At Least Try to Float

Note: This story includes historical references to racism and segregation.

“They make up lies, you know.

Say our bones are too heavy, our muscles too thick.

Say we’re afraid of the water.

Anything to keep us out.

But we wanted to swim anyway,” Mama said.

Folks say we can’t swim. Auntie Em never believed that. She was always trying to get us in the water, but I never wanted to learn. Maybe that’s what Mama was trying to fix that night, pressing my hair straight while Dorothy ran through Oz.

I’d waited all week for them to air The Wiz, and Mama was talking right through it.

“Stop all that flinching,” she said, parting my hair with the rattail comb.

That comb felt sharp enough to make me scream, but before I could, Mama rubbed the pain away with Murray’s pomade. The butterscotch scent of it mixed with the smell of the hot comb heating on the stove. That burnt-sugar smell meant I was about to be made pretty.

All that work to get my hair straight, just for her to want to dunk me in some water. I sat stiff between her legs, praying she wouldn’t bump my ends. I was tired of looking like a little girl. I wanted it bone-straight and flowy like the women in Jet magazines.

“Why I gotta learn to swim? We don’t even live near any water.” Mama’s hands froze. I thought she might slap me for my tone.

“Because their lies are tryna make sure you drown,” Mama said. “At least try to float.”

Mama always had a funny way of talking. Every word was soaked in metaphor instead of saying it plain. As she took one of her famous deep breaths, I thought I’d never find out if Dorothy made it out of Oz.

“Let me tell you something, Emmy. It was July 1964. Back then, your Auntie Em used to boss me around. She’d use her big teeth to bite us if we didn’t listen. And all Cousin Joe and I could do was follow. So when Auntie Em said we were going to the pool after dark, on the other side of town…”

Mama paused. Her hands rested softly on my shoulders. Her palms were warm; I could feel her heartbeat through them. I breathed in slowly, hoping she’d catch onto my rhythm.

“You okay, Mama?” I asked.

“It was so hot,” she said, her voice low, “the kind of heat that makes your skin stick to your clothes. Where you don’t even wanna wear shoes, but the pavement’ll burn your feet. We needed that water. And we were dumb enough to think that the moon being out meant no one could stop us.”

I tried to picture her as she spoke, not as Mama but as a girl younger than me. Maybe she wore a pink bow in her hair, tied too tight, the kind that left a dent. Maybe Grandma wouldn’t let her wear it any other way. I tried to see her grinning anyway, a big smile on her face even when she didn’t have a reason to.

“We were lucky. Once your grandma started snoring, only God could wake her up. She’d kill us if she knew where we were going. We were by the train tracks just past midnight. When we got to the fence and saw that sign, WHITES ONLY, I told Auntie Em we should turn back. I didn’t care what she said about needing to learn to swim.”

I could see it in front of me. I felt it in my own chest. My heart sank for them. I knew that feeling, that squeeze in your throat when you’re told you don’t belong. I reached for the hem of my skirt, twisting it around my fingers.

As Mama talked, The Wiz was playing. Michael Jackson’s voice floated through the room:

People keep sayin’ things are gonna change, but they look just like they’re stayin’ the same.

“But Auntie Em just crossed her arms and said, ‘If they can cool off, why can’t we?’ She was good at acting like nobody could tell her what to do. It’s a miracle that attitude didn’t get her killed.” Mama gave a short, dry laugh, but her eyes didn’t leave the floor.

“I suppose if it had, it would’ve been my fault. Sisters are supposed to keep each other in check. But I couldn’t keep Auntie Em from doing anything. Neither could Cousin Joe. He was shaking like a leaf and whispered, ‘Remember what happened at the protest in St. Augustine? That hotel pool? The man poured acid straight into the water.’”

My palms went damp. I pressed them into the shag carpet to try to rub the thoughts away. The hissing of the acid touching the clear blue water made my stomach turn.

“Auntie Em and her big ears heard him,” Mama said, “and she just looked at us and said, ‘We’re swimmin’ for them too.’”

Her voice cracked just a little. Auntie Em’s words helped to settle my nausea. If it didn’t cost so much, I’d have called her right then to say thank you.

“So we climbed that fence, hearts beating like we were about to steal something. The pool looked like space under the moonlight.”

Mama tapped my forehead to see if I was still listening. I nodded, but the truth was, I was there with her now. The air felt thick, and the sting of chlorine burned my nose. I could almost see the rows of white deck chairs, the towels left out to dry, smell the salty popcorn and licorice, and hear the sizzle of hot dogs. All that laughter from people who never had to sneak in. All the things they had at the pool on that side of town, the things Mama’s side didn’t.

“It was almost black,” she said. “You could see the stars shining in it. Then Auntie Em jumped right into the middle. She jumped right into the moon’s reflection. I held my breath waiting for her to pop back up. And when she did, she was shaking her hair like a wet dog. If you heard her tell it, she’d say she looked like a mermaid.”

I smiled. There was something wild about Auntie Em, something I secretly wished I had too. I wondered how long I could hold my breath, if I’d ever get to feel that free.

“Did you go in?” I asked.

“It’s not like I had a choice. I went in slowly. Toes first. The water was cold. But once I got used to it... God, it felt good. Like something that was stolen from me before I even knew I wanted it. But at that moment, it was mine again.”

Goosebumps crept up my arms. I didn’t say anything, just listened. Mama’s laugh filled the house. It was real and full, like something she hadn’t let out in a long time. And before I knew it, I was laughing too.

“That night felt like the first time Auntie Em and I really laughed together,” Mama said. “We took turns holding each other up, trying to float. Cousin Joe was the only one halfway good at it. So of course, Auntie Em kept pushing him in. Then Joe climbed up that diving board, and right then,” her voice darkened, “we heard it. A car door slamming. I saw a flashlight sweeping across the fence.”

My hands gripped the carpet. Even though it was decades later, my chest burned like I was underwater with them.

“Me and Em went under,” Mama whispered. “Didn’t even think. Just grabbed each other and went as deep as we could. I could feel her nails digging into my arm. She looked so scared. I’d never seen Em make a face like that before.”

Mama never cried in front of me, but her voice trembled. I watched her mouth; she seemed to be whispering something to God.

“We stayed till our lungs felt like they’d burst. But we had to breathe. It was so quiet when we came out of the water. You couldn’t even hear the crickets anymore. The light was gone, but my first thought was of Joe. He wasn’t in the water with us. I was afraid to look up and see him missing from the diving board. Think of all that life that would’ve been stolen if they had taken him.”

I didn't want to think about it. If they had taken him, I wouldn’t get to play double-dutch with my cousin Tasha. I’d never hear her laugh at my ashy knees when I missed a step again. We’d never get our hair beads to click at the same time when we jumped. The sidewalk would go quiet. Our ropes hitting it, sounding like music, would be gone. I never knew how close we were to never being here at all.

The thought hit deep, made my eyes sting. I blinked fast, but the tears still made my face raw.

“Thank the Lord he was still there,” Mama said. “We got out after that. Didn’t even dry off. We just ran till we were back at the train tracks. My heart was still going wild. Then Em apologized. I didn’t even know that girl knew how to say sorry. Snot pouring out of her nose, fists balled, crying the whole way. Said, ‘We didn’t even learn to swim.’”

Mama chuckled softly. “I told her, ‘At least we learned how to float.’”

Mama wiped the tears from my eyes. “That night changed us, Emmy. We got bolder. Thought we’d never waste another chance to live. We all became activists in our own ways. Auntie Em said if she hadn’t felt that water, she wouldn’t have fought so hard to feel free again. And she wants that freedom for y’all too.”

Her words sank deep into me. On the TV, Dorothy and her friends were dancing.

Their voices sang together: Can’t you feel a brand new day?

While Mama went back to pressing my curls down, I watched the steam from the hot comb float up. I understood something Mama hadn’t even said out loud.

Every time we step into what they said wasn’t for us, every pool, every room, every dream, we make their lies smaller.

Mama learned to float, so I can learn to swim.