Rip Current
“Don’t go out too far, sweetie!”
I’d shoot Mom a thumbs-up, but my hands are too busy keeping
me afloat. My feet stopped touching the sand ages ago, and I need both arms and
legs to stay above the waves.
I swim farther out to sea.
“That’s far enough!”
I glance back at shore. Mom beckons me back to her. I paddle
back at an angle, prolonging my swim.
Halfway there, a rip current sweeps me out to sea. The beach
shrinks, getting farther away by the second. I swim back toward shore with all
I’ve got. I don’t get any closer, but I don’t get any farther away either.
Wait. This is wrong. They tell you not to swim against the
current.
I try swimming with it, but that’s wrong, too.
I spin in a circle, looking for the beach. When I find it, I
swim parallel to it. My arms and legs are exhausted, but I make it out of the
rip current. Then it’s a long swim back to shore, which I don’t have the energy
for.
My head slips under a wave. I flail my way back to the
surface and spit out a mouthful of salt water. Another wave rolls over me, then
another. They carry me closer to shore, but I’m getting too tired to keep my
head above water. I’m not going to make it.
Mom waves her arms wildly, screaming my name. She’s up to
her waist in water, and Dad is holding her back, keeping her from going father
out. Why is he holding her back? Don’t they wanna save me? Are they gonna let
me drown?
Panic erupts in my chest as I go under another wave. I get
myself to the surface long enough to take a breath. Then I’m back under the
water. My lungs burn, in desperate need of oxygen. I try to paddle to the surface,
but my arms are so tired. The world starts fading to black.
Something wraps around my waist. For a second, I think it’s
a sea monster, dragging me down to the depths of Davy Jones’ locker, but then I
realize I’m going toward the surface.
My head pops out of the water. I inhale deeply, the world glowing
with sudden, vibrant colors. I shut my eyes to the visual assault.
Someone shoves something soft and foamy under my chest. It
floats despite my weight. I peek at it. It’s one of those floaties lifeguards
carry. My gaze slides to my left. There’s a lifeguard next to me. She’s holding
onto the floaty with one arm and me with the other. She doesn’t even look at me
as she kicks us back to shore.
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