life with more cowbell

This is a story about youthful memories, set in 1980.

Her slender, tanned arm rises from the water, her hand turned in a thumb’s up position.

            Uncle Jack pushes the throttle forward and we’re off. I’m at the back of the boat, posted as look-out, my dad sitting opposite my uncle in front. As the sixteen-foot, turquoise outboard gains momentum, Terri emerges from the bay, proud and tall on the skis, like Venus atop her shell, her long moistened auburn hair flowing behind her, soft and lustrous in the breeze. The water is only slightly choppy that afternoon, so her ride is only a little bumpy as she glides along behind us, the Styrofoam ski belt glowing white in contrast to her glamourous red bikini and sun-browned skin.

            The boat makes a big oval and turns back toward the island, situated between Erieau Bay and Lake Erie, where our families have set up for an afternoon picnic. Arms and legs bent and strong, Terri moves over the water, passing with ease to either side of the rooster tail wake that churns behind the boat. As we near the beach, Uncle Jack slows the boat down and Terri angles herself toward the shore, preparing to disengage. She lets go of the rope, does a graceful glide, then sinks knee deep in the water.

      “Woo hoo! C’mon, Katie!” She waves to me. “Your turn!”

            “Let’s go, honey. Your mother and aunt will be wanting us in for lunch soon,” Dad instructs.

            Uncle Jack gives me a wink and takes a swig of his beer. “You’ll do it this time, Katie.”

            I had looked forward, with terror, to this moment all weekend. The only time I ever got to go water-skiing was once a year, when we visited Dad’s sister’s family. As a result, I wasn’t all that good at it but I was determined to follow family tradition, like my Dad and brother Colm before me. That weekend, Colm was up north at his girlfriend’s parents’ cottage, leaving Terri and Jack as my cheering section.

            Jumping into the cool water gives my body a momentary chill after being so long in the hot sun of a clear sky. Terri meets me, pushing the skis along the surface of the water in front of her. I hold onto them while she removes the ski belt from her trim waist.

            “You’ll do fine,” she says, smiling. “Just remember to keep your knees and elbows bent a little bit.” She hands me the belt.

            I smile weakly back, knowing that she knows how nervous I am and how much I have to prove. Briefly, I watch her head toward the boat and then set about getting the gear on, first the belt, then the skis. My feet are smaller than hers, so I have to reset the boots to the smallest size, hoping they’ll fit okay. I move into slightly deeper water, grab the rope, squat and raise the tips of the skis.

            “Don’t force yourself up, let the boat pull you up!” Dad shouts from his seat at the front, the same instruction he always yelled.

            I can see Terri, sitting in the back seat where I’d just been, her long toned legs stretched out to the seat across from her. She waves and smiles as the boat pulls slowly away from me, reducing the slack on the rope.

      Uncle Jack turns and hollers, “Ready?”

      “Ready!” I shout back.

           The boat pushes forward and I feel myself gradually rise out of the water. My face set with determination, I tighten my hold on the wooden grip bar, squinting against the afternoon sunlight. Elbows bent, knees bent. Don’t force yourself up. A few more inches and I’m fully upright. I’ve done it! I’m bumping along the surface of the bay, wind whipping through my short, sun-bleached brown hair and over my wet skin.

      Then, it’s all over.

            My right ski goes flying off my foot and down I go, face first, into the water. The rest of my body hits with a smack, the impact causing the left ski to fly off. Momentarily stunned, I surface with a cough and shake my brain back into place, wiping the cool dark grey water from my eyes. Uncle Jack has already turned the boat around to collect me, so I paddle about to retrieve the skis. I find the left quickly but can’t see the right. As the boat slows toward me, I see Terri point to the water then bend to pick up the missing ski.

            “You think you want to give it another try, honey?” Dad sounds as dubious as I feel.

      “Sure she does! C’mon, Katie, you can do it,” Terri grins at me.

      “I have to pee,” I whisper to her from the water.

      “So go,” she shrugs.

      “Terri!”

      “Wait a minute, Dad, she’s gonna go again.”

            “Let’s see those skis, Terr-Bear,” Uncle Jack reaches out for the skis to inspect the boot sizing.

            As I tread water, I feel a warm sensation between my thighs and I fervently hope no one can see the grimace on my face as I paddle a few feet from the spot.

            “Here ya go, Katie,” Uncle Jack pushes the skis, one after the other, across the surface of the water to me. “We’ve got you all set up now.”

      “Y’okay?” Terri snort-laughs, crossing her legs in mock anguish.

      “Shut up!” But I laugh in spite of myself.

      “What’s going on?” Dad butts in.

            “Nothing!” I blurt, struggling in the deeper water to get the skis back onto my tiny feet.

      “She was just warming up the water,” Uncle Jack chuckles.

            My face flushes bright red. Let’s just get this over with. I get into position and holler, “Ready!”

            Knees bent. Elbows bent. Boat pulling me up. This time, I make sure that my feet aren’t too far apart. I’m up. I’m up! Terri waves and whoops at the back of the boat. The wind whips over me, the sheer joy of speeding over the surface of the water rushing through me. I’m right at the centre of the rooster tail and I know that leaning my body slightly will steer me to the left or right of the tail, not an advisable move for a beginner. My father’s instruction from my first attempt a few years ago rings in my head: “Stay in the middle, it’ll be easier for you to stay up.”

            Feeling happy and confident, I decide to make a move. I carefully lean to the right and began to glide over the edge of the tail. Bump is more like it. I land on the other side of the wake with a splashy thud, wobbling a little but remaining upright. Leaning to the left, arms and legs straining to keep steady and tall in the skis, I cross through the centre and over to the opposite side of the tail.

      Splat!!

            I’m down again, the muscle tension and the choppiness of the water too much for me to sustain my balance. Now, I’m tired and embarrassed, my skin stinging from the impact of the water. I’ve had enough. I swim to get the one ski that had flown off from my collision with the bay, the other dangling from my right toes. I’d made it about half way through our chosen course in two tries.

            Getting back into the boat, head pounding and body shivering, I take off the belt and drop it to the floor. Deck.

            “Good try, honey,” Dad says, glancing at me as he pulls the rope in, dexterously looping it around one hand. It was worse than if he had said nothing.

            Terri puts a towel around me. It’s warm from the sun. “You did good,” she says, giving my shoulders a compassionate squeeze.

            “Come on up here and sit beside me, get you warmed up,” Uncle Jack pats the seat beside him.

            I move to the front and plunk myself down on the blue and white vinyl seat opposite him. He turns the boat toward the island and we head in for lunch.

            Leaving our parents to their after lunch talk about lawns, property taxes and other boring adult concerns, Terri and I take a short walk to the lake side of the island and lay out our giant beach towels, gifts from our grandparents’ recent annual snow bird get-away in Florida. Terri’s is a mermaid on a royal blue background and mine is a white unicorn on navy. We stretch out in the sun, having already re-applied generous amounts of sun tan lotion after we got out of the water. My skin tone, pale in comparison to hers, has become a dark pink throughout the afternoon. But that was the least of our differences.

            At sixteen, Terri is already 5’9″ and could grow even taller before she was done. She had inherited her father’s long, lean build and her mother’s flawless complexion. Her lithe frame and smooth skin would be unaffected by the cheeseburger and chips she’d had for lunch. I, on the other hand, am a short, dumpy seventeen-year-old with acne and feared that the single hot dog I’d eaten would only add more inches in exactly all the wrong places. Unable to bear the thought of people seeing my flat chest and rounded belly, I turn over onto my stomach, tensing my butt cheeks in a vain effort to make my bum more compact. Terri’s forearm shields her eyes from the sun’s glare, her curved breasts and flat mid-drift rising and falling gently as she rests; even her wavy tresses lay perfectly arranged under her lovely head. She is a bronzed goddess in a red bikini. I’m a sunburned beached whale in a navy Speedo.

            Suddenly, she turns onto her side to face me, a serious yet excited look in her dark blue eyes.

      “What?” I ask, unable to bear the tension of the silence.

      “Promise you won’t tell,” she tilts her chin mischievously.

            “I promise. What?” I crane my neck toward her, peeking over her shoulder to ensure our privacy.

      “I’ve got a new boyfriend,” she whispers.

      “I thought you were supposed to be single again,” my forehead wrinkles.

            “That’s what Mum and Dad are supposed to think,” she raises an eyebrow archly.

      “So. Who is he?”

            “His name is Dylan. Isn’t that just so cool? His parents were, like, these big hippies in the sixties and they named him after that singer, Bob Dylan? And he drives a motorcycle!” She positively beams at this last bit of information.

      “Cool! Have you been on it?”

            “Of course. It is so cool! It’s not a Harley or anything, but he’s saving up for one.”     

      “Where did you meet him?”

      “At Freddy’s Basement, this bar I go to.”

      “You’re not old enough to drink!” I said a bit too loudly.

            “Would you shut up!” Terri checks behind her to see if anyone had heard, then turns her attention back to me. “I can pass for eighteen. They never ask for I.D. anyway,” she shrugs, mouth curling into a slight sneer.

      “So, why don’t you tell your mum and dad?”

            “Duh! Because they’d kill me if they knew I was going with a twenty-two-year-old guy.”

      “He’s twenty-two!” Too loud again.

      “Shut up, for Chrissake!” This time, she smacks me on the arm.

      “But that’s too old,” I whisper, rubbing the stinging red hand print.

            “I’m nearly seventeen. Besides, girls mature faster than guys. Everyone knows that.”

      “Well, duh. So, how do you see him if he’s a secret?”

            “I tell them I’m going out with friends, bowling or to a movie or something. My friend Cindy picks me up and I meet him at Freddy’s. They don’t suspect a thing.”

      “Yeah, but what if you get caught?”

            “I won’t get caught. Whose side are you on, anyway?” She flops over onto her stomach and turns away from me.

            “I don’t mean that. It’s just that… you could get in a lot of trouble if they find out, that’s all.”

            “Relax. It’ll be my neck anyway.” She turns back to face me. “So. What about you?”

      “What about me?”

      “Any guys?”

      “What do you think?” I scowl, finger tracing a circle in the sand.

      “I’m serious.” She nudges me playfully with her shoulder.

            “So am I.” I pick up a handful of sand and let it trickle through my fist into the centre of the circle I’d just traced.

      “Oh. Why not?”

            “Ask them. I guess I just don’t have ‘what men are looking for’,” I say with a mocking, Cosmo magazine tone.

      “Don’t be stupid. You’re pretty and smart and—”

      “— I’ve got a big ass and no boobs…”

      “Nice attitude.”

      “Well, that’s what they want, isn’t it? Big boobs and a small ass?”

      “Those guys don’t matter anyway.”

      “What other guys are there?” I add more sand to the tiny pile.

            “There’s someone for everyone. I really believe that. Maybe you just have to wait a little longer.”           

      “Yeah, right.”

            “Really, Katie. You’ve got to believe it.” The sympathetic tone of her voice is getting sickening.

      I stand abruptly, “I’m going swimming.”

      “Katie!” Terri sits up, shielding her eyes with her hand.

            Before she can say any more, I’m on my way into the lake. I walk through the shallow water, over tiny pebbles, till I reach sand. The waves are larger on the lake side and I hop over the breakers till I get to deeper water. Diving into the next big wave, I feel the coolness of the water wash over me. I swim several feet underwater before surfacing for air, bursting toward the cloudless blue sky. I dive in several more times, relishing the weightlessness of my body below the lake’s surface. Except for a few glimmers of sunlight that dance along the waves, the water is dark and murky, with only a few feet’s worth of visibility. I hold my breath as long as I can, arms and legs performing a smooth breast stroke through the depths. Unable to remain under any longer, I push myself up out of the darkness of the water toward the sunlight. When I turn to look toward the shore, I find I’m a fair ways out. I can see Terri, standing at the water’s edge, watching me.

            I continue my solitary frolic, diving into the waves, arcing through the air and under the water. Here, I am no longer a beached whale but a graceful dolphin.