Early Memory

It was the midst of July; the weather was sticky and hot. I stood at 3ft tall, only age 7 with the biggest smile on my face. The wind ran through my short thin black hair. Splashing around in the water, innocently picking up shells with rigid edges. The waves rolled slowly up and down along the shore line. The ocean seemed like a whole different world that I wanted to be a part of. The vibrant coral and fish, the salty taste of the water, the warmth of the sand in between my tiny toes. The dismal large pool of water was calling me in, I could feel it in my bones, wrapping tight and potentially throughout my body. All it took was one step. I thought my body could fight off the thrashing, wicked winds of the ocean. Little did I know that I was going to be swept out into the luxury of death. My Aunt, my favorite Great Aunt Gayle came darting across the beach down by the shore. I always remembered exactly what she wore, a strapless floral bathing suit with her beach blonde Barbie hair doo. She was wearing bright pink lipstick with balancing blue eye shadow. I was swept up by the ocean defenseless but I kept soothe and serene. I didn’t want to move, I wanted the ocean to want me, to fix me with Voodoo or conjuring magic. I wanted to be free; my Aunt viciously grabbed my hand. I was out of breathe, my small lungs were full of water, and I was drowning in myself.
The rest of the day, I was exhausted dozing off and on. I still wanted to be in the ocean and feel the wave’s crash while knocking me down, even though it was something serious, almost drowning. I ignored the incident and the nest day satisfied my urge for the ocean. I still have the nickname fish-out-of-water to this day.