I Want to Swim in the Sea

I Want to Swim in the Sea

by Christine Lawrence

 

I want to swim in the sea, let the waves take me out of my depth, feel the fear of no ground beneath my feet, then let the water carry my weight like it used to when I was small.

I am old now and my legs are unsure of themselves. The possibility of having no ground beneath my feet is terrifying. The stiffness of my joints will stop me saving myself from being swept away.

But still, I want to swim in the sea. I want to walk from the shore, wearing rubber shoes so my feet don’t hurt on the pebbles. I will feel the chill of the water as it laps around my ankles, step over the seaweed that drapes the shoreline. Maybe I will shudder a bit, wondering what is lurking there amongst that weed, then swallow down my fear as I wade in deeper. I will not look back at the shore, at the fearful faces of those watching me, ready to leap in and rescue me. I don’t want to be rescued. I want to be free, in the sea and I will be, when the waves grow and suck me down, then push me up again. I will relax and allow the sea be my mistress, my power to be at one with everything, to be at one with the world under the ocean.

And there I will dance amongst the sea-grasses and laugh with the sea-horse. His name is George I think, although the bubbles that come from his mouth are indistinct and his name could be anything. He looks like a George though and answers to that name when I call to him. I watch as he drapes himself around the grasses and waits as his dinner passes. He merely opens his mouth and lets his lunch swim in.

I wonder how he can be nourished by such tiny creatures. Are they creatures? To my eye, they look like the dust from the ocean floor, but you can’t have dust under the sea, can you? Silt, we can call it silt. George tells me they are the beginnings of shrimps, too small to worry about, but I do. Surely they have feelings, too. I ask him if there is such a thing as a vegetarian or even vegan Sea-horse. He says, probably not. You just eat what passes you by, he says. A bit like a Sushi-bar, I say. What’s that? He asks. I tell him to never mind. It’s too complicated to worry about anyway.

Then I notice a brightly coloured swathe of light heading our way. It undulates as it moves, it’s beauty sliding amongst the weed. The sea grasses bow under it’s glow. It looks good enough to eat. I reach out, to grasp it. It wraps itself around my hands. Ties my fingers in knots. I can’t break free.

I try to unravel the light but it holds me even more tightly, sliding across my face. It’s then that I see. Not light at all but plastic and it’s suffocating me, holding me down.

George the sea horse shakes his head. ‘Now you understand,’ he says.

He calls up his friends and from nowhere appears an octopus and a herd of sea-horses. Somehow they tear at the plastic and I can breathe again.

*

Of course, this is not my reality as my lungs do not work under the sea, so I would have drowned anyway, but it makes a good story. And who knows, maybe there is hope in the sea, if only we can believe and treat it as the magical place it is.

Soon my feet are on shingled shore again. I look around me, see the worried eyes of those looking out to sea, wondering what a crazy woman like me is thinking of, swimming at my age.

 

Inspiration: I was watching people swimming in the sea off Southsea beach. I had heard about the sea not being as clean as it used to be and wondered what it must be like for the creatures living there. It made me sad to think of it, remembering my childhood and how I loved to swim.

 

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay 

 

Christine is the author of three psychological thrillers, two collections of short stories, and has had several stories, poems and articles published in collections such as Portsmouth Fairy Tales for Grown Ups, Day of the Dead and online at Portsmouth’s Star & Crescent. She leads creative writing workshops and enjoys performing her stories and talking about her work and her previous career as a psychiatric nurse.