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Youthful Promises
By Denise Fleming
The water sparkles below me. Breezes blow through my hair. I am feeling young. The titillating promise of excitement, fun and more youthful feelings is only a ski-length away.
While on vacation with my husband and two sons, I wanted to rent a ski boat and make a day of it. I thought it was a grand idea. I was imagining myself actually being an active participant in this family experience instead of the same, tired old cheerleader Mom. Since hitting midlife, I sporadically become delusional. So it was I, who shamed my reluctant husband into renting the boat by calling him a middle-aged grouch with no sense of adventure and precious little time to still assert his male athletic prowess. That seemed to do it.
I was feeling unusually frisky and daring that morning as I tugged on the old swimsuit, not standing in front of a mirror, of course. I recalled the young girl of my early twenties. Ah, I was so cute, so tan, so skinny. I had once skied on a clear blue lake in Colorado. The sky so blue, the air so clean as I skimmed effortlessly along the surface of the water. I had the world at my feet. I was in control. I could do anything! The flood of exciting memories was quickly taking hold, smothering that one little nagging doubt. The doubt that whispered, "You only did this once?" But who cares for caution when the lure of the ski is calling? I was pumped! I was revved! I was ready! My husband could see the gleam in my eye, the determination to ski toward my youth. He knew there was nothing he could say to dissuade me. He only stood there slowly shaking his head.
The first minor detail to attend to is finding the right size life vest. After rummaging around the boat and trying on three or four, which were, of course, made for big strong men (who know how to ski), I finally found a cute little red vest that I thought looked pretty good on me, especially since it hid most of my body.
Next comes the part where I jump, however awkwardly, off the boat and into the water. This was my only moment of slight hesitation as I remembered the swarm of nasty-looking fish up by the dock. I had more pressing things to think about at the moment though. The boys were throwing skis at me. I began struggling to get those slender, very long skis on my feet, not an easy task when you're in the water with your cute little life vest having swollen up around your neck and continuously making you roll on your back. After accomplishing that unlady-like task, I was feeling pretty damn good about myself, feeling a little more empowered - a little more cocky, a little more back-to-the-middle of middle age.
Meanwhile, the guys are circling around me in the boat. Over the hum of the engine I think I hear words. "Row-row!" Row? Why do they want me to row? I begin to move my arms in some sort of circular motion when my son leans way over the boat and screams "Rope!" Oh yes! The rope! Grab the rope as it comes around. I knew that. All I need to do is to find the rope that is floating out there somewhere in all that water. I don't see it, but the guys are yelling and pointing so I guess it's out there. I keep searching, searching. Paddling this way, paddling that way, spinning in circles looking for the rope. "Right there, Mom! Right there!" "Right where - WHERE?" Finally the boys throw the rope out where I can see it. I'm wondering why they didn't just do that in the first place.
Rope in hand, skis in a semi-upward direction, I nod my head like a professional, signaling "Good to go!" I'm sure I can do this. I did it once before, didn't I? The engine revs up, the propeller begins spinning. My husband, behind the wheel, full of trepidation, pulls back on the throttle and takes the boat slowly forward, his head bowed, in what I think is prayer.
We start slowly. I feel the rushing of the water against my skin, surfacing the memories of yesteryear. Aaah, yes. I'm beginning to relax into this when the boat starts speeding up. I grip the rope a little tighter, remembering that I still need to get up out of the water. Suddenly we begin going very fast . . . faster . . . and now way too fast! I don't know what happened, but without warning, this sleek, shiny new ski boat has turned into a rip-roaring monster, twisting and turning, blazing through the water at breakneck speed. My mind is a complete blank. What am I supposed to do? There's no time to think. I just keep gripping the rope even as my arms are being ripped apart from the rest of my body! I do remember I'm supposed to keep my legs together - but, oh, the water. There's so much water! I don't remember this much water. Coming at me with the force of steel. I'm using every single muscle in these fifty-year-old legs, struggling to keep them together. Trying to maintain my balance, as well as a little dignity, I begin to come up - up - just a little more - and then . . . in a nano-second I feel it! Oh my God! My legs are actually coming apart - it's happening - it's - it's the splits!
The rope tears itself out of my clutches as if to say, "I've had enough of you," and leaves me to slam face down into what feels like a brick wall. Water immediately rushes up my nose and into my mouth. I think I may be drowning! Am I drowning? Is this it? Is this what will be in my obituary: "Drowned by splitting"? But then, I feel myself being buoyed up and rolled over on my back - Oh my dear, dear little red life vest!
Dazed and sputtering, I surface to find my family circling back towards me. They beg me to get back on the boat, which would have been the intelligent thing to do. But I couldn't let go of the dream just yet. After two more attempts, which were exact replicas of the first, I finally succumb to defeat. With resignation weighing heavy in my mind and heavier still in my body, I clumsily climb back on board, hitting my ankle on the propeller - the last humiliation. The monster's final way of saying, "Gotcha!"
While riding back to middle age, I look behind me, knowing I left my youth somewhere out there in the wide expanse of blue water. A tear forms and rolls down my sunburned (slightly wrinkled) cheek. My mind knows it is time to say good-bye. My heart, well, my heart is heavy and sad.
My boys are already scrambling to jump in and begin their amazing acrobatics. As I watch them I feel my sad and heavy heart begin its slow and healing journey. It will take time, but somehow this cushy seat makes it a little more tolerable. I feel my bones relaxing and my skin soaking up the sun. Maybe, just maybe, there are a few perks that come with my much-resisted promotion. I may not have to struggle so hard anymore. Perhaps the hard raw action of youth is giving way to a softer, gentler gesture of age. I am being carried along by the waves of time and with that thought I collapse into an exhausted and most welcomed sleep.
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