I got a hand on the head during the sermon this morning as Sam talked about learning to swim through the fear, how God will always be close when you feel like you're in over your head. He gave my noggin a quick squeeze and moved along and finally we could come home. My stomach growled the whole time and I was scared to death someone would hear it, especially in the brief silences while rising for hymns and introducing the collection plates. Schuyler burst out laughing more than once while we sang and imitated me the whole way home in the truck with high-pitched squealing almost-words like I'mmmmmmm HHHUUUNNNGRY! Feeed Meeeeeeeee!
I'm never riding with them again.
I'll wait for Sam, who didn't notice I was hungry but told me I was pale when he finally got home and that an hour after lunch I would have my swimming test.
My...what?
Your swimming test. It's time. You've worked hard all summer, practicing and such and it's time to graduate.
Seriously?!
Is it not a good day?
Are you KIDDING? It's the best day! See you at two!
Wonderful. I'll warn you, it will be challenging.
I'm not worried. God will be close.
He winked. I thought you were sleeping through that.
I had my head down and my arms wrapped around myself for much of his service. No, I was trying to muffle the sounds of my stomach growling.
Ah. That explains a lot of the laughing going on. See you at two.
At ten to two I was studying hard, practicing my strokes. At two I was tired. At ten after two he finally comes out to the pool and I am already done, collapsed into a chair. He has a big box with him.
What's in the box? I whisper-scream in my best imitation of Brad Pitt in Se7en.
Your graduation gift. If you pass.
Eeeeee! I dive in to the pool and surface to wait for instruction. He wasn't kidding. Forty minutes later I am so done I can't lift my arms anymore and I want to cry but instead I start talking to God. God help me, I ask out loud. I can't float any more. God, I'm so fucking tired. Could you take this one so I can sit it out? And Goddamn it, I don't think I care if I pass anymore, I need to sleep for a little while. Let's try again tomorrow, okay, God?
Sam is laughing as much as Schuyler was this morning and when I finally haul myself up the ladder we have an audience. Everyone claps and Ben wraps a towel around me as I pass him to throw myself on a chaise. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep.
Sam places the box on the deck beside the chaise and I open my eyes, squinting at him. Did I pass?
Open the box.
Please tell me it's a head. That would be cool.
It's not a head. Sorry. Body parts that people would miss are hard to come by.
What about parts they wouldn't miss. What would those be?
I have no idea. And yes, you passed. Easily, Bridget. Open the box.
I sit up and open the box. It's a delicately intricate stained glass mermaid panel. She has a blonde chin-length bob and a freakishly small head. So I got a cool thing after all. She's already hanging up in the skinny window beside the kitchen hallway leading out to the backyard. The window that I complained needed something stained-glass, something custom, for the past six years at least.
Oh my God. It's ME!
It's you. You're a full-fledged mermaid now.
Guess I don't need God anymore, huh!
You still need him. Trust me. That was just the first few levels. Now you can swim as well as any ten-year-old. Next summer we'll continue on to the teen program and see how you do.
Way to rip away that confidence boost, Baby Preacher.
Way to pretend you could get out of church any time soon, Goofball.
