Swimming

I finally learned how to swim. It took me a while, most of my life really. But, it’s only been in a pool; small, controllable. I needed to challenge myself. I went to the lake behind the church I grew up in. Nothing had changed. The grass was the same height, the water the same bluish-green I remembered. But, the trees seemed slightly taller than when I was a kid. They hung over the shallow end of the water, their shadows outlined the safety of the shore.

Baptisms, summer swimming lessons, occasional fishing, it all happened here. At a time when I was too young to understand the world. Too young to understand my family. And too young to understand my brother.

I would like to keep lying. To convince myself that swimming in the lake as a challenge was the only reason I was there. I could barely even look at the water, let alone approach the shore. So, then why was I there? I wasn’t sure. I asked myself the same question the entire drive there. I considered leaving. Instead, I only sat in a small patch of yellow grass. The same spot, years ago, where I watched my brother and his friends in the tree, diving into the lake.

I wanted to join them, I wanted to be apart of their group. But my brother pushed me away.

‘You can’t even swim, not like me’ he told me before climbing the tree again. He was a competitive swimmer, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me. They weren’t supposed to climb the trees, yet they did and dove past the shadows. I always hated when he excluded me, so I told my parents what they were doing. My brother and his friends got in trouble, and my brother made it his mission to verbally torment me, any chance he got. ‘You’re just jealous that I have friends and you don’t,’ ‘You do nothing but play video games,’ ‘You’ll never be stronger than me, faster than me, or better than me.’

Our parents would yell at him, tell him to stop, but he never did. So, I made it my mission to prove him wrong. I tried to race him, arm wrestle, jump higher than him, even do more pushups. But I always failed. Maybe that’s why I was there, to finally prove my brother wrong. But all I did was sit and listened to the leaves rustling, the waves hitting the shore softly, and the wind whistling in my ear. But then, I heard footsteps, behind me.

“You should let me know you’re visiting, I would’ve brought something to eat.” It was the pastor, the owner of the church, the man I never stopped looking up to. We made small talk. He sat next to me, asked how my life was after college, how work is going, and other basic questions. But then he asked me why I was there, and I told him the truth.

“I don’t know.” I said.

“Is it about your brother?” I didn’t answer immediately. I just stared at the grass, noticing how it went from green to yellow. “Is that why you’re here?” He added.

Suddenly, something came over me. A memory I tried to forget, floated back up to the surface. But I pushed it back down.

“Who was my brother? To you?” The words came out without thinking. The pastor sighed, and looked up. As he searched for an answer, I thought about the many times I saw my brother and the pastor talking. I always wanted to know what they talked about.

“Well… he was a good kid. A good kid who loved attention.” The pastor said.

He did love attention, and he seemed to hate when I received it instead of him. That’s why he pushed me around. Because he didn’t think I deserved it. He was better than me at almost every physical activity. That’s why I jumped in the lake that day. To prove that I could be as good as he was. Foolish thoughts. Foolish actions. I shouldn’t have tried. Maybe if I didn’t, he would still be here.

“What did you talk about? With my brother, I mean,” I said. The pastor looked at me. I wasn’t sure if he was puzzled, or if he was trying to remember.

“I gave him guidance, counseling, you name it. I listened to what he had on his mind.”

“Did he ever talk about me?” I said. The pastor sighed again, but this time he looked at the grass.

“He did, he did.” His voice trailed off, the same way it did at the funeral, before we said our final goodbyes to my brother.

I felt the memory surface again. But this time I couldn’t push it back down. The feeling of the water taking me further from the shore, my screams that no one seemed to hear. I could feel the water filling my lungs, and my vision fading. I remember blacking out, only seeing flashes of the water, my brother grabbing onto me, asking what I was doing. That’s all I remember before waking up on the shore, the pastor hovering over me, with the same expression he has now. It was a somber look. A look of bad news. A look of despair, but thankfulness.

The last time I saw my brother, alive. The last time I heard his voice was when he apparently saved me from drowning. A decision that costed his life. He was better off letting me drown. He had a life, friends, a future. I didn’t. Things I completely ignored in my pursuit for acceptance.

“What did he say about me?” I asked.

“He… just talked about how you don’t apply yourself. He wished that you were more…” he sighed, “active. He felt that you received so much attention but he was the one putting so much work in, you know?” Yeah I knew. I already felt that my brother had these thoughts about me. Maybe he was right. But I wanted to know more.

“How did he feel about me? Like, really feel.” I rushed the question out.

The pastor dropped his head, his shoulders moved with his breathing. I could tell that something was stopping him. “Please, just tell me,” I added.

A few moments of silence passed between us.

“Well… he, he said that sometimes, he wished he was an only child.”

My heart skipped a beat. And just like the water currents that day, I couldn’t stop the tears from escaping. I felt the same way. I wished that same thing after his death. Wished that I didn’t exist. Wished that I was the one that drowned, instead of him.

“You need to stop blaming yourself.” I turned to look at the pastor.

“How can I not? If I never tried to prove him wrong, he would still be here.”

“That may be true. But what can you do about it now? You have to remember, that he chose to jump in there. He chose to save you. He chose to keep you above the water. He chose your life over his.”

“But why?” I asked. I tried to listen to him, but the words kept flooding my ears. ‘He wished he was an only child.’ And the thought made me cry even more. I was drowning, again. This time in my own regret. The pastor put his hand on my shoulder.

For a few moments, I stayed in that position. I wasn’t crying anymore. I was just, thinking. Thinking about my brother, the last moments I had with him. The last time we actually connected was drowning. Together. Maybe this was another thing he was better than me at. Letting go and just floating.

And so, in that moment, I tried to do the same. I put my head back, spread my arms and legs, and took a deep breath. I wiped the tears from my eyes. The pastor stood, invited me to dinner, and held out his hand. I didn’t take it. I just told him that I would join him later.

As he walked away, I finally took a look at the lake, it was the same blueish-green I remembered. The trees still hung over the water, but its shadows now covered me. The lake was bright and clear. I ran my hands through the grass, pulling some of the blades loose. I let them go in the air and watched them float away in the wind.

I now knew the reason I came. It was to challenge myself. A challenge I’m still trying to pass. It might take a while, my whole life, probably. But at least I proved something. I finally learned how to swim.