[playht_player width="100%" height="90px" voice="Joanna"]

So here I was a long, long time ago, in a land called Worcester. I decided one day to try my hand at swimming. I did not know how to swim, but I figured, being from an island, I would fall into the water and naturally swim like a mermaid. In my defense, I was fourteen and into Harlequin Romance.

I walked into the magical kingdom that is known as the Y.M.C.A and followed the signs that led me to the magical pond known as the pool. I entered the ladies’ facilities and immediately changed out of my Bermuda shorts and neon shirt. I put my one-piece on and did a quick check in the mirror. My scrawny body, frizzy hair sticking out from my temple, my tad-too-big-for-my-face-nose, brown, almost black, unaligned eyes stared back at me.

Yup, it’s me! I thought, and with no shame in my game, I strolled out through the glass door towards the abnormally blue pool water. Immediately, the hot, muggy air hit my lungs and alarmed me a bit. So I took some breaths and thought of mermaids, mermaids swimming, and found myself easing into the claustrophobic environment.

As soon as I walked in, I spotted these navy blue flippers and got the brightest ideas! ‘I will put them on and truly be like a mermaid. All I have to do is keep my legs together,’ I thought. I hurriedly put on the flippers and jumped into the chlorine water.

Immediately, I felt like a mirror had fallen on top of me, causing seven years of bad luck. My mind worked on overdrive, deciphering what had gone awry with my master plan, and I panicked. In my mind, I thought of the actions leading up to this:

I was not graceful jumping into the water, and mermaids were elegant.

I slurped water through my nose like a Friendly’s milkshake, and mermaids don’t do that.

My island-born body was not taking to the water like a mermaid because I was not a fucking mermaid.

I quickly tried to save my life and salvage my ego and pride by leaving the pool, but my flippers would not budge from their horizontal position. I couldn’t push them down to the floor so that I could walk. My scrawny legs were too weak to push them against the buoyancy of the water. Instead, they stayed floating, much like the fucking mermaid I didn’t want to be anymore.

Since I couldn’t get my lower body down, my upper body was also in the same horizontal position with my face facing down on the water. Again, I did not know what to do with my arms to keep my head afloat. So I smacked the water repeatedly, trying to fight with it, to reason with it, so that it could give me back my human legs.

In the confusion of those few seconds, I spun in a circle and spotted the red shorts that were supposed to be of the one guy who could get me out of this situation. “Life Guard” was imprinted on his shirt, and I needed my life guarded against the water and the fucking flippers that very second.

But my seven years of bad luck started when I jumped in the water.

A blond slid the glass door open. On that torturous second, when her toes crossed the threshold, hot air from the inside and the cold air from the outside flushed her skin and pushed her hair in the most intimate ways. Her eyes were blue as opposed to my brown. Her body had curves and was not boyish like mine. Her hair was straight as opposed to my curly, frizzy mess. The lifeguard was enthralled; he was captivated and not paying attention to me.

My loud water slaps, akin to smacking someone’s ass, did not get his attention either. A minute went by, and it felt like an eternity. I spun one more time to face the wall, and then, I quickly decided to stop fighting the water and gave in to my initial delusion, becoming part of the water, just like everyone at school who found out an island girl could not swim told me I should. So, I stopped fighting with my flippers. Instead, I let them be. I pushed my face into the water, brought out my arms, and moved them like paddles to make my way through the water and bring my body closer to the wall.

One stroke, then another one, my flippers followed suit and moved with my upper body. I opened one eye and noticed that I was almost there!

After a few strokes, I reached the wall. I touched it with my fingertips. But I was so exhilarated to have found the wall I forgot my newfound swimming skills and let my fingers slip. So my face slapped the water one more time. I don’t struggle. Instead, I extended my arm.

I touched it before. I knew the wall was there. So I did one last good stroke, and finally, I was within complete reach and able to grasp it fully without slipping. The panic I was barely holding back disappeared; I had a grip on the fucking wall.

I pulled my face out, placed my palms on the ledge, and pushed my lean body out of the pool with all my might. My arms and whole body shook like leaves on a windy day. Rattling, I looked back at the ‘lifeguard’ with disdain and disbelief. I was not a good spitter then, just like I am not a good spitter now. I am the type of spitter with saliva trailing down their chin. Still, with all the anger I had inside, I balled up spit and chlorine and, without taking my eyes off him, spat in the pool. I threw the flippers angrily onto the wet floor and left. If the door were not pressure-resistant, I thought of slamming that too.

That day, I realized I wasn’t a mermaid, and that was perfectly fine. My body, once thought to be weak, showed its strength unexpectedly. I discovered I didn’t need a ‘lifeguard’ because the girl I saw in the mirror, with her distinctive eyes, frizzy hair, and unique nose, emerged drenched, trembling, and gasping for air—had just saved her own life.