175) Blast from the Narrative Past

(Mini aside - It's October 8, which means I'm moving to NY today! I leave for the airport in 30 minutes and will arrive late, so today's post is a vignette I wrote in college. It's a shade emo, and a pinch corny but it reflects my whole opposite-sex-good-friend theory. Enjoy!)


(Photo from webshots.)

“Do you want to swim out to the buoy?”

It was a loaded question, of course. He never meant it as a challenge, but I always saw his suggestions as a push to match his greatness.

The day had turned out colder and grayer than expected. A chilled wind kept goose bumps on our skin as we stood at the ocean’s edge, just out of sea foam’s reach. The elusive sun, radiant as we were leaving for the beach, was now tucked away behind thick coastal clouds.

The buoy’s red and white stripes had caught his eye. To me it looked to be about one swimming pool’s length from shore, though it was probably closer to a mile away. We were both reasonably strong swimmers, having swum for our respective high school teams. As we eyed the water it was no matter that the current looked a little strong, that the swells were a bit large. If he thought I could do it, I could.

We ran over the foam, kicking up spurts of salty water, and shallow-dived under the marbled surf. Coming up, we started to swim, our sweeping strokes carrying us away from the beach. The icy water sent shocks of cold through us, seizing our breath, causing us to gasp. It numbed our limbs as we kicked furiously to get ourselves closer to our destination. It was no easy task with unforgiving waves that kept pushing us back, impeding our progress. Looking up in time to see the crest of a wave looming above us, poised to come crashing down sent us plunging under the white water. After a particularly violent one, I surfaced, disoriented.

“You okay?”

He stopped his stroke and came closer. His lips were blueberry. Ribbons of cold water laced around my legs and the vastly murky unknown of open water sent mental chills through my head. But as we tread water side by side, exhausted, I thought, I am exactly where I want to be.

Of course, he would never know how much I cared. To him I was a friend at least, and a good friend at most. He would never know how badly I wanted his approval, and how this want drove me to do things I would never do on my own.

We turned and let the tide propel us back to the beach where towels, friends, and beer waited patiently. The sea-salt truth is that we’ll probably never reach the buoy. Its red and white will always be farther than it appears.

And yet, it hardly matters.

It’s the swim.