Essay: A dark descent

The sun had just set and our excitement was growing. We were finally going to check out the new powerboat. It was early April and Long Island Sound was still frigid. A creaky wooden dock extended from the stone parking lot to our new vessel of speed. We walked down the dock in a single file line with Captain Dad leading his crew to his ship. I was about five years old, the youngest of three girls. It was exhilarating, being on the dock without life jackets. We had one major boating rule during summers: we couldn’t step foot on the dock without a safety vest on. But this was a special visit to the docks and we were only stopping by, not even taking the boat off the dock.

The five of us climbed aboard. Dad started the boat and it came to life with a roar. The gasoline fumes smelled like summer and I imagined myself sunbathing on the stark white deck. But it was still cold enough to see our breath—those bright warm days were a long way off. We took our time exploring, walking from the pointed bow to the squared-off stern. It was just a small, used boat with a tiny cabin that could comfortably sleep one person. I didn’t know much about boats but Dad said it was better than the one we had before. And when you’re five, everything your dad says is fact.

There was a definite winter chill in the air so it soon was time to disembark. Mom and Kerry were almost back to the car but Lindsey had just begun walking up the dock when I went to step from the boat to the dock. I was talking and laughing with Dad yet I missed something he said over the sound of the engine. He was telling me to hold on, to wait until the dock was closer. I slipped right into the cold dark water and felt every inch of my skin sting. I didn’t really know how to swim but that wasn’t where the danger lay. The natural currents were pulling the boat back towards the dock and I was going to be crushed between. It was a feeling of acute panic that I had never experienced and I was crying for help. Kerry was screaming louder, terrified for her little sister. The sound was carried across the water in an echoey way that you can only experience on the shoreline. It seemed I would either be pinned against the dock or slip under the boat. My oldest sister Lindsey ran back down the dock with Mom close behind and reached into the water for me. She clutched the hood of my jacket and pulled me up to my dad’s arms. My mom carried me to the car and wrapped me in her long, brown coat. She held me tight as I shivered deeply.

Sometimes I look out at the black ocean on winter nights and think about that accidental plunge. Water so cold that it burns and fear so strong that it teaches you to be brave.