FIVE

I was terrified of my oldest sister. She taught me to swim way before age 5, because by then I was swimming laps doing a beautiful American crawl and had nearly perfected a dive from the low board. One day Betty said it was time for the high dive. I was not ready but she was and sometimes I later wondered if she wanted to kill me. At the time all I could do was obey. This was the same sister who made me watch televised baseball games that I hated, mostly because she made me stand at attention, hand over heart, during the National Anthem. In our den. Not at a live game in a stadium but in our den. It struck me as odd that I had to do this while she was languidly parked on the sofa smoking a cigarette but I was too frightened of her to balk. Her every wish my command, I just did whatever I was told.

Back to the HIGH diving board. Probably twelve steps to the top and then a dramatic walk to the end. That was all it needed to be, but halfway up the climb there was my first stomach grabbing sense of mortality and I silently balked by pausing. She, reading me correctly, said absolutely not, no way to come down so just DO IT! Time slowed down at this point as I knew that I was surely going to die that day, whatever that meant, and there was not even time for a "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer. I tried to remember all that she had told me about diving and then properly approached the end of the board. Both feet together, bounce up and away and down. Down indeed, after completing one of the most glorious it-started-as-a-swan-dive-then-turned-pancake-belly-flops of all time. I hit the water with the force of smacking into a brick wall, stunned into paralysis, and began to float to the bottom. There was no "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" moment here but rather a completely third person observer status of the situation. Going down, lots of water, looking at thrashing, plaid-clad half-torsos in the shallow end, wondering if anyone would notice. Then I saw the drain below me growing larger and realized I was nearly at the bottom. There was not a whit of fear-it was just so interesting that I was drowning and that it didn't seem to be such a bad thing. Surrounded by the so-blue, warm and heavily chlorinated June water, and the reflections from people, clothing, lounge chairs-all mixed in the water to wash over me with prisms to die for. Literally. I was really good at holding my breath but it did seem like a long time was passing and I supposed I would fade to black and that was just fine with me.

On the way out of this world, all of a sudden there was a huge amount of turmoil in the water and I felt myself being scooped up by a being that seemed like a dolphin and then up, up to the surface. From death to chaos again, there I was, spread out on a towel, in my brand new yellow bathing suit (one-piece of course), being gawked at and inspected by all, much like one might look at meat or fish before deeming it worthy of purchase. Smiles passed all around after a bit-cheers; she'll live. I wish I could tell you I had one of those amazing tales to tell of my life flashing before me. There wasn't even one. After all, at five years old what could have flashed? Toddling in the front yard, my older sister pinching me just for the hell of it? Throwing food under the table for the dogs and getting caught? Making my grandmother cry because I told her she should not take me out in a boat when she couldn't swim? None of that showed up in the pool; it was all just beautiful serenity and rainbow ribbons of water. And then I lived to dive another day.

Photo Courtesy of Julian Mei