Out of Breath

Chapter 12

"I am sorry I was away," Mr. Adams the gym teacher says. "I was pretty sick. Anyways I know you are all anxious to go swimming. I know the substitute went over the basics with you again. Remember, we are going to start out in the 3.5 feet deep section for those of you who can't swim, don't go past where you can touch. For those of you who know how to swim, you can start from the diving board."

Mr. Adams had missed the last few days of school. We have been incredibly anxious to go swimming. Now, the prized day has arrived.

Most of us go to the diving boards. The strong chemical, which I learn is chlorine, chokes me. If it's this bad in the air. How bad is it in the pool? My eyes tear at the vaporized assault. The water ripples as each person jumps in. I like watching the water encircle each diver, as they slowly make their way across the deep-end. The clear water is unlike my ponds, and I can watch the kids swim underneath it to the side. Swamp ponds are always brown, like chocolate milk. I never know what's in swamp ponds. The true fear is alligators or water moccasins. I am fifth in line, and my turn comes quicker than I thought it would. I bounce on the board like I watched the others do, and jump in. Just before I hit the water, I close my mouth and plug my nose.

I do not splash into the water like the other kids did. Instead, I get sucked into the water. Its consistency has changed. It is more like the hair gel the boys use in gym class. It slurps me under. I hold my breath, and time must have stopped. The consistency of the water has changed. Not once had I considered this beforehand.

Panicked, I thrash around as I fight the downward suction. Eventually, I stop. I am way below the surface. I feel like the gelatin water wraps around me. I try to swim up, but it isn't working, not like it does in the pond. I have to fight for each centimeter of progress I make. My muscles rip apart as I push them harder than I ever have before. I am dying for air. It doesn't seem like I am getting anywhere. The jelly-water-grave traps me. If I die, will time resume, or will it stay suspended forever because I am not breathing?

I stop thrashing.

I am in a no-win situation. If I take a breath, I will inhale this gloopy water, and it will go into my lungs, and I will die. If I don't take a breath, then I will die.

Either way, I die.

My chest burns. Every muscle on me tightens. I might be in rigor mortis. I have no choice. I have to fight, or at least die fighting. I give it everything I have, and just when I think I lost, my head breaks free to the surface. I take a breath. I gasp but sink back under, which means I have to hold my breath again. I don't have much air in my lungs. I fight my way back up, thankfully not as hard as I had to. Once I emerge, I take another breath.

I am exhausted. How easy it would be to stop fighting. I get pulled under again. I push my body to the top, but I don't have much more in me. I take a breath and flip to my back. If I can float, then I can regain my air.

I float for a moment. The kids up top are yelling at me. The kid on the diving board wants his turn. It feels like it's getting ugly on the side of the pool. Everyone wanting me out of their way. Instead of concentrating on floating, I get distracted by the kids, and I slip back under the water. This wouldn't be hard if I didn't keep having to hold my breath, making the water turn into a powerful gel, a gel that entraps me like a mosquito in amber.

My head pops up, and I take a breath. I hear a splash. I fight to return to my back when I feel arms encircle me. Someone swims me to the side, and another pulls me out of the water and lies me onto the wet tile.

"Are you alright?" I hear a voice.

How long had I been fighting? I have no sense of time.

"He is breathing," says another.