The blue-brown water crept up the
swimmer's legs and mud oozed between her toes as she
shoved into the lake. The water reached her waist and then her
shoulders. When she could no longer touch the muddy bottom, she began to swim,
holding her head up out of the water like a water snake as she moved her arms
and legs the way her grandmother had taught her to do.
She wanted to see where she was going, to avoid the submerged tree branches, remnants of last year's tornado. The lake was also home to turtles and fish, ducks and snakes, but the waterlogged limbs of the trees frightened her. Those limbs could catch her legs. Those limbs were the danger.
She peered ahead, seeking the profile of the island. It was many swim strokes away from the lake shore, visited by the occasional boater seeking a picnic site. It was not ideal for picnicking; the beach was rocky.
Now the island was bathed in early morning light. Mist rose through the oaks and willows huddling on the rocky shores. Her eyes caught a movement in the thicket. Deer? She had seen them on the island before, seeking the sweet willow leaves and supple branches.
The swimmer scissor-kicked her legs in the water, spreading her toes so that the coolness tickled sensitive skin.
She looked over her shoulder and saw her shirt, a bright flag of red, flapping in the same breeze that rippled the water around her. Her bra hung on a limb next to it, her shorts and panties on a limb just below that. She hoped the breeze wouldn't strengthen, wouldn't cause her clothes to fall to the ground. Ants might crawl in, as well as spiders and other biting creatures. She hoped the clothes would stay in the tree until she returned.
The lake’s water caressed her body.
The rocky bit of beach where she had left her clothes was just below the derelict cabin she called home this summer. The park department had determined an entire row of these cabins were not suitable for renting. However, the structures were in good enough shape to house the summer staff. She, like most of the other college students, had seen the state of the once-rentable lakeside cabins and agreed that as long as they were clean, had beds and refrigerators, and were relatively free of critters, simple things like broken locks on the doors, a cracked window or missing shingle didn't really matter.
She flipped over onto her back and fluttered her arms in her favorite swim stroke, letting the water lap over her breasts and up her cheeks. After a few strokes, she stopped and let her body sink a bit before she twisted to look once again toward the island.
The island didn't seem to be getting any closer. And the sun was brightening the sky.
Something nibbled on her toes, and she jerked her feet, then laughed. The little fish were not piranhas. She'd encountered these fishies often enough whenever she swam in the lake. The tiny minnows nibbled at dead skin on her toes and on the bottoms of her feet. They weren't a concern.
She turned her focus on the island, forging ahead in the water, feeling just a twinge of tiredness in her back. Her heart beat faster.
She wished she had grabbed the life preserver.
How could she have forgotten the true distance to the island? She and her family had come here often in their motorboat, even on the jet ski. It wasn't too far to swim, was it?
She swam on, counting the strokes of her arms, the kicks of her legs. At 100, she stopped and looked toward the island. It was nearer, wasn't it?
Her legs tread water, let her heart slow and her breathing deepen. She could do it. Another fifty strokes, and then another, and surely she would reach the island.
By the end of the fifth set of fifty, she could no long deny the ache in her hips and thighs. How was it she had gotten so out of shape? She was busy, working every day, playing volleyball with the kids, taking them on hikes, teaching them how to kayak and shoot a bow and arrow. That was exercise, wasn't it?
It wasn't like this - wasn't like swimming a mile - surely she hadn't known it was THAT far - to a stupid island in the middle of a lake. She looked back toward the rocky beach below her cabin. The red flag of her shirt was just a distant speck. And the low cloud behind - the one that had been early morning pink when she started her swim – was now white.
The swimmer turned back to the island and struck out again, pulling through the water with her arms, kicking with her legs.
She was into it before she realized, a branch, floating underwater, a branch that was too heavy, with too many long limbs reaching deep beneath the surface.
She wanted to see where she was going, to avoid the submerged tree branches, remnants of last year's tornado. The lake was also home to turtles and fish, ducks and snakes, but the waterlogged limbs of the trees frightened her. Those limbs could catch her legs. Those limbs were the danger.
She peered ahead, seeking the profile of the island. It was many swim strokes away from the lake shore, visited by the occasional boater seeking a picnic site. It was not ideal for picnicking; the beach was rocky.
Now the island was bathed in early morning light. Mist rose through the oaks and willows huddling on the rocky shores. Her eyes caught a movement in the thicket. Deer? She had seen them on the island before, seeking the sweet willow leaves and supple branches.
The swimmer scissor-kicked her legs in the water, spreading her toes so that the coolness tickled sensitive skin.
She looked over her shoulder and saw her shirt, a bright flag of red, flapping in the same breeze that rippled the water around her. Her bra hung on a limb next to it, her shorts and panties on a limb just below that. She hoped the breeze wouldn't strengthen, wouldn't cause her clothes to fall to the ground. Ants might crawl in, as well as spiders and other biting creatures. She hoped the clothes would stay in the tree until she returned.
The lake’s water caressed her body.
The rocky bit of beach where she had left her clothes was just below the derelict cabin she called home this summer. The park department had determined an entire row of these cabins were not suitable for renting. However, the structures were in good enough shape to house the summer staff. She, like most of the other college students, had seen the state of the once-rentable lakeside cabins and agreed that as long as they were clean, had beds and refrigerators, and were relatively free of critters, simple things like broken locks on the doors, a cracked window or missing shingle didn't really matter.
She flipped over onto her back and fluttered her arms in her favorite swim stroke, letting the water lap over her breasts and up her cheeks. After a few strokes, she stopped and let her body sink a bit before she twisted to look once again toward the island.
The island didn't seem to be getting any closer. And the sun was brightening the sky.
Something nibbled on her toes, and she jerked her feet, then laughed. The little fish were not piranhas. She'd encountered these fishies often enough whenever she swam in the lake. The tiny minnows nibbled at dead skin on her toes and on the bottoms of her feet. They weren't a concern.
She turned her focus on the island, forging ahead in the water, feeling just a twinge of tiredness in her back. Her heart beat faster.
She wished she had grabbed the life preserver.
How could she have forgotten the true distance to the island? She and her family had come here often in their motorboat, even on the jet ski. It wasn't too far to swim, was it?
She swam on, counting the strokes of her arms, the kicks of her legs. At 100, she stopped and looked toward the island. It was nearer, wasn't it?
Her legs tread water, let her heart slow and her breathing deepen. She could do it. Another fifty strokes, and then another, and surely she would reach the island.
By the end of the fifth set of fifty, she could no long deny the ache in her hips and thighs. How was it she had gotten so out of shape? She was busy, working every day, playing volleyball with the kids, taking them on hikes, teaching them how to kayak and shoot a bow and arrow. That was exercise, wasn't it?
It wasn't like this - wasn't like swimming a mile - surely she hadn't known it was THAT far - to a stupid island in the middle of a lake. She looked back toward the rocky beach below her cabin. The red flag of her shirt was just a distant speck. And the low cloud behind - the one that had been early morning pink when she started her swim – was now white.
The swimmer turned back to the island and struck out again, pulling through the water with her arms, kicking with her legs.
She was into it before she realized, a branch, floating underwater, a branch that was too heavy, with too many long limbs reaching deep beneath the surface.
Her arms caught;
her legs caught.
She couldn't pull her head back above water.
She flailed.
She couldn't pull her head back above water.
She flailed.
Bubbles rose
around her. She looked up through the murky water.
Her pounded heart
beat in her ears.
Her lungs cried
out for air, then screamed for it.
The blue-brown lake water lashed at her struggling body.
And then, something was in the water with her, something dark, something swimming as frantically as she was. It pulled at the black branches, tugging them this way and that, until finally, finally, the one that held her beneath the water's surface snapped in two.
The swimmer shot to the surface, her head full of stars and swirling black as the last bit of her oxygen disappeared.
She gulped for air, and then, the dark form was beside her, nudging her. She grabbed a wooly coat and let the form pull her toward the shore of the island, closer, closer, until her feet touched the muddy bottom and she fell to her knees, gulping air, the muscles of her arms and legs quivering.
The dog stayed with her, long tail wagging, nosing her as she crawled up the beach, then the animal lay half submerged on the rocky shore, chest heaving, looking up at the blue daylight sky.
A boat motor roared nearby. A bass fisherman.
She hoped he had a towel.
The blue-brown lake water lashed at her struggling body.
And then, something was in the water with her, something dark, something swimming as frantically as she was. It pulled at the black branches, tugging them this way and that, until finally, finally, the one that held her beneath the water's surface snapped in two.
The swimmer shot to the surface, her head full of stars and swirling black as the last bit of her oxygen disappeared.
She gulped for air, and then, the dark form was beside her, nudging her. She grabbed a wooly coat and let the form pull her toward the shore of the island, closer, closer, until her feet touched the muddy bottom and she fell to her knees, gulping air, the muscles of her arms and legs quivering.
The dog stayed with her, long tail wagging, nosing her as she crawled up the beach, then the animal lay half submerged on the rocky shore, chest heaving, looking up at the blue daylight sky.
A boat motor roared nearby. A bass fisherman.
She hoped he had a towel.
She stroked the black water spaniel's curly
coat, and pulled him in front of her body as the fisherman trolled nearer.
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