Catch the Wind: My Journey with Caroline

Refusing to let me quit, Caroline shouts across the water that I can do this, that I can’t give up now. My chin barely clears the surface anymore, and I can feel I don’t have much fight left in me. When I try to call for help, my voice cracks into a useless croak, while my heart slams against my ribs.

Caroline wrenches one of the wooden oars free and sends it skimming across the choppy water toward me. I close both hands around it, holding on for dear life, but the second I lean my weight on it, it slides straight under the surface. Caroline warns me it won’t hold me up, telling me instead to just grip it, stay still, and stop flailing.

That’s easier said than done with exhaustion already taking over, but I force my arms to go slack anyway. Somehow it works, and holding onto the solid oar keeps my head above water. I gently kick myself closer and closer to the skiff.

When I get close enough, Caroline tells me to grab the skiff instead. Her papa taught her that a swamped skiff never fully sinks, so you never, ever let go of the skiff.

My fingers lock around the boat’s edge, and I’m shivering too hard now to imagine letting go. It’s completely full of water, yet somehow it still floats. Panting toward the distant shore, I ask what happens now. Will anyone come out looking for us?

Caroline shakes her head and says nobody’s coming, so we’ll have to rescue ourselves. Teeth chattering, I repeat her words back and ask exactly how we’re supposed to do that.

Caroline’s blonde hair is plastered to her face. She uses one hand to scrape it away and says we’re not far from shore. If we hang on and kick, we’ll be in shallow water soon.

Bit by bit, though it feels like forever, we edge closer to shore. All at once, Caroline grins and announces that she can stand. A second later, my own feet touch bottom, too. The mud underfoot is soft and unsteady, but anything beats the open lake. Hot tears spill over, and I break down bawling.

Alarmed, Caroline asks what’s wrong. Through sobs, I admit I’ve always been terrified of water, and I was just so scared out there. Horrified, she asks why I didn’t say something before we ever climbed into the skiff. I explain that everything happened too fast, and that I didn’t want to come across as a whiner. She looks so puzzled by the word that it actually stops my crying.

I pull myself together and apologize to Caroline, since standing up in the skiff is what capsized us and cost us the British ship. She won’t hear it, insisting I couldn’t have known better and that she never should have brought me along without checking how comfortable I felt first. Both of us, I admit, probably could have made better choices today, the exact phrase Dad always uses when I’ve done something dumb. Caroline says she’s glad I was there anyway, since she’d stayed out on the water longer than she should have once the wind picked up. She doubts she could have hauled the skiff to shore by herself. She tells me that for someone afraid of water, I did pretty well.

Right then, cold rain starts streaming down my face. I blurt that an umbrella would be nice right about now. Caroline stares like I’ve lost my mind, since we’re already drenched. Then she bursts out laughing, and soon I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt.

Still giggling, we drag the skiff toward shore together, even though it’s heavy with all that water inside. But I know the two of us can manage it. Somehow, I’m not even shivering. Pushing past my fear to help save Caroline has warmed me straight through.

I just faced down one of my worst fears and came out the other side, and I even did it well. This whole adventure is coming home with me, proof I’m capable of more than I usually give myself credit for. I know worrying about Mom won’t stop, but now I also know I can say goodbye to her and make it through the long months ahead.