Waves Goodbye

The ocean has always kept me close. Ships drew me near, the shore called, waves sang to me, until I would return, always, then despair and withdraw. It was a long dance. I swore to myself that I would do it, that I would finally achieve it, conquer it, succeed in that one endeavor, and yet I never had, and the water would laugh as I retreated.

I stood on a beach now, waves, boats, everything just so. The sand was arranged perfectly and the tide was auspicious. Even the land and the air were supportive: I had never received such clear signs that the deed was meant to occur than I had on this day.

My preparations were brief: remove my shoes, set them aside. Remove my shirt, fold it, set it aside. Bend to the ground and touch my hands to my feet. My grandfather’s diver’s watch could stay on. If not for this, than for what? My physical preparations complete, I moved on to the mental clarification necessary. I purged my mind of wavering, unsure, unsteady, undermining thoughts. Success was the only thing before me. I just had to embrace it.

I began. My feet provided the necessary locomotion, and before I knew it I was knee deep. The water was a perfect temperature; I pressed onward. As the waves rolled over me and I forayed further, the sand beneath my feet began to be difficult to find. I would push my toes downwards hoping to brush the bottom, but it was elusive. I flailed. The lessons I had memorized had found their way out of my ahead along with the negative thoughts. I was bobbing now, dropping to the bottom and then racing back up to the surface in hopes of snatching some air before sinking again.

I was not doing it. I was not succeeding. Nobody, had they been there to perceive my essay, would have described it as swimming. I was not a swimmer. I was not swimming. I could not swim. My breath left me, and I coughed violently and then went still. The watch kept ticking as I floated gently to the surface; too late.