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2001-06-10 || 8:23 p.m. || saturday at the lake || i stayed in the water the longest. yards and yards from shore i tread water and let my head fall back and imagine what it would feel like to be dead. to be completely suspended from tangible things. this body. this $9.99 bikini top and cut off old man pants. it is quiet underwater except for the low whir of the jetskis some ways off. stationed on the rocks some distance away are the others. stoic like statues. squinting into the sunlight. they are very pale and disheveled. towels around their shoulders. wearing cut off pants and argyle socks. they look miserable. no one would rent us a boat, michael thinks because we weren't wearing wrap around sunglasses. because we aren't tanned and don't have that sporty look about us. on the lake no one could mistake us for a beer commercial. a refugee documentary, maybe. the poor kids go to the water. but here away from shore, letting the current pull me away from the rocks and the waterskiiers and the motor boats blasting bad music, i am so terribly happy. this is suspension. this is what it feels like maybe to be dead. to not care that you stick out that you are not tan that your hair is stuck to your forehead like seaweed. that the people you came to the lake with are having an awful time, getting more and more sunburnt every minute, taking the hoots and hollers from nearby boaters personally. drifting further and further i can't see even the rocks anymore and i let myself sink again until i am completely submerged. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |