“Man isn’t meant to swim or float,” Harold thought. But, here he was on the hottest day of the
summer in his black Sunday jacket and vest with hundreds of other yahoos on the
dinner cruise his wife, Doris, had won.
He shifted his feet as he waiting for the boy behind the
camera to take their photo, along with the Simpsons, the neighbors Doris had
invited along. His shoes were already rubbing
his heels raw and they still had to tour the monstrosity called, Freshwater
Shores.
“Why the long face, pal?”
Harold groaned. It was that weasel, Simon, the one who had
talked Doris into buying the raffle tickets in the first place. Harold cared for Simon as much as he cared
for sailing. The man carried a purse, for crying out loud.
Simon slid into the picture just before the snap, causing
Harold to furrow his brow. The picture
taken, Harold walked to the rail. They
were a good mile from shore. The thought
turned his belly.
“Come on, Harold,” Doris sang. “It’s time for the tour.”
Harold stared at the
cave that passed for a door into the belly of the beast. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you at dinner.”
“Are you sure?” Doris asked.
He shook his head. “Yeah
I’m sure, go on.”
Standing on the vacant deck, Harold took a deep breath,
trying to settle the nausea that threatened to turn violent. It was no use. Harold leaned over the rail,
certain the contents of his stomach were coming up.
His eyes widened as the rail groaned, then popped. The latch
on gate he was leaning on gave way and swung open, causing Harold to tumble
forward.
He grabbed for the rail, the gate, anything to keep him from
hitting the water. But his hands caught
nothing. Landing face first in the lake,
Harold tried to remain calm. He found
the surface and gasped for air, arms flailing over his head. The boat barreled ahead of him. He screamed, only to have his mouth engulfed
with water. He coughed as he went under
again, lungs filling with liquid as his heavy jacket pulled him down.
Panic encompassed him as he tried to remember where the
surface was, but only one sentence tore through his mind, “Man isn’t meant to
swim or float.”
