Against the Tide

Scott dove and swam and dove and swam, bellowing, “Charlie! Charlie!” in the glaring air and bubbling out “Charlie! Charlie!” underwater, where the name took shape as a watery roundness, more visible than audible.

The ocean roared in his Scott’s head and drowned out his shouting. His lungs seized up momentarily. He held his head above the surface while he scanned the rippling crests.

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A bird flew overhead and its shadow moved as a fast, fluid semi-darkness between Scott and the horizon. Not fully aware that he was chasing the insubstantial silhouette of overhead flight, not fully aware of anything but Charlie and the ocean, Scott raced with drastic speed toward a barely perceived phantom. The hint of his friend’s strong, black shirt-covered arms whirling in the distance vanished before Scott was conscious of not really seeing them.

After a while, he rested again, to tread and breathe. His head swiveled and his eyes burned to light upon Charlie, near or far. Instead, he saw Emma swimming out, farther than she should. Her feet splashed and her pale arms rotated almost invisibly in the boundless blue world where she did not belong and could not survive.

Emma, Scott could save, just as he could still save himself. With the extraordinary strength only emergencies provide, he propelled himself beside her—it seemed in no time. Out of breath, they stared at each other, struggling to hold their heads above the implacable tide. “Go back!” Scott demanded, afraid to reach out to her, afraid she might slip past his reach.

“Only if you do.”

Scott followed her, still shouting Charlie’s name, still diving under, shouting and searching, until Emma stopped, waiting for him as the waves splashed against her face. She didn’t say anything, but as the ocean rolled in, already crashing toward the shore, he saw: She wouldn’t make it back if he kept up.

He said, “Emma, honey, do you need help?”

She shook her head and swam resolutely toward the shore, arm over arm. Even in his distress and disbelief, Scott regretted asking if she wanted him to help her. But he was not himself. Charlie had an expression; he would say, “Oh shit. Now I’m beside myself.” Scott was beside himself.

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