sure. I remember the doctor saying to me, with a gentle smile, “Let’s make sure there are no fish swimming in there,” as he stuck his stethoscope to my belly, his playful demeanor easing my anxiety. I was cleared to go home, the weight of the ordeal slowly lifting from my shoulders. My grandma and I went to a craft store and picked out something special for my hero who pulled me from the water, wanting to express our gratitude for his bravery. I don’t remember his name; however, we did honor him in our special way, crafting a heartfelt card that expressed our thanks, along with a little gift that symbolized our appreciation for his quick actions.

What a beautiful dream of watching the boats and finding treasures. That day, I learned that the water had another side, and that other side almost claimed my life.