It was a cloudy day, humid and overcast, perhaps not the best day to swim in the ocean. But, all summer, I had yearned to take the plunge. The water seemed to invite me. I looked up at the waves; not too high, yet big enough for body surfing.

I was a governess to the Watling family's children their beach home in Malibu. And while their swimming pool was refreshing, I still wanted a good swim in the ocean.

Now, swimming cap in my hand and longing in my heart, I waded carefully in, avoiding the rocks and broken shells. My hot skin welcomed the cold, choppy waves.

Swimming past the breakers to practice my breaststroke, I noticed swimming was more difficult, more labored.

The undercurrents were strong. I felt myself being pulled in a different direction, not counter to the shore. I started swimming back to shore but it seemed like an eternity. Still struggling to swim, I wasn't any closer; I was being pulled out to sea. And without anyone in sight, I couldn't call out for help. Then I spotted Mr. Watling on the sand near the beach house, reading a newspaper.

"Help! Help! Help!!!" I screamed hysterically, desperately thrashing about, wildly waving my arms. But my frantic attempts to get his attention were useless; he was too far away to hear my screams and too interested in his reading to see me.

Sharp as a bolt of lightning, a numbing wave of emptiness swept through my body, my heart pounded heavily in my chest. I could feel myself growing weaker and weaker, trying to battle the turbulent water, while screaming at the top of my lungs. My eyes stung from the saltwater, blurring my sight. My ears were plugged with sand. I couldn't hear. I coughed and gurgled, swallowing the salty water as it entered my mouth and nose. Thoughts flashed through my mind: "How long can I continue? Is this the end? I'm too young to die." My mother's words came to me: "Run from fear and all the faster Fear comes on. Turn, assert yourself the master, fear is gone." Then words from my father: "Always keep your head, use your noodle and never throw in the towel. "Words from myself: "I mustn't give up. I've got to stay calm."

Drifting farther and farther from shore, I felt myself being pulled downward by the heavy current, which seemed to claim me. My arms and body felt as heavy as lead.

Then, just when it seemed hopeless, I instinctively turned on my back and began wildly kicking and stroking. Adrenaline flowed through my veins as I invented the traumatic backstroke. Not knowing whether I was making any headway, I continued to kick and stroke until, surprisingly, I felt my back scrape hard against the rocky sand and broken shells.

Like a beached whale, with hardly enough energy to shudder a sigh of relief, I struggled to stand. An angry wave slapped my down and seemed to roar, "Let this be a lesson. Never go swimming in the ocean without a lifeguard nearby."

Although I had made it to shore, I could hardly stand. Uncontrollably shaking, I stumbled in the sand and floundered up to the beach house. When my employers, the Watlings, saw me stumbling toward them, they realized what had happened. Immediately, I was sent to bed and given a week off to recuperate.

While recuperating, I, a governess, was served meals in bed by the madam of the house. And the master, Mr. Watling, who had meant to keep an eye on me, felt guilty tat he hadn't. Through the following days, I was pampered and comforted. Besides the parents, my experience was a good lesson for the children. Pam and her three younger brothers, Hugh, Wright and Charles, promised they would never go swimming in the ocean alone.

Awake, I continued to feel the gripping dread turning over and over like a knife in the pit of my stomach, while I wildly thrashed around in the water. The words of my parents echoed again and again in my mind. Unable to eat for three days and unable to sleep at night, beads of sweat ran down my forehead. With wet palms and clenched jaws, I relived my nightmare over and over again. How I wanted to sleep, to fight the lingering fatigue. When I finally slept, the dreams reflected the reality. "To sleep or not to sleep?" I questioned.

Two weeks later, I stood on the shore staring at the ocean. Words danced in my head:

"Mother, may I go out to swim?"
"Yes, my darling daughter,
Hang your clothes on a hickory limb
But don't go near the water."

I stuck my toes in the ocean.

Copyright © 2003 Mary L. Ports