an exercise in self-indulgence

» Thursday, July 18, 2002

Everyone is afraid of something. My dad hates snakes. My grandmother would rather jump out a window than share company with a mouse. My big brother literally turns blue at the sight of a needle.

Me, I'm afraid of pretty much everything. I don't like heights, fast cars, ants, igniting pilot lights, crawling beasties, or the restaurant Pu Pu Hot Pot. Not a big fan of mimes either.

That being said, nothing will ever scare me as much as water. Simple, refreshing water: it is as familiar as self, quenches my thirst, grows my plants, washes my doggie, and would just as soon kill me as look at me. I try to ignore it: too many people I love want to swim, or sail... or like, drink. And I usually ignore it fairly well. Water is everywhere. I am numb to the pain.

So, I would never turn down a good vacation based on proximity to deep water. Last weekend, I went with Ryan, Jess, and Dan to a cabin (Dan's daddy's cabin, to be specific) in Limerick, Maine. The weather was flawless, the company was perfect, the mosquitoes were affable, and the lake was placid. It even looked welcoming, lapping gently against the shore as though it weren't planning an attack.

We splashed in the shallow water, ate a boatload of cheddar & sour cream potato chips (which are a lot less repulsive than they sound), lolled about, and laughed our heads off at retarded in-jokes. It was an uproarious and convivial romp.

<ominous music> No one could have known that doom was on the horizon. </ominous music>

Saturday night, much relaxed and lulled by the wilderness, I suggested an evening ride in the canoe. We set out just before twilight, armed with 99¢ flashlights to guide us back after the sun went down.

We glided through the lake in one boat, perilously low to the surface, but high on camaraderie. We told a ridiculous story (each contributing one line and passing it on, compiling the sad tale of a lonely donkey and his ill-fated love for the fair Mecca-Godzilla) and started singing lots of songs we couldn't be bothered to finish. Everything was perfect.

<ominous music> Too perfect. </ominous music>

We had just decided to turn back when it happened. We spent a few minutes debating the exact location of our cabin and started paddling. A powerboat chose that dark moment to menace its way across the lake, sending our overburdened canoe rolling across the water.

At first, I was merely annoyed. My legs were quite wet. But then my hips were wet as well, and as I mused on the unlikelihood of sitting in a canoe filled with water to the waist, we were already tipping into the pitch black lake.

I can't imagine how I found the wherewithal to catch the flashlight, but it extended just that far, failing to capture my marvelous Target flip-flops, which floated off one by one, lost to me and each other for all time. Jess held onto her flashlight as well, and we trained them on the shore, a staggering 8 million miles from our sad, sodden bodies.

There I was, my skirt floating up around my waist, barefoot, hysterically kicking back the weeds that were almost definitely masking the outstretched fingers of aquatic axe murderers. We hauled the boat and I whimpered feebly, swimming disconsolately, half-ready to give in and let the water just have me, finally. But I hung on, mewling and occasionally blinding Jess with the beam of my flashlight.

They mocked me much less than normal people would have. In fact, they were very understanding. And no one laughed when I hyperventilated, sucking two bugs down my throat. They didn't even laugh when we reached the shore, 5 years later, and I threw up my two bugs while they dragged the boat onto land.

My friends are pretty cool people. We got back to the cabin, Jess made us dessert, and we watched the Blair Witch Project with the lights out. I used to think that movie was pretty scary. This time, it just seemed really dry.

Also, today is my birthday. I'm 26. How about that?