“Extend your arms like an airplane wing and point your belly button to the stars. That’s it. Chin up. And breathe. Imagine yourself floating down a river, being carried like a feather on the water. Softly, effortlessly.”
With my eyes on the constellations and the sea lapping around us, it was easy to give in to the sensation. I was suspended between the sea and the sky. Peaceful, serene, secure.
Moments ticked by before Alex spoke again. “Are we floating yet?”
“It’s nice.” A smile broke through my voice.
“Learn the feeling. Tomorrow, we do it in the water.” He got up and held out his hand.
“You really think I’ll be able to do it?” I asked, as he pulled me up.
“Easy as pie.”
“I suck at pie.”
“Well, I excel at pie,” he said. “At least you’re learning from the best.”
Later that night, when we were both in our bunk beds, I found myself talking to him in the dark.
“Alex?”
“I’m listening…”
“How many lessons before you learned to swim?”
“Lessons?” His laugh was loud and throaty. “I was thrown into the sea, clinging to my Pappou’s neck.”
“Your Pappou?”
“My grandfather.”
“And you kept going? You kept getting into the water with him?”
“It was either that or suffer a few hard whacks of the pandofla—his hard, leathery slipper.”
I giggled at the thought of it landing on little Alex’s butt, which immediately took me to grown-up Alex’s very round, very firm butt. Yeehaw.
“You laugh? Where is your sense of outrage?”
“Please.” I cuddled deeper into the covers. “My mother used to come after me with a wooden spoon.”
“Because you wouldn’t go swimming?”
“Because all my American friends got an allowance, so I demanded one too. I got it then for the first time, and it came out whenever I rolled my eyes or muttered something under my breath.”
“Hm.”
“Hm, what?”
“I have a lot of wooden spoons. I’ll have you swimming in no time.”
I kicked the bottom of his bed. “You wouldn’t dare abuse your sous-chef. I’ll report you to the CIA.”
Alex laughed, and in that moment, I felt buoyant—like a bubble was growing inside me. Maybe if I just allowed myself to be, I’d get carried to the top, and there, like a champagne bubble, I’d break through the surface with a bright pop.
“This wasn’t a fair exchange.” I used my wrist to nudge my hair out of my face. One hand held a knife, the other an onion.
Alex placed a basket of green-topped carrots before me, adding to the chaos on the counter. “You’re looking a little red in the face. Having trouble keeping up? We have a special meditation chamber if you need to cool off.”
