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I remember taking swimming lessons when I was a kid.?I remember the smell of chlorine?as I was led to the pool?through the corridors of the?local YMCA,?where a faceless adult?with strong arms?placed me into the pool?as I screamed and kicked?and watched my mother disappear?behind a circular window on a ship-themed door.
I remember learning how to swim at home.?I remember running to the pool?whenever I had the chance?after school?and throwing dive sticks into?the deep end?and making myself collect them all?before I allowed myself?back to the surface to breathe,?even if that meant swallowing the fire in my lungs.
I remember the nights that I would sneak out to swim.?I remember tiptoeing out the door?with my towel,?and slipping silently beneath?the dark water?where I would close my eyes?and hold my breath?until my adrenaline would slow?and my pulse would calm?and I would see stars?right before I saw myself blue beneath the water.
I remember always being around water, and being taught how to swim.
I’m a damn good swimmer,?but no one ever taught me?how to keep from drowning?when I’m not in?the water.

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