I think the problem for me was that swimming in the ocean was too much fun. I had swum in pools before, but that always felt too artificial, too calm. I'd been apprehensive about going in the real, actual, ocean, scared by stories about tsunamis and shipwrecks and the warnings the lifeguards gave us about the dangerous riptide. Once I'd actually gotten used to the temperature, I noticed how gentle it all was. It wasn't scary like what I had imagined, but it wasn't flat or empty like the pools I had been to. It was animated and full of life, but caring and gentle. The freedom and joy this brought me was the greatest part of the trick the ocean pulled on me, and I enjoyed myself too much to realize where these gentle currents had brought me.
It was too late that I realized I was suddenly very far away from the shore. I hadn't noticed the waves getting any more fierce, but as I tried to push myself towards land I suddenly felt a great deal of resistance. I saw a figure in the distance of a person in red slowly moving across the water towards me. I started paddling more harshly, common sense escaping me as it gave way to panic and exhaustion. I found that the more I attempted to pull myself up and towards the shore, the more I was pulled down and away into the ocean. I was now up to my eyes in water, my labored shallow breaths breathing out bubbles into the water, and breathing in full breaths of salt water. My thoughts became more and more clouded as more and more time passed since my last breath of fresh air, and I found myself pulled under. I felt the seawater seep into my being, my skin being brined and streams of water running into my mouth, eyes, and nose, through my body, and out my other ends; As it flowed, it washed away parts of myself and left nothing but saline in its place.
I awoke in the bed of an emergency room, the bright lights a stark contrast to the water-filtered light beneath the surface of the ocean. I felt the gazes of those around me as they waited in silence for me to become lucid. What happened was that the calm area of the water was slowly drifting to the dangerous area. I simply hadn't noticed this drift, and had been swept out to sea without realizing, before the lifeguard had caught up to me and brought me back to shore. By the time they got to me, I had already passed out. That night, I was exhausted from all the energy I spent panicking, and I passed out almost right away.
I awoke, and it felt like I had just come out of the ocean. My skin felt briny and scaly, my throat felt salty, and I felt wet. My bedsheets were so soaked with what I assumed was my own salty sweat that it felt like I was still in the gentle movement of the ocean before it had ensnared me. I checked my alarm clock as I sat up. It was already noon and I was just getting up. I walked out into the living room and saw my mother sitting there.
"How are you feeling today?" she said.
"I still feel like I just got pulled out of the water." I said. "Actually, I feel even more like that today than I did yesterday."
"Well, you were pretty out of it yesterday," my mother replied, "It makes sense that it'd be rough for you now that you're finally processing what happened. We could go home early if the sea is reminding you too much of yesterday."
I should probably mention where we were. My family doesn't live by the ocean, but we do live a couple hours train ride away from a beach town. When I have off from school and my parents have off from work, we reserve an AirBnB in the area and ride over here for the break. In this case, it was summer break. My mom has off the entire summer by virtue of being a teacher, and my dad gets to work remotely so he can just do his work over video call from his room in the house we're renting.
So we were planning to stay here for the next week, and then head home. I ended up telling my mom no, that I wanted to stay here. I liked the smell of the salty air. I also secretly hoped I would be able to go back to the water again to replace my unpleasant memories of the ocean with something I'd remember more fondly.
Still, there was a lot more to do in this town than swimming. There was a diner that was still serving brunch food even in the afternoon, and being able to get pancakes there at 1:30pm let me imagine it was still mid-morning and I had gotten up at my usual 8:30-8:45 am. It let me imagine that I had a normal day swimming at the beach yesterday, and that I had gone to bed around 11:30 like I usually like to do. Then, there was a small local museum about the history and founding of the town, so we spent some time looking around that. I think that day genuinely made me feel that things were not only alright, but that they were normal. I think after brunch I went the whole rest of the day without thinking about my experiences in the water. We got dinner from a pub in town, and I went to bed at 11pm excited about what we'd be doing tomorrow.
I woke up far earlier than I would have liked, a little after 5am. Like the previous morning, I woke up feeling salty, wet, and scaly. My bed felt rough, like the feeling of accidentally getting a bunch of gravel in your shoe but throughout the entire bed, across my back and legs. I pulled myself up and looked behind me at the bedding. It appeared to be covered in a heavy sprinkling of coarse salt. Was this some kind of prank? I can't imagine, given the level of concern my parents showed about my mental state after the accident, that they would pull something like this. I stepped out of bed, and as I pushed myself forward to start walking to the living room, I slipped. Thankfully, I fell backwards, and my brined bed was still there to catch me. I looked down at the floor in front of me and saw that there was a trail of water leading out of my room towards the door. Carefully, I waded through it, holding my balance on various objects around my room.
I asked my mother when I finally made it to the living room, "Do you know what the mess in my room is about?"
"The what?" she replied. I didn't want to suspect her of lying to me or playing dumb here, but I didn't know what else this could be.
"The salt in my bed and the water on my floor. Where did it come from?"
She sighed as she got up. "I'll look into it. You should focus on something else right now. We're doing the boat ride today, remember?"
The boat ride was something I'd been looking forward to since the start of our vacation, but that I was even more excited for now. It was the closest anyone would let me get to the sea since the accident, and it was my chance to prove I could handle being around the water. It was a small personal motorboat, with just enough room for the boat owner and a few passengers, in this case, me and my parents. We were told to put on inflatable life vests, which I did, and we sat inside, feeling the moving air of the lake as we rode upon the waves. The sea was so close I could touch it. I found myself drawn to it, pulled in.
I felt the boat hit a particularly rough wave, and saw it as an opportunity. To the boat owner, and my parents, it would look like I had just fallen out of the boat when we hit the bump and landed back in the water. Only I would know the truth: I was leaping into the water, embracing the sea again, but this time with the protection of my life vest.
I was only in the water for a couple seconds before the boat stopped and the boat owner pulled me out. He looked like he'd experienced this kind of thing before, with how quick his reaction was. I wasn't happy about being pulled out, but he was very quick to blame himself and claim this was an accident, which comforted me. One of these days, before we went home, I would find my way back to the sea for real, and prove I could handle it.
They brought the boat back to shore, and we got a refund for the boat ride. We spent the rest of the day walking around town. My parents had clearly planned to spend more time on the boat ride, but wanted to cut it short after my little stunt. We had takeout for dinner tonight, and then I went to sleep.
I woke up with my back feeling rough again. I got up, and looked around, like before, and found myself surrounded by sand. I had gone to sleep naked, but now I was covered by a beach towel. I looked around, and realized I was on the beach. My mother was sitting in front of me, sobbing. "Why are you doing this?" she said, choking down her tears. "Why do you keep going back to the water?"
"What are you talking about?" I replied, still foggy from just waking up, "I just woke up here."
"I checked on your room last night, to see if I could find what made the mess. I saw you get out of your bed, walk outside naked, and climb into the water."
"I don't have time for this." I said, defiantly. "I can go in the water whenever I want. I can handle it."
And I did. I walked away, towards the shoreline, and waded into the waves, walking further until my feet no longer touched the bottom. I pushed myself through the waves, and pushed forward, until looking back no longer let me see the shore I had come from. At that point, I had gotten far enough in, and there was only one way left to go: down. I plunged my head under the water and disappeared.