Comfort in a friend.

In 2006, I was told I needed to know how to swim. As a four-year-old, I was scared to death. The only interaction I had back then was when I had to bathe. 

I stood in my swimming gear, shaking like a Chihuahua, and stared into the depths of a fiery void, beating rhythmic chants for the naïve to leap into. I wrapped my towel tightly around myself, seeing it as a protective layer to prevent harm.

I wrapped my towel tighter. It was the only layer of protection I had, providing enough warmth to trick my body into thinking it was safe.

Suddenly, it’s tugged back, and the weakly gathered fabric I proudly called a knot unwinds, leaving me entirely bare. I snake my arms around my waist, shrieking backward.

‘It’s alright,’ the velvety voice whispers, and I roll my head back to glare at her.

What a nefarious thing to say to a child before sacrificing them. Liar, I thought, puffing my cheeks and shrugging my shoulders tightly against my neck.

She huffed a laugh and caressed my cheek gently, pushing her leg into my back as reassurance. Cold hands rested on my shoulders, and she motioned some force behind her leg as she pushed me closer to the hellhole. I whimpered, fighting against her strength. She stopped at the edge-how awfully generous of her, but without a second to waste, she eased me down and guided my foot along with her as she got it. The chill of the water grabs my ankle, yanking it deeper and nailing its teeth into my shin. Goosebumps ran across my body while I thought about ways to murder whoever thought this would be fun.

She guided my other leg in, and my heart spiked as my back straightened. I wanted to run away. 

‘All ready, Ivory,’ she called out, and I shook my head rapidly,

‘Nuh-uh!’

A young woman jumped in on the other side and swam until she was in front of me. Well, she has guts, I thought to myself.  

She smiled, opened her arms, and said, ‘Jump. I got you.’ 

She’s probably the devil of this hellhole. I shook my head again, and the woman, whose hand moved from my shoulder to back, rubbed it soothingly.

‘All we’re going to do is a little bit of basic movement and then straight to floating,’ she said kindly.

Oh my God, she’s Pennywise. I inhaled sharply as I cast my eyes around the room, searching for my mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. Another whimper slipped past my lips.

Ivory nudged herself onto the first step and wordlessly beckoned me to come to her. Very well, if this is my time, I’d rather sink deeper into oblivion in the safety of her arms than Death himself. 

Ivory winked at the woman next to me, who patiently held her hand between us. The world's weight veiled over me, the humming increasing and the cold weaving between beams of warmth. I fell forward without even trying to jump and molded myself around her. 

Her chuckle echoed angelically, and she walked around the outer layer of the pool to familiarize me with the territory. She ran over the basics effortlessly, her touch never leaving and keeping herself close, and not skipping a beat to tell me I was acing it like no other, though I’m aware it was a part of her job. Slowly and carefully, she firmly pillared her hands on my back and stretched me out like a star. I squeezed my eyes tightly. I felt airy—weightless.  Was it possible for any human to feel that? 

I didn’t notice when Ivory removed herself, putting both our trust that I wouldn’t be swallowed alive. Then it dawned on me, my fear drifting off with each breath stilling upon the ripples around my face, that I was safe. Instead of consuming me to tear me to shreds, the water held me as if I weighed nothing. It shrunk my problems like mere speckles and carried my emotions like they weren’t confounding embers scorching those I express them to. I realized that water was a friend. 

A couple of years later, my family and I went down to the coast for the holiday, and for a moment, I was glad to be going somewhere far from here, to be separated from betrayal, rage-filled pain, and anguish. But the serenity was overcome with longing—a wistful embrace for what comforts my soul. And though I spent much time wishing it was a loving touch of a person, it is the cursive letters the ocean sows as a means to console my restless mind. It is a yearning within the flow of waves that anchors my thoughts and soothes my worries, delicately showing that no problem is more significant than it and reassuring me that it won’t conquer me as I dread it would. We arrived at the guest house late afternoon, and I hastily appreciated the beauty of coastline homes. I spread the white double doors leading to the sandy terrain. It was like a circus inside my mind: screaming, cheering, banging on iron bars, and growling murmurs. And it appeared to have grown more restless—desperate to escape.

The beach bathed in solitude, welcoming the tender dissolve of waves as I followed the orange and red hues dancing along the clouds as the sun bid its farewell. The lanterns scattered down the cobblestone pathway illuminated flickering flames, and I settled cross-legged on the cool sand, far from any residence. Within an instant, the gates opened, and my thoughts scattered along the grounds, demanding to be heard and processed. 

To this day, the ocean amazes me. Something so big and so dangerous was able to keep the balance between going wild and staying calm. I pondered about the sea as the breeze tickled my cheeks. I was exhausted and angry. I couldn’t express myself because they didn’t understand or simply didn’t want to grasp the depth of what I felt wasn’t monstrous. So I began isolating myself and built walls so high and thick that they were impenetrable—I couldn’t even reach out to anyone outside them.

I took off my shirt and walked into the bitterly cold water, continuing until I was waist-deep. I closed my eyes and kneeled, leaning my weight back as I stretched out my arms like I did when I was four and how dearest Ivory taught me. With each rise and fall of the ocean’s breath, I felt the calming energy swirl around me and settle inside me. One by one, my thoughts disappeared along the waves, washing them away and retreating in silence. It kept going until there was nothing; silence was the only thing that made noise. 

There was no resistance - no complaints. I was held lovingly, and every now and then, a rippled fingertip would brush away my tears, hushing my soft cries because, for a moment, I could breathe again. The weight was lifted, and there were no expectations for me to be something specific. 

Tears welled as I whispered words and symbols of gratitude—anything to show my appreciation for a friend.