We were anchored in a small bay about 30 yards offshore of a small island in the British Virgin Islands. It seemed like a short swim to the island, where there were plenty of young people on the windward side playing in the surf. The boat was anchored in about 10 feet of Caribbean blue water, with a plethora of plant life growing on the bottom that housed many varieties of fish. I decided I would snorkel to the shore, so I could enjoy the view of the ecosystem below. I could have taken the tender, but being 15, and a competent swimmer, I opted to go it alone. I jumped off the stern of the boat, adjusted my mask and snorkel, and, face down to the view, I set off for shore.
Gliding across the surface, I was able to watch the small world below me going about its daily business. Maybe the small fish and crabs thought I was a transient shark or dolphin, just passing by and not interested in such a small snack. They did not startle and dart away as they do when scuba diving. That's why I like snorkeling; no bubbles, no noise, non-invasive. I am an observer, not an intruder. I swam in a slow, steady pace to shore.
Once onshore, I went to the windward side of the island, where there were other boat rat kids. Boat rat kids make fast friends with each other because we are all so happy to be away from the 35 feet of family closeness that is our vacation home. We swam and body surfed for most of the afternoon. As the afternoon wore on, our numbers started to diminish as kids returned to their floating homes. So it was time to head back.
I walked back to the leeward side of the island, retrieved my gear, and waded into the water. Setting off from shore, I was once again transported into another world. A quiet, graceful world, filled with thousands of colorful fish, crabs, grasses and corals. The only sound was my breath, moving in and out of my snorkel in a quiet whisper. I swam on for a little while, totally absorbed in the world passing below me. Maybe I should pop my head up and see how much progress I have made. I was a little tired, after my swim in and surf play, and I was hungry: Getting back to the boat had a sudden appeal. I lifted my head and – Uh Oh – I had drifted with the current. I was farther from the boat than when I had left shore. I was also equidistant from the shore as I was from the boat; about 40 yards. Well okay – don't panic. So I changed direction and started toward the boat. Slow and steady wins the race. The whisper of my breath in the snorkel was a little louder. The kick of my fins was a little stronger. Head up, check again. Not much progress. I was getting tired, the current was getting stronger, and I had to work harder. So work harder I did! Kick for a few minutes, head up and check. Progress was slow. The subsurface world that so entranced me earlier, now took on a more sinister feel. What if the sharks, that I envisioned myself as earlier, actually decided to show up for dinner after all?
Swim a little faster. Good plan! I lifted my head and looked longingly at the boat. It was stern-to me and I could see my mother sitting in the cockpit, completely unaware of the doom that was befalling her youngest child. I stopped and tread water for a moment. Maybe she would turn her head and see me. Certainly she would see that a little parental assistance was in order. I waved. I waved again -and again. Come on mom, turn your head! Finally, she turned my direction. The powers of positive thinking – it must have been my psychic need that got her to turn her head. I could see her strain to see against the setting sun that was behind me. She finally saw me waving like a lunatic. Surely she would get in the tender and come to retrieve me! Sadly, this story does not end with such a warm and fuzzy reunion of mother and daughter. She waved back.
Sheesh.
Nice clear and very 'clean' writing--the writing/reading equivalent of snorkeling through pristine water with nothing to distract one's view from the life below.
ReplyDeleteBut endings are hard. I certainly don't object to indeterminate, modernist, literary, don't-tell-the-reader-what-happens-next endings.
But that's not the feeling this ending gives. It's the writing equivalent of being carried off by the current and not knowing how to get back to safety. "Sheesh" won't do it.
Either this ending has something to do with your relationship with your mother or it has something to do with what being a boat rat entails, good and bad, or it has something to do with your relationship to the ocean and nature, or I don't know. But whichever it is, the ending has to at least genuinely tip its hat in the right direction to finish the piece properly.
Putting it another way: I know this is a family story that must have been re-told a hundred times and her wave is a sufficient finish for that kind of anecdote, but it doesn't work by itself here, and the "sheesh" compounds the problem by being tonally off the mark--too light in a situation which is left, from the reader's POV, as pretty serious.
Damn! I guess I should have left the first ending! I even slept on it before changing it to this one. You are correct in thinking that this story is some sort of commentary on my relationship with my mother - exactly what that commentary is, I'm not sure. I can tell you this: This story was never told to anyone, including my mother. I chose this ending partly because I wrote the story, therefore I must have survived. The "sheesh" was meant to be somewhat cynical. Maybe it's a story about perseverance.
ReplyDeleteNot to late to try another ending.
ReplyDelete"too late"
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteOkay, here is the new and improved (?) ending to the story. It picks up at the beginning of the last paragraph
ReplyDeleteSwim a little faster. Good plan! I lifted my head and looked longingly at the boat. It was stern-to me and I could see my mother sitting in the cockpit, completely unaware of the doom that was befalling her youngest child. I stopped and tread water for a moment. Maybe she would turn her head and see me. Certainly she would see that a little parental assistance was in order. I waved. I waved again -and again. Come on mom, turn your head! Finally, she turned my direction. The powers of positive thinking – it must have been my psychic need that got her to turn her head. I could see her strain to see against the setting sun that was behind me. She finally saw me waving like a lunatic. Surely she could see my distress. But all she did was wave back at me. Really? A wave? Are you kidding me? Sheesh.
There was no help to be found there, so back to it. Head down, snorkel up, watching for the large shadows of hungry fish who would be looking for their evening meal. I slowed down. Conserve energy. Don’t rush. Panic is doom. Slow, fluid movement of my fins, the returning whisper in my snorkel. Occasional peek to check position. I was making slow, agonizing progress, but progress none the less.
I finally made it back to the boat. Removing my mask, snorkel and fins, I climbed the ladder up to the deck. My mother was still sitting in the cockpit, reading a book and enjoying the last warm rays of the day. She glanced up at me and asked “Did you have fun?” What I wanted to say was "No, I almost drowned. Why didn't you come and get me?" But I just didn't see the point. So instead I responded with “Um…yeah…sure…thanks for asking.”
It ate my formatting again - sheesh
ReplyDeleteLet me try an edit--see what you think:
ReplyDeleteSwim a little faster. Good plan! I lifted my head and looked longingly at the boat. It was stern-to me and I could see my mother sitting in the cockpit, completely unaware of the doom that was befalling her youngest child. I stopped and tread water for a moment. Maybe she would turn her head and see me. I waved. I waved again--and again. Finally, she turned my direction. It must have been my psychic need that got her to turn her head. I could see her strain to see against the setting sun that was behind me.
Finally she saw me waving. Surely she could see my distress. But... all she did was wave back at me.
Back to it. Head down, snorkel up, watching for the large shadows of hungry fish who would be looking for their evening meal. I slowed down. Slow, fluid movement of my fins, the returning whisper in my snorkel. Occasional peek to check position.
Finally...removing my mask, snorkel and fins, I climbed the ladder up to the deck.
My mother was still sitting in the cockpit, still reading a book and enjoying the last warm rays of the day. She glanced up. “Did you have fun?”
How do you like this version, one that leaves her with the last word?