The Swim

The Fall Line Spring 2017,Volume 9

Creative Non-Fiction

The Swim

by

Tony Brunal

Summer of 1986, in Far Rockaway Beach, Queens, N.Y. -We used to go there a few times of year with my father’s longtime friends, Raphael, Evita and their three kids. They had two boys and one girl, Alex, the oldest, Ivette, and Neil the youngest son. Along with my two brothers and sister, I used to love hanging out with them. Unfortunately, they were not related, yet we considered them cousins just the same. We would often pair up, my older brother Charles with Alex, while my older sister, Lesly, would spend her time with Ivette. As the youngest of the group, Neil and I would sneak around and play tricks on both our sisters. It was fun to make them miserable. I had a younger brother, too, Harold, but he was young. During these hot summer days, he was content to be with mom and all the other younger kids, playing under the shade of the boardwalk. They would spend their time digging holes, filling buckets, and feeling the sting of sand in their shorts.

As the older siblings, we spent our time swimming in the surf, trying to keep the haze and summer humidity off our sun-red necks. As hot as it was, we were grateful for the cold Atlantic waves that would crash on the beach. Far Rockaway, with its long, worn, and splintered boardwalk, was infamous for its sudden rip currents that would drag people out to sea in a hurry. You would often watch people getting pulled out gasping for breath by the lifeguards. Today they wouldn’t be any help.

All the siblings were having fun in the surf, so much so that I hadn’t noticed Neil disappear with his friend, Hector, up on the boardwalk. The rest of us, continued to fight the surf and laugh when somebody would get rolled by the thunderous waves. The loud snap, and deep growl, would roar as the energy dissipated from the waves hitting the beach. As the day got late, we could see the lifeguards closing their umbrellas up and down on the beach. The sound of loud screaming kids, and the constant music also began to fade, as people made their way to the parking lots.

Just as the beach became less crowded, Neil returned with Hector. It wasn’t the same 15-year-old Neil that had left. He was slurring his speech, and Hector was moving around like he had the ocean inside him. His brother Alex gave him a disapproving stare, but Neil didn’t notice it. His red eyes failing to concentrate. Suddenly Hector and Neil grabbed Lesly and Ivette, pushing them into the surf. Both sisters angrily protested, but the surf spelled them under. We all laughed and swam around for a while, fighting the waves that seemed to get heavier this time of the day. The playfulness was tiring with lungs a gasp from the chill and power. The girls began to walk out and the boys slowly followed.

As we began to make our way out of the surf, I turned around to see where everybody was. Everybody, except for Neil and Hector, were out of the water. Looking toward the water, past the breaking surf, I stood there in shock. Neil was in the distance bobbing up and down, trying to keep his head above the water. Hector was motioning frantically. Panicked in not being able to help his struggling friend. I looked over to tell someone that Neil was in trouble, but they were already under the boardwalk drying out. All I could do was to jump in. Trying to make my way to them, I swam, ducked through some waves, and swam some more. The pounding waves hampered my path. Furling like a flag, it would snap at me, and push me away. Swimming and holding my breath through the waves, I pounded my hand ahead. Finally making it past the break, I climbed the swells that limited my success. The tide pulled me further away from shore, but by the time I reached them, I was breathing hard, and my muscles were burning. Just as I began to catch my breath, a sudden pull forced me under the swell. It was Neil in a panic, pulling me under. I struggled for a moment before fighting him off and pushing him away.

“Neil, what the hell are you doing?” I yelled in terror.

I could see the desperation on his face as he, flapped, and flopped his arms, in a frenzied attempt to hold on to something. I needed to calm him down, but Hector also looked alarmed. His eyes were wide open, red, and continuously looking at me, and then to Neil. Once I gained my senses, I took stock at the situation, and told Hector to swim for help.

While I continued to paddle, I talked to Neil more calmly, “If you want me to help you, you can’t drag me under.”

There we were staring at each other, paddling with Neil’s head barely above water, laboring to stay afloat.

“Calm down and float.” I said with a sterner voice.

I reached over and put my arm around his waist.

I told him, “You need to paddle too,” as we began to make our way in, but Neil wasn’t floating very well.

He was flapping his arms, but it wasn’t helping. As we swam, we would get consumed by the large swells. Far from the shore, they obscured the beach since we were this far out from the break. Each time I went under, I swallowed my share of seawater. The beach sand was so distant, and the more I looked, the more scared I got.

As I began praying, “God, please help me,” over and over in my head, strangely, I could feel the warm sunlight on my face. A calming sense that someone was there helping me through this. After a swimming for a while, I told Neil to float, I let go, and I tried to touch the bottom with my feet. What a mistake, we were deep, and it really freaked me out.

“Neil, you have to swim!” I yelled.

He looked at me and I think he understood what I was saying. Luckily, with the greater urgency, Neil concentrated on his stroke. It helped as we had reached the breaking waves. I was really exhausted now; my adrenaline was fading. I would step down occasionally, and after a while, I could feel the ground.

“Just a little bit longer,” I thought.

The waves were heavy, I got turned upside down and swallowed some more sea water. Neil didn’t look good; his arms were just barely moving over his head as he paddled in. Finally, we caught a wave that propelled us to the edge of the sand. Crawling out of the sea foam, I could see Alex reach for Neil, and everybody gathered around us. I could hardly catch air in my lungs. The spit and burning breath were tiresome. Neil was practically face down in the sand, when suddenly I saw his body lurch. A mixture of bile, beer and hotdogs spilled out of him. I stood there shaking, cold, and feeling kind of faint. The lifeguards ran over to us, but there was nothing they could do. Their shifts had ended, and legally they shouldn’t help him. They instructed us to call for 911. We all walked to boardwalk, Neil being held by his brother and Charles. Sloppily, Neil was coughing with every breath.

Under the boardwalk, and just as my body began to warm up, Neil’s mother and father, began to thank me repeatedly. I don’t know how long it took, but as I stood there in shock from the exhaustion, the ambulance arrived. A few moments later, the paramedics had Neil on a stretcher. They raised it and place it on board the ambulance. His mother began to cry at her son’s fate and her husband tried to console her. The ambulance left with its sirens blaring moving the crowd that had gathered. I felt sink, tired but extremely proud of myself.

Several years later I would tell Neil, jokingly, “Hey, you owe me.”

Now, when life feels as if it is pounding down on me like the day those waves turned me upside down, and filled full of sea water, I never panic. I just keep my head above the surf, just like the swim I took that day.