I remember falling, shrieking into the icy, pungent water. My brother stared down at me, his face a mask of horror. My father rushed down the path and yanked me out, clutching my body against his. We were all terrified.
And yet, not even a week after this incident, I plunged myself into the pond again and screamed bloody murder as my body slipped beneath the surface.
It became a kind of game, a game that kept me fascinated until the pond was filled in. I would scream in glee as the water rippled over me and always, someone would come running to me.
