THE SEA
She swam too far to remember who was watching.
Friday mornings all summer they climbed into the van and drove to the beach. The drive went through the deep valley where they hid behind the hills, slowly emerging as they drove on, reaching the ancient olive tree and taking a sharp right. The drive from that point was on unpaved roads, the sand and dust creating a mesmerizing cloud that forced them to roll up their windows despite the intense heat in the van—all of them exploding with anticipation of the water.
Once there, they unpacked, crawling over each other to get out. They laid out their picnic of brown bread and butter, young crispy summer cucumbers, tomatoes picked that morning, and hard-boiled eggs freshly gathered from the generosity of the hens.
She was always the last out, not in a hurry. While she loved the water and the sand, she hated the combination. The sand would warm her up and the sea would call to her in a way that scared her, paralyzing her on the blanket.
One day she could no longer resist. She stood up and walked toward the water. Her classmates, shocked, stopped their games and screaming as she approached—and were even more amazed when she started walking in. She kept walking. When the water became too deep, she began to swim. Slow, even strokes. She could hear her inhales in calming rhythm, aligning with the sound of the waves. She kept swimming.
She found herself strangely at peace, enjoying the silence. All thoughts left her mind, and a warm feeling of contentment fell over her. She kept swimming. It felt as if the sea had lifted her up and was carrying her to her destiny.
She started to miss the sand.
She stopped swimming and looked back—the shoreline was nowhere in sight. Her heart began to race. All at once, her arms and legs became limp. She hadn’t realized how sore she was. She needed a plan. The tide was coming in—what luck, she thought. She could just ride that back to shore.
She waited for the next wave, laid on her back and waited, ready for the easy, relaxing float back. She was looking forward to watching the clouds roll by, imagining how shocked her classmates would be to see her come in on the wave.
She didn’t move.
Realizing she was caught in a circular current, fear began to settle in. If she could fight her way out of the current, she might not have enough left to get back to shore. She rested for a few more minutes on her back, just exerting enough energy to stay afloat. Never having fought such a current before, she wasn’t sure she had the strength. She fought the thoughts that kept coming, asking if it was worth the struggle—knowing she could easily just stay there until she lost all power and would gradually sink to the bottom of the ocean.
She took a deep breath. Her mind went blank.
She was surprised at how quickly her muscles recovered, how ready they were to fight. She could feel the next wave entering the vortex. She started to kick and paddle harder than she ever had in her life.
She wasn’t moving.
She knew she was doomed.
She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the long journey to the bottom of the sea.
Just as she had started to accept her fate, an arm reached her and pulled her toward them. She had lost the ability to hold her body up—the strong arm carried her until she recalled being asked to hold herself up. She was embarrassed to have her classmates see her being carried back to safety.
Her swim angel never left her side. Once they reached the sand, she looked up to thank her friend—only to find no one was there to thank.She lay there on her bed, alone, in the dark room. The bustling city lights danced as they seeped between the shades of the bedroom window. She lay quietly and listened to the noises coming from below. She could hear kids playing, a couple arguing, and a few men laughing. It was summer. The city was alive—but not her.
She lay there still, motionless, her arms by her side. Not sure what she was waiting for. She imagined someone from upstairs peering down through a hole in the ceiling—she would seem dead to them. Her mind shifted. She was sure her bare back was leaving a sweat stain on the mattress, but she was too tired to get up and get a towel to protect it.
She was not used to this. Being alone. Despite the noise from outside her window, the silence brought a smile and a sense of calm to her. She felt at peace. She was told that once she got used to this, it would become a miserable time of day, but that was for another time to worry about. For now, she was content.
As she stared up aimlessly at the ceiling, she noticed her hands had moved from their resting place next to her thighs and were caressing her body. She could not recall how long she had been doing this, but the sensation of her hands on her warm skin brought her pleasure. She tried to think back to the last time she had pleased herself. She couldn’t. Surely she had done this before, but her brain could not recall.
Her body felt warm and slick under her touch. At first, her hands were moving randomly, still detached from her thoughts. Then she found herself being more purposeful. Her breasts were no longer firm but had a softness she appreciated. The skin on her stomach was tighter lying down, but the folds under her fingertips were there—reminders of the love she had given other beings in her life.
She started to drift off to sleep while her hands were busy reacquainting themselves with her newfound aloneness. Right before she fell into a deep sleep, she promised herself she would do this again tomorrow.
