Sun beats down.
Sweat profusely pours...and I'm not even "trying to tan."
I'm just hot. Oppressively sticky, hot.
Splashing. Giggling. Screaming.
"Polo!" In reply to "Marco?"
And footstep, footstep, footstep: "CANON BALL!!!"
How much fun is that...
But I'm just hot. Oppressively sticky, hot.
The shimmering reflection brushes my eye, brighter than the sun. And more inviting as well.
Why would I sit in heat, despising my own skins dryness?
Why do I insist on suffering when everyone else is having fun?
Why am I suffering?
Because I will not quit! I will NOT give in!!
Fools! Hair all funky and wet shorts awkwardly adhering to skin...they look like fools!
Fools having fun...
But I will not give in.
I get the droplets anyway- and it does feel good-
Remnants of a dive, hurtling through the humid air to find themselves on my otherwise unwet shirt.
Yes. It does feel good.
I bet the fools feel good too.
But if one more person yells at me...I swear, I'm going to--
And there's one more...
Not a taunting, but an invitation--stupid, old adage, "the water's fine!"
But I, I will NOT give in!!
As I begin to stand and remove my shirt, the sun makes contact with more skin.
Partial discomfort coupled with partial, gentle prodding.
And my entry? The steps?
No, that'd just give me the chance to chicken out...
Instead I walk the other way...to a place that lends itself to a slightly greater commitment...a point of no return.
Stepping up, I feel the rough, sandpaper-like surface on the bottom of my feet. But it provides stability, not discomfort.
I hear my motions: swish, swish, swish.
First up, then down, and--ker-plunk!
As soon as I'm down on the board's edge, I'm back up again--flying to fall.
And it's over now...dry is history.
Control is no longer my possession...and suddenly...its okay.
I gave up.
And it feels good...
Bubbles, thousands of bubbles.
A push from the bottom and I'm on the surface.
Oxygen refills my lungs and I say, "ahhh..."
Now the oppression of my body's weight is lost.
Awkward movements of the land are now graceful and well, fluid.
Maybe an underwater flip and a hand stand (just to impress the ladies).
In the embrace of hydrogen and oxygen, floating on my back and squinting up at the now friendly sun, I have a revelation:
Surrender feels good.
I give up.