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In Over My Head

Red Tide

By Stephanie J. BradberryPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
3

Petrified, I stood at the end of the cold, slippery diving board. My scarlet one-piece bathing suit created a red tide below me. The ripples from my classmates made my reflection look like a wavy man at a car dealership. Perhaps the water was taunting me. Come in and have a look around. My fear and embarrassment kept bouncing off the surface as an abstract self portrait projected on a distortion mirror in a haunted house.

The rows of dim bluish lights overhead all seemed to change direction, becoming a spotlight on me. My classmates were a mixture of interest and skepticism in the concrete bleachers. I delayed passing my test, as I mulled over the reasons most of the girls sat out. Some were on their period. Others were faking being on their period. One or two were pregnant. Some forgot their bathing suit…again. A few just got their hair and nails done. These were just the everyday excuses. I couldn’t use any of them. And some I hoped I never would.

In order to pass PE, I had to dive in the deep end and swim to the shallow end. This feat sounded fairly simple. But I was an inner-city girl who barely touched swimming pools. The only exception was hot summer days splashing around in the shallow end of community pools screaming “Polo” in response to the it person’s “Marco”. Being a young type-A personality, determination propelled me to be the first novice swimmer in our class to advance. However, the small undulations on the surface of the pool became huge waves waiting to swallow my body whole. It was bad enough having freshly shocked water singe your nostril hairs to oblivion. But a head first entry into this lukewarm cesspool of pre-teen pee and pheromones would turn me into a streaking comet.

Every time I inhaled deeply to signal I was going to do this, the toxic fumes of chlorine intensified my fear of drowning. Mr. Baxter and Ms. Fletcher kept shouting encouragement for me to take the plunge. They must have been going at it for a while. My classmates’ attention slowly turned from the stick at the end of the diving board to pre-teen drama and gossip. This lessened laser focus on me should have been a relief. Instead, I started shaking like an old time Quaker on Sunday morning. Then the uncontrollable nerves emerged. I sheepishly backed away from the edge of the diving board. It was the only way to avoid vibrating to the end of the board and tumbling 20,000 leagues under the sea.

A new plan hatched in my scrambled brain. I would do a standing dive from the edge. The painted concrete ledge was tacky from humidity. And my stress sweat mingled with the pool’s ringside dampness. My new approach garnered a slight increase in interest from the lackluster audience. Goosebumps erupted all over my body from being out of the water too long. Now I felt like a teenager with an acne outbreak the day of prom.

The black and white quartz clock on the wall told me time waned. So I leapt. Shear adrenaline muted the shock from smacking into the water. Breathing out hard prevented inhaling the foul-tasting water that flooded my nostrils. I kicked my legs and paddled my arms feverishly to stay afloat. Move forward. Move forward. Forward is the motion. Don’t drown. Mr. Baxter and Ms. Fletcher waved me on to the shallow end like an Olympic swimmer’s trainer to a gold medal.

As I approached the shallow end, concluding this nightmare seemed palpable. Exhaustion from lactic acid and improper technique took hold. I shot one leg down to feel for the bottom of the pool. Instead of hitting solid ground, I was sinking fast. I felt my toes barely graze the tip of the slope where the shallow and deep ends meet. My arms and legs flopped about like a fish in its death throes. No matter how hard I tried, the surface kept receding. My heart pounded erratically. The blood pulsing in my brain nearly eclipsed the muffled voices above me.

A shiny, silver object snaked its way next to me. It was the reaching pole we learned to rely on if ever in danger of drowning. The tidal waves created from my hectic splashing made the pole’s location seem like a mirage. I grabbed where I thought the pole should be. The sudden jolt of water cascading past me as I was propelled to the surface indicated instant salvation.

My exit out of the pool must have looked like a dolphin cresting out of the ocean only to become a beached whale. I clutched the side of the pool to avoid sliding back in the treacherous abyss. Mr. Baxter helped drag me up and over the edge. The ungraceful pull left the equivalent of rug burn from concrete on my stomach, knees and shins. Ms. Fletcher stood at the ready with a towel. My body shook hysterically in contrast to the relative warmth of the white cotton towel and her reassuring embrace.

Ms. Fletcher swiftly ushered me off to the locker room. My tears expressing shame and lingering shock dripped down with the water from the shower. What an unexpected way to get the shower room to myself. Even Tanya’s daily naked prance twirling her bathing suit around her finger would not have brought a smile to my face. I dried off and hastily put on my mustard yellow body suit, light blue jeans and checkered black and burgundy vest.

I did not swim the next day. The teachers did not seek an excuse. I solemnly perched on the sticky painted concrete benches amongst the periods, fakers, pregnant, bathing suitless and glamorous.

humanity
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About the Creator

Stephanie J. Bradberry

I have a passion for literature and anime. And I love everything involving academia, health, metaphysics and entrepreneurship.

For products and services, visit: stephaniebradberry.com

For online courses, visit: bradberryacademy.com

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Comments (2)

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  • C. H. Richardabout a year ago

    You captured the anxiety around taking that dive so well. Loved this story ❤️

  • Cathy holmesabout a year ago

    Wonderfully written, felt like I was right there with you. Well done.

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