​

     On Virginia Beach, the seagulls swooped against the crashing waves into a slow and steady drop. The foamy water stretches itself to the tips of my ruby red toenails and then retreats back into the unknown. I look out onto the clear, smooth blue sky, not a cloud dotted on it. The crashing waves, rising to an unnatural height and smacks the sand hard, captured my attention away from the serine, still sky. My feet swallowed and let go by the reaching foam, my ankles cold with the soft wind wrapping around it, and my mind, debating a swim or rest. 

    I laid out my rainbow beach towel. Grains of sand found their way onto the edges, bothering my eyes. I pick out on some snacks and turn my head to my mother and sister approaching. They sat down, allowing more sand particles to invade my perfect rainbow beach towel. 

   “The water is harsh today, you shouldn’t go swimming” warned my mother 

    My sister went toward the water anyway; the harsh waves proceeded to crash into her and spit her out onto the sand. My mother and I had a malevolent laugh. 

    “She needs to learn someway” my mother commented 

    “She will”

    “I remember when you were like that— you scared us so many times when you were a baby”

    “I was fine, see I’m perfectly healthy right now”

    “The first time you went in the water, your father had to fish you out” 

    “Hm?”

     And then a spark of memory. A faint one, yet I grabbed it and focused hard. Every one of the five (or as some claim, six) senses I called into the picture. The memory soon became complete; I recalled my first time in the water before my mother realized my “hm?” and begun addressing my latter confusion. 

      My first time in the water must have dropped the hearts of both my parents; yet, I did not have the faintest knowledge of what was happening. I must have been as little as three or four. I wore the raggedy brown dress I wore in so many memories and pictures before. My parents held onto my tiny soft hands as we shuffled into the biting cold water. I squirmed away at first, but I slowly came to accept the water as it laid against my ankles, my knees, eventually to my thighs.

      My mother had gone back to our beach towel; surprisingly, her dislike for the water still persists today. My father held me in the water, warning me, as he does every time, of the dangers in letting the ocean swallow you. 

     “The sea has taken so many lives, you have to be careful” 

     I nodded my head in obedience but oh, I longed for my moment to experience the vast body of water flowing in a smooth wave until it reaches the point of uprise and crash. 

      However, this first time in the water, in the ocean no less, his lessons went unheeded. The waves crashed and sprayed salt onto my tongue. The taste on my tongue caused a series of faces I make when I taste something unpleasant. My hands drifted through the water, feeling it’s delicate surface. Passing through the waves, I held my hand on the waterline, my curiosity peaking about its transparency and how smooth it rested as my fingers dipped into its surface. I wanted to see under the sea; I wanted what my childhood curiosity drew me towards. I dipped down, but my father’s hands brought me back up to my posture, scolding me again about the dangers of the world beneath. The water crashed against us again, the foam reaching for a destination and retracting back to its shell. The coldness of the water now felt warm and sheltering; the slight breeze in the air only pushing me in further to the ocean. All of this under the bright Sun, the talking seagulls, and through the faint breeze in the atmosphere. 

       After a period of time spent staring out into the vast blue sea, my father’s grip loosened little by little. He enjoyed the sea too. I saw it in his eyes, the way they peaked up a little— a result of a kind smirk the sea drew on his face— and how he too wished to explore the world underneath. However, he was mystified but cautious; I was curious and careless. 

       I let my body take a step ahead of my father. The world around me remained still but my feet sunk deeper and deeper, fitting into shoes of sand molded for my feet only. The sea invited me, pulling me in and never allowing a wave to push me back. And so, I sunk. I let the water take me in. Before I could notice, the water reached my thighs, my chest, and engulfed both of my arms. The water mesmerized me. It drew me in and before I could tell, I was staring at a new atmosphere. My baby body dunked under the water.

      Underwater, I explored a different world. My body was suspended in salty seawater. My eyes opened, and I allowed my suspended state to take over. Surprisingly, I did not jump from the salt burning my eyes or the very fact that I would drown. My arms remained still; no flopping around to suggest I would be in any sort of danger. In the suspension of my body and awe of the sea, I remained. The water engulfed me with comfort like a throw blanket wrapped around you on a chilly fall day. 

      My parents saw a different image. My dad looks down to see a hand missing from his hand. My mom notices me walking deeper and deeper, maybe by choice or maybe by the sea’s unfelt tug on my feet. The sea reeling me in without me even recognizing it. 

      “The kid! The kid!” my mother’s standing up, shouting, pointing her finger, overall looking hysterical to the beach crowd. My father’s face conjures a panicked look meanwhile I remain serine in my dangerous state. 

      My dad catches a glimpse of my arm, a hand in which the water has not completely immersed in its pleasant waves. He nose-dives right into the water with no worries. He swam for decades before he had to pull off his first rescue mission. Swimming with all his might towards me, he finally catches me in that splendid suspended state. I remained motionless-- he must have thought I already drowned. 

      Then I felt a push upwards. My arms flopped and an ironic panic rushed through my small body as my dad saved me. My dad picked me up out of the deep water on his shoulders. My head and body broke through the water surface back into the atmosphere of oxygen, singing seagulls, and the whoosh of the waves. My dad must have looked like some movie lifeguard picking me up on his shoulders, carrying me out of the water with both his hands on my knees to keep me still. We walked slowly together, marching against the direction of which the waves wanted to carry us. 

       I shivered as the brisk evening chill hit my wet body. Where did the time go? I wondered if my little body had stayed in the deep blue long enough to not notice the passage of time. I wondered if my little body was that mesmerized by the ocean, but then I reflect that the ocean captures all first-timers with a special kind of curiosity. Whatever curiosity it brought me then, I had not had enough. From then on, the water always drew me closer to it. 

        My mother wrapped me up into a blanket warmer than the ocean and for her maternal comfort, I was grateful. The water rose and crashed and stretched out, trying to catch my feet and draw me back in, but gave up and retreated. After a few cycles of that, my family and I packed up to go home, away from the other world I just discovered. The water did not scare me then, but rather, it made me wonder what more is out there. However, at least for that day, I packed up to go home, but I will forever hold onto the memory of my first ocean experience.