The water was muddy the day we waded from the shore and into the lake. The soft moss strings wrapped our ankles like tentacles and the rocks’ sharp edges bit at our toes, making our knees buckle. We were laughing, folding our arms across our chests to stay warm though how could we in water that cold? A habit, I suppose. A display of preservation.
We took a few steps forward, then back, screeching from the temperature but also because we felt young and alive. Finally. How long had it been since we laughed together this way? Giddy with wonder. I saw you as a child just then. Your grin covering your face, your eyes squinting with surprise and pleasure. It was so cold. Yet you stayed with me, never left my side.
“Go under!” I said after I dove down first. “It feels refreshing, I promise!” Or maybe I didn’t go first and only chose to remember it this way. Being brave is difficult; remembering yourself as brave is much easier. Either way, my father always taught me to follow through on the…
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