Goldie got close to the water. There was no dock. And the lawn sort of just dissolved into the water. There was also not a beach to speak of.
Truth be told, it was a mess.
She decided to leave her shoes on. She remembered, back in the eighties, they had to wear swimming shoes on some of the beaches. Thanks to a hard-shelled invasive creature, what were they? Oh yeah, Zebra Mussels. The little suckers were everywhere and could cut the soles of your feet. They also served to filter water, which wound up cleaning the lake, but for a while, you had to be careful not to get shredded.
It didn’t look like they were here anymore, but still, she spent three hundred dollars on her last pedi and had three more pairs of athletic shoes in her bags.
Better safe than sorry.
Goldie waded in; the cool water sluiced over her ankles. She got bolder and took a few more steps in. Before she knew it, she was upto her knees. Though, at her height, it wasn’t that difficult to be up to her knees.
“Ew,” Goldie realized too late that the bottom here wasn’t sandy. It wasn’t sand so much as muck.
Goldie took another step, and a slimy tendril of seaweed wrapped around her legs. She hated the sensation and lurched forward in an attempt to get it off her. What she managed to do instead was get further entangled. She tried to lift her foot and discovered that the muck had suctioned her shoes. The water was up to her thighs now.
“Great, after all this time, I’m going to die in quicksand.”
Goldie got one foot free, but the other stuck, and she lost her balance.
All of a sudden, things were a tad more serious. She was chest deep, one foot trapped, and seaweed constricting her ability to do anything about it.
She swallowed a mouthful of lake water, and part of her brain did appreciate that it wasn’t salty. The rest of her brain had determined that she was about to die and ramped her nervous system up accordingly.
Goldie flailed around, making the situation worse, and wondered if she’d get good media coverage when they found her body.
She wasn’t so much being pulled under, as one would be in an ocean undertow, but rather sinking down, like the lake bottom decided she was a spaghetti noodle.
Goldie flailed her arms and swallowed more lake water.
Then a strong arm lifted her up, so she could stand again.
“What, ugh, who?”
She looked up to find a fully clothed man standing in front of her, trying to get her to calm down.
“Miss, miss, you’re okay.”
Ooh, he called her miss. Focus Goldie, focus.
“I got you.”
“You donotgot me. I’m drowning here. My feet, I can’t get my feet out of the muck!”
“Miss, just hang on. The water isn’t deep here, you?—”
“Not deep? I’m barely five-two! It doesn’t have to be!” Goldie barked.
“Miss, be still. You need to be still.” He reached out and put his hands on Goldie’s shoulders.
“Don’t!” She was about to yell that he shouldn’t touch her.
“I am going to hold on to you until you’re calm.”
Goldie was not calm. She was panicked, no question.
Goldie wanted to yell at this stranger who was ignoring her orders but was panicked, not stupid. She was stuck. And he was the only option at the moment. Even though she wasn’t a fan of being told what to do.
She stopped trying to escape the muck. It wasn’t getting her anywhere. That much was true. She took a breath and then coughed.
