It’s a game we play every year:
who can get hypothermia first?
Because let me tell you,
ocean water in Maine—
it’s pretty damn cold.
But this time I go alone.
All of my crazy friends
have taken their crazy lives
and left me alone, treading water
in a depressing sea of sanity.
Now it’s a competition with myself,
I guess.  At least I know I’ll win.
You can’t wade in, because that
would give you a chance to back out.
I run, always run, gasping
as the water hits my toes
ankles, knees  oh god!  my waist
and stop there, because
it’s so cold I can’t breathe.
I count to three and I’m in,
and my heart flutters and
my blood throbs and
my bones melt into waves of salt.
I stay in until it doesn’t feel cold,
until I start to feel warm
wrapped in the water.
I walk back onto the sand,
feeling like the Little Mermaid,
trying to find my land legs.
Sea water beats through my veins.
The cute boy over there grins
as I walk by, wiping water from my eyes.
A stab of terror hits me.
Shit!  I must have seaweed in my hair again!
I try not to blush as I keep on walking,
beating a retreat to my designated spot.
I sit in the sand, running
fingers through my hair to
find the offending algae.
The transition of my body from ocean to land
is tingly, tickly, almost painful.
I don’t find any seaweed.
Realization dawns on me,
and I start to smile,
knowing I won’t stop until
well into tomorrow.
I am beautiful and I am brave.
I win.