Mira: Eleven Years Old:
I’m sailing with my dad on a small boat in the San Francisco Bay. It’s my first day in an actual sailboat, and it’s exciting! I love hanging out with Dad when it’s just us. He makes me feel special. He’s funny and he teaches me things that I can brag a little about later. Well, it feels like bragging but that isn’t the right word.
I’m shy and it’s hard for me to talk to most people, so it’s nice to have something interesting to say when someone in my class asks me what I did that weekend. Dad taught me how to ski when I was just five years old, and now I’m really good at it! People seem impressed when they know I learned so young.
Of course, there was that one time when I was really little, maybe seven or so, that I took a turn too wide and fell partway down a cliff. But then I stopped. The snow was very powdery, and there was a tree right in my path that stopped me from falling all the way.
I remember lying there on my back, looking down to the bottom of the cliff. I couldn’t move for fear that I would lose the security of the big, beautiful tree holding me in place. I could see all the way down to the bottom, and it was a long, long way down. There was a snow plow down there and some kind of truck. I remember thinking how odd that was…and how small it looked. I could see to either side of me: pretty much just snow. Weird that I fell right here. Right where this tree could catch me. I couldn’t see the trail at all, and I didn’t dare try to look because that might move my body around too much.
I didn’t know how far I fell, and I couldn’t see the trail I fell from, but I could hear. I could still hear my dad. I was scared, but I remember thinking, as long as I can hear my dad, I’ll be OK. He told me he was coming to get me. That was good because I knew Dad wouldn’t lie to me. Sure enough, I felt his big, strong hand reach out for me, grab me by the back of my ski jacket, and pull me straight back up the trail within seconds.
Dad brushed the snow off my snowsuit. He congratulated me on not losing a single ski or pole, instructed me on how to take cleaner turns, and told me to keep going down the ski run. So I did. Much, much more carefully, though.
Dad also taught me how to ice skate; he taught me how to sand down and restain wood furniture; he taught me a few tap dancing moves, too! I want to do theater like he does if I can ever get the courage to audition. Then I’ll always have something to talk about! I won’t just stand there, staring at the floor waiting for my brain to start working. I don’t know why I freeze up when people talk to me. I just do. Until I’m really comfortable with them, that is. But even then, sometimes I’d rather just be quiet and say nothing.
It’s a windy day, and he has his hands full, teaching me the ropes and helping me practice sailing terms. He shows me where things are in the boat and teaches me how to tie off. The most common thing he has me do is move from starboard side to port side, to compensate for the direction the wind is blowing. It’s really picking up and making the little boat a challenge to handle.
Not sure if he gives me the wrong direction, if I go the wrong direction, or if the wind is just too powerful for it to matter. Whatever the reason, in an instant and with no time to brace myself, I’m suddenly flung violently into the water.
I barely have time to register what happened before instinct kicks in. I’m a good swimmer and can do things like handstands and somersaults underwater at our local pool. I’m strong. Plus, my dad made me put on a life vest before we got anywhere near the water. So, my body just swims me up to the surface without even a thought.
But when I get to the surface, the precious air I need is nowhere to be found. I can’t emerge from the water! Reaching my hand out, I hit an immovable barrier instead of the air. It hurts to do it, but I open my eyes underwater to orient myself, then rear back in terror at what I find. White. No blue sky. All I see is white. Everywhere! I push at it, but it’s no use. Panic sets in and my mind goes into overdrive.
Not only did I fall into the water, the entire boat capsized. And it’s on top of me! I’m caught under the sail and I can’t see where it ends! And I’m going to die.
I retreat inside my head, something I am very used to doing when things get bad. I don’t even try to help myself. I don’t try swimming in a different direction for fear I’ll swim the wrong way. I don’t think to swim down deeper so I can see the end of the sail. No. I’m frozen in place. No way out. Until there is.
A big, strong hand grabs my life vest and yanks me hard to the side. Within a few seconds, Dad has me free from the sail and breathing again. And I’m safe, and I’m OK. But I’m also not. Shock sets in and I’m still completely in my own head.
On some level, I’m aware and grateful that Dad just saved my life. I’m also aware that I was in mortal danger and I did nothing to save myself. Nothing! I feel shame that I didn’t act. That I froze in the face of danger. I didn’t even move! What does that say about me? I’m a coward, of course. I already knew that!
I dimly process another small boat coming out to help us, pulling us on board, and towing our boat to their nearby dock. I’m shivering and someone hands me a towel. I dimly process a nice teenage girl hugging me and trying to comfort me in my obvious distress. I see everything through a cloud, drifting through the rest of my day. I barely speak. I barely think. In my head, I’m still stuck under the sail and I stay there for a very, very long time.
