This Might Hurt(6)

Jack avoided my eyes.

I gulped. “But I don’t have my swimsuit with me.”

He waved me off. “What you’ve got on is fine. You got plenty of dry clothes back at the house.”

I trembled. I knew when it was time to reason and when it was time to beg. “Please, Sir. Please don’t make me do it.”

He pulled me to my feet. “The fact you’re so afraid of the water is proof you gotta go in. You gonna avoid bathtubs your entire life? I know it’s scary now, but you’ll see it’s not so bad.”

I turned to Jack, silently pleading with her to stick up for me. She rolled over onto her stomach. A tear ran down my cheek (?4).

“Minus four,” Sir said as I thought it. “I don’t want to have to push you in.”

He wasn’t going to back down. My eyes darted around, landing on the life vest.

Sir scoffed before I could say a word. “That’d kinda defeat the purpose.”

I was going to have to get into the water. My teeth rattled, then my shoulders, then my arms, until every body part was shaking.

“You’ve gotta calm down or you’ll never make it. I’ve shown you how to doggy paddle. You know what to do. You’re letting fear control you now. Your imagination is telling you it’s gonna be worse than it actually is. You’ll see.”

I nodded, though I didn’t believe him. I took off my sneakers but left on my socks, then shuffled toward the small ladder he’d hung off the back of the boat. I stepped onto the highest rung, searching the lake for creatures with sharp teeth and scaly skin. Were there piranhas in Lake Minnich? I turned around on the ladder so I wouldn’t have to face the water. In two great strides, Sir was standing over me, not amused.

Paradox: any person, thing, or situation exhibiting an apparently contradictory nature. Last Monday’s word.

I lowered myself to the second rung. Chilly water soaked my socks and bare calves.

Sir clucked his tongue.

I stepped down another rung, sending my knees and the ends of my pink shorts into the water. I prayed to Mother’s god.

Sir’s nostrils flared.

I moved to the last step, flinching as my shorts went completely underwater. They were heavy now, pulling me down. Staring up at my father, I prayed he might change his mind, that this would be enough. I could get over my fear some other time. I was still dry from the waist up.

His face hardened. “Goddamn you.” He nudged my fingers with his shoe. Shocked, I let both hands go and fell into the water. I cried out at the burst of cold up to my neck. When I reached for the ladder, Sir threw it clattering to the boat’s floor.

He wasn’t going to let me back in.

My bladder let go, warming the icy water around me. I flailed my arms and kicked away from the boat, terrified he’d somehow know. I wasn’t sure how many points wetting your pants cost you but bet it’d be a lot.

He pulled the horrible stopwatch out of his pocket. Did he go anywhere without it? “You so much as touch this boat, the count starts over.” He pressed a button. The watch beeped.

I panted, trying to slow my pounding heart. The water wasn’t actually slimy. It was all in my head. I pointed my toes to see if I could touch bottom. I couldn’t. I imagined my ankles getting caught in weeds that would snag me, saw myself sinking, sinking, sinking to my forever home at the bottom of the lake, the strands of my hair trembling like kelp, my skin decomposing to flakes of fish food, the meat of me picked clean down to skull and teeth. Sir would scoop out what was left of me with a fishing net, the biggest prey he’d ever subdued. Or he might leave me there, rotting and fluttering in my bed of silt, too ashamed of my spinelessness to stake his claim.

Shaking, I paddled my arms and kicked my legs like Sir had shown me. He stared at me from a chair at the back of the boat.

“You think I enjoy spending my first vacation in ten years teaching my daughter the meaning of discipline?”

I’d learned what a rhetorical question was years ago.

I kicked and splashed and fought the water, eyes never leaving the boat. I pushed away thoughts of what was behind and below me, of how it would feel to have my skin peeled away strip by strip from my muscles.

“Lord knows you’re not gonna get by on talent or gifts. God skipped our ancestors when he was handing out presents, that’s for sure. If your grandfather had an idea, it would’ve died of loneliness. Not that your dear old dad is much better off. We can’t control the brains we were given, but what can we control?”

He waited long enough that I sensed he wanted an answer this time. “How hard we work,” I puffed.

“Speak up.”

“How hard we work,” I repeated, louder this time.

“What’s the only way you’re going to succeed?”

“Through my willingness to endure,” I recited.

Sir nodded, satisfied. “I don’t believe in destiny, but I do believe in potential. You got all the potential in the world for greatness, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.” He checked the stopwatch. “Ten minutes.”

After another few minutes, he looked bored. He stood and stretched his arms overhead. Perhaps he’d call the whole thing off and drive us home. I’d be willing to give up this entire vacation if it meant I could get out of the water.

“You’re doing great, sweets. Up to fifteen minutes. I’m gonna have Jack take over while I snooze.”