I used to swim

I used to swim. There was a YMCA near our home, and every Sunday afternoon I would go there with my family for a community swim event.

I didn’t know how to swim.

I stayed in the warm, shallow areas of the kiddie pool, watching the others play around in the deeper end. One day, while waiting for my parents to come out of the changing rooms, a lifeguard walked up to me and asked if I wanted to do a swim test. (Once I passed that, I thought, I could swim in the deep end too!) So I readily agreed, and the lifeguard led me to a far corner of the pool.

I didn’t know how to swim.

I waded out, step by step, until the floor dipped down and the water rose up to my chin. This is bad, I thought. The finish line was just a few more steps away. I decided to keep on wading through the water. Soon, my whole face was under the water. I couldn’t breathe.

I didn't know how to swim.

A few moments later, I felt a hand grab my arm, and I was lifted out of the water, gasping and flailing, thinking, I'd almost drowned.

I learned how to swim a few weeks after that.

...So it's okay! This memory stays hidden in my head and resurfaces (no pun intended) occasionally at 3 a.m. I'd lie silently in bed, stare at the ceiling, and think back to that embarrassing day.

A pandemic and nearly three years of social distancing later, I wonder if I still remember how to swim. I'd better stay in the kiddie pool for now.