"Dont Stay Under"

Sophie Iannone

“Don’t Stay Under”

I never looked at the ocean as an offender.

That’s why when I trotted down to the edge of the dry sand, I didn’t glance back for her approval before ripping off my jeans and plunging into the salty wash and weed. My mother, golden tresses spilling over her shoulders before being sucked away by the lungs of the land, warned me about the sea when I was younger.

Her voice, usually the melody of a rescue siren, was reduced to barely more than a muffled whisper behind the crash of the churning waves, furiously shoving my body away from the shore. “The ocean could swallow you in one gulp,” she used to whisper with hinging fright in her voice.  Knee deep, I recalled how I didn’t know if she told me this to keep me safe or to remind me of just how small we are compared to the vast, haunting world.

But by the time I had contemplated this thoroughly, I was already 5 feet deep in icy tides and strong current sucking me into the ocean. I should have listened to her sooner, before she was screaming for me to swim closer to the shore. Before the tide pulled me out another foot. Before the effort I made to come closer to the beach left my limbs feeling nearly too heavy to tread.

My feet parted the grainy bottom with the push of one meager inhaling wave. What had I gotten myself into? My mom shrieked for me to swim back, but as hard as I pulled I could not  free myself from the mistake I had made. I felt panic begin to fill my collapsing lungs, rising up to my head and into my arms. I was stuck.

The waves were violent and each time one hit me it threw me under the water with so much force and so little warning that I was gasping for air the second my lips left the water.

Facing the shore, I forcefully thrashed in the salty serum, desiring more than anything to be back in my mother’s safe embrace, but I could not think about her now. It was up to me to pull myself out of the depth and away from the impending volcanic mountain of water grabbing at the shore from behind me. I gasped for breath before the next slap in the back.

The wave plowed over my desperately thrashing body, struggling to break through the churning surface. I stayed under for first one, then two, then four seconds, then 6, then 8, but the flood was so murky above me that the surface was gone and I was trapped in a burnt-black vortex. My mind was completely blank. My lungs began to crave the air more with each lingering second. The only thing I remember thinking before white flooded into my eyes was "I can't die. I can't die. Not here. Not cold and limp. I cannot die in front of my mother."

Everything went black and smooth and quiet. I felt last bubbles of air escape from my lungs. My arms stopped reaching for the quiet grey air on the cusp of the water. I couldn't move. The only thing that existed in that moment was the water and me, falling deeper, deeper. My chest sank down to the floor, where the sound of the rumbling sand and crashing waves filled in the absences of my other senses. It is said that when you die, hearing is the last to go.

But with the bang of another swirling tide, the throbbing in my head ceased long enough for me to cup my hands and push away puddles that I was running to catch just minutes before. “Save yourself, clean up your mess. Bob to the surface long enough to scream ‘I love you’ to your comfort on the shore, do something. Do anything, but don’t stay under.”

Kicking until my legs felt concave and wiry, my head reached the surface of the water and I sucked air through my stinging throat. My muscles were stinging like a lemon kissed wound. Elated as my toes brushed the sand, I remembered how  seemingly meager this accomplishment was, but it was enough.

I dug each nail into the sand in desperate attempt to push myself back in using my legs, and with each groan of my tingling quads I inched closer and closer to the shore.

My mother, dread smeared across her supple complexion, stood stained with shock on the edge of the sand. Pushing, pushing, my knees finally cleared the water and I toppled over into her arms, not caring that I would soil her clothes with salt and muck. The feeling of safety washed over me gently,

Her eyes stinging red, she studied me. “I should have gone in. I should have helped you.” She wrapped her arms around me once more in a tight clasp.

“No, mom. I caused this and I fixed it. I am ok, just a bit stunned.” My voice oscillated as I stepped back, my knees barking at me for rest.

I collapsed in the grey-lit sand as I felt it cling onto my damp skin. Rolling in it, I let each grain prick my back and nest in my hair. Sand’s threats never concerned  me like the ocean did. I mean, I never saw the sand as an offender.