Help!

This morning when I dove into an oncoming ocean wave, I suddenly recalled my dream from the night before. I had dreamed of swimming in the Cape Fear River, a thing I would never do.

I used to row a single skull on that river and know all too well that alligators dwell in its tea-stained waters. I saw at least one gator every time I took my boat out for a row. I had a perverse fascination with them. They repulsed me and I feared them, and yet I found myself looking for them obsessively. I stared down many a floating log, waiting to see if it moved across the current instead of flowing with it, trying to spot the telltale protrusion of a gator’s eyelids. 

I also know that the current of the river could thwart and exhaust even a strong swimmer like myself. As a rower, I had stroked with it at great speed and rowed against it with great difficulty.

In the first part of the dream, the river shimmered in the sunlight.  Looking at it had given me that same electric feeling I experienced when I entered the ocean, triggering my memory of the nightmare.

I remember I had a passing concern about the possible presence of alligators, but I dismissed it. I figured they would be close to the banks, whereas I intended to continue swimming in the middle of the river. The sunshine and the glimmer of the water reassured me. Such beauty was antithetical to danger, I thought. Furthermore, I would be able to see if a gator approached. 

My left hand curled around an old-fashioned lifejacket, the bulky orange variety that my mother made my brother and me wear as children in the 50s. The canvas straps that secure the life-vest to the wearer’s body dangled beneath it like the tentacles of a jellyfish. More than once, they tickled my legs and set my heart to racing as I mistook them for some creature brushing up against me.

The sun set suddenly. The river grew opaque. I could barely make out the shapes of my friends on the shore down-river where I had begun my swim.  Panic consumed me as I contemplated being in total darkness before I could reach them. 

I fixed my eyes on my friends. Those three specks in the distance made me feel less alone and safer somehow, though part of me knew this to be a delusion. Getting to them, my goal, distracted me from the river’s impenetrable ink and thoughts of what it might camouflage. 

Suddenly, I began to sense that something had latched onto the lifejacket and was pulling me side-ways across the river. I prayed it was a big fish, like the enormous shad that someone had discovered in the Cape Fear years ago. 

“Please be a big fish,” I prayed. “Anything but a gator.”

I held myself very still and slowed my breathing, so as to not call attention to myself, hoping that “the thing” would remain fixated on the lifejacket. It crossed my mind to let go of it and allow “the thing” to carry it away, but I didn’t dare. I could easily drown without it and even though it was now attached to an unknown danger, without it I would feel naked and unprotected in the middle of that hostile river.

Part of me didn’t want to know what had grabbed hold of the life vest. Not knowing offered another illusion of safety. I didn’t want confirmation of my worst fear. So long as I didn’t see “the thing” I could hope it was a giant fish.

Soon enough, the alligator came into view. I could make out its bumpy hide a few inches below the water’s surface. My gut felt like it had plummeted to the bottom of the river. My heart climbed up into my throat. 

The gator was so close we were almost touching, but momentarily, I allowed myself to hope it would not see me, smell me, sense me.

Then, the gator’s powerful jaws clamped down on my right forearm. I tried to pull away, but its teeth sank deep into my flesh. I kicked its sides and belly repeatedly, but my blows were as ineffective as a feather.  Every movement I made caused excruciating pain in my arm. Indeed, the more I resisted the harder the gator clenched.

I tried to call out to my friends. “A gator’s got me! Help! Help me! Help!”

No matter how much I strained to scream, my voice achieved no volume. I could barely hear the meek sounds myself.

“What would they be able to do anyway?” I thought. They were much too far away. Nevertheless, I continued to yell for help emitting only pitiful, puny sounds. 

I knew it was a matter of time before the alligator would attempt to drown me. It would pull me under and start the death roll that would kill me. I had seen this play out on TV nature programs with alligators and crocodiles and their doomed prey.

I considered the options for saving myself. I could poke the gator in the eyes or punch it in the nostrils. Somewhere I had heard of someone saving their little dog this way. Would I have the strength in my left hand to inflict enough pain to cause it to let go of me?  I doubted it. In any case, I faced a greater dilemma. I would have to let go of the lifejacket, my one hope for remaining afloat if the gator decided to dive. 

What if he did let go of me? Would he swim away and leave me alone? I seriously doubted he would give up so easily. How long would it take him to recover before he attacked me again? Could I outswim him if he elected to pursue me and to try again to subdue me? No, I could not! I knew it. 

That left me a single alternative and I chose it. I woke up.