The Adventure

September 1, 2011
By Anonymous

The water was as clear as the fact that I was scared. Ahead of me there was miles and miles of still water, hiding slimy creatures that I’d rather not see. My eyes grew wide as a thousand spears of ice seemed to caress my legs. Whole body in water, we set off. This was the last day at the island, isolated from any means of bustling people or gasoline filled air.

Columns and columns of slippery leaves sprouted from the bottom. All grouped together like it was a separate world from ours. This was the first time in my life that I felt it was possible to live there. What a thought that was. We could sit at the bottom, among the sting rays and coral. No one would be afraid of them as we are now. No one would see tears, or have to do their hair. No thirst, no hunger, no poverty. Just people swimming with the fish, not a care in the world. I shook the silly thought away.

Stopping was the hardest part. Slam. Try again. Slam. Finally up on the rock, we catch our breath. The waves didn’t mind being thrust against it. The older man told us about a cave filled with warm water. It was hard to hear about since thick wetsuits covered our ears. It looked like a jacuzzi for the sea but, the bottom was not in sight. Some people jumped in, I didn’t.

Those few days played in my mind for many years. I had left behind my batteries and recharged through nature. The top of mountains, laughs with friends, breeze filled cabins. The worst part of indulging in such a rewarding experience is wanting it again. Once is never enough. Dreams follow close behind. Dreams of the mountains sleeping at the edges, pointing to the sea. Dreams of that sunrise. Hurry now, take pictures. I didn’t need them, I had my mind.

It only seemed important to me, this trip. I don’t know why. Maybe because of the isolation. Maybe because of the ocean. Maybe because of the feeling of friends there too. What I would give for another spoonful. Now I feel like that island. Enclosed, sitting, waiting. Waiting for the sea to touch my feet. Waiting for a shift in the Earth, for just a rock to fall, or a plant to sprout.

The author's comments:
This was my experience at Catalina Island. It is written in the style of Sandra Cisneros. It was is reflection on how the single trip changed my view on nature and on my self.

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