He turned me into a water girl

Growing up, water was for looking at and for drinking. Even then, it was a pit stop. Something to stare at for two minutes before moving onto the next place. I grew up eleven miles from the ocean but sand and salt made my parents nervous.

It took a while for me to acclimate to the depths of the sea—the unknown and the cold and the sunscreen—and the salt drying on my skin. But now I love it. When I have a long lunch break I drive to the bay. I walk for a while, to get nice and hot, then I go float in the ocean. I love that the bay is like a lake, but salty. When I swam in Lake Michigan, it was startling to taste water so clean and smooth.

When I was eight years old we rented a boat on the fourth day of July. I jumped in the water and didn’t know I was supposed to close my mouth. It was devastating and scary to feel the burn and the sting. My grandfather handed me a cucumber. It’s the perfect pair, I swear. Next time you’re choking on water and salt, think of me. And don’t forget that a Persian cucumber is the only medicine you’ll need.

Anyway, once it was time to eat—my family and I—we were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and we realized no one brought a lighter. We most likely laughed, at least I like to think we did.

But, there you go. Another reason to not venture into the sea. It strips you of independence and autonomy. But I don’t mind, really. The sea helps me feel free, so I’ll gladly go wherever she takes me.