aquaphobia

I was ten when I almost drowned. My therapist says that the trauma of the event has put a lock on all the memories of that summer, but I remember some things. I remember the warm wood of the dock and the sand stuck between my toes. I remember the dying sun as it dipped below the horizon, splashing everything with its golden glow. I remember the burning pain in my chest, the ache of my limbs, and the slimy fingers of the weeds as they wrapped around my legs and dragged me down.

Father said that he was the one to pull me out of the lake and express the water from my lungs. He said that I couldn’t remember anything, not even why I was wet when I came to. He said that if my cousin hadn’t been only twelve at that time, he would have held his head underwater to teach him a lesson. Mother says that is the reason we don’t talk to that side of the family anymore, not after that one summer. Father takes many things personal and he vowed that he would never forgive my cousin for being so careless with another human life. Even though I am an adult, I am forbidden to break that vow and my cousin and I remain apart and out of touch.

My therapist says that eventually my memories should return and it is rare that they remain forgotten for so long. She says that I am a special case and the key to overcoming my fear is to regain those memories and have closure on my phobia. Father tells my therapist that forgetting is better than remembering and I am better off without those memories. He thinks that we pay the therapist too much money for useless advice. But they both agree that it is my choice whether or not I want professional help to overcome this unnecessary fear.

Ever since that summer, the one that I cannot remember, I have been terrified of any body of water larger than a puddle. My parents sold our summer home at the lake, along with the boat and the inner tubes that came with it. They installed a bathroom in the basement, complete with a large drain and a showerhead that could control the speed of the water. They didn’t wash dishes when I was near, they didn’t take me anywhere near rivers and streams, and I missed out on a lot of school expeditions.

My parents sacrificed a lot of things because of my phobia and it ate away at me continually throughout my life. My therapist said that in order to overcome this guilt, I had to be open with my parents about the way I felt. But they both told me I was being silly and that they weren’t sacrifices. They did everything out of love because they didn’t want to see their only daughter get hurt. But the truth was I was already hurt. I was disabled from living a normal life because I was controlled by my fear. My therapist said that I had to learn how to control it and not let it control me. It was easier for her to suggest that, I suppose. After all, the only thing she had to fear was not getting paid – at least that’s what Father said.


When I became an adult, I made a vow to myself that I would not let this fear jeopardise any opportunities. My therapist said that the vow I made would help me on my way to recovery, even if she wasn’t there to help me. She told me to trust in myself and know that I am bigger than my fear. Sometimes it was hard not to believe her.

Her words were so motivational that I stepped out of my comfort zone, surrounded by dams and dikes to keep out the water. In early May, I met a boy with a warm smile and ice-blue eyes that reminded me of the summer I couldn’t remember. He was funny and polite and he wanted to take me all the places he had ever been. Tokyo, Hong Kong, France, London – he had been all around the world. He left me flowers in my mailbox, each one accompanied by a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. He was the essence of charm and I was far from immune to it.

One afternoon he told me he had a surprise for me. He led me to his car, tied a blindfold around my eyes, and told me to sit down. He played classical music and nature sounds that led my mind on a treasure hunt in different directions. Was he taking me to a theatre? A ballet? Or was he taking me to a park for a surprise picnic? The drive was not long, and soon the engine and the music were silenced, and he could he heard exiting the vehicle. My heartbeat sped up, and I imagined all of the wild fantasies that he could be fulfilling. I felt the cool breeze when he opened up my side of the car and he pulled me out delicately. We walked a few paces forward and I could feel more wind carrying a scent that I couldn’t quite place my finger on.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, his fingers reaching to the blindfold’s knot.

“I think so.”

I held my breath as the handkerchief dropped away, and revealed a sight that sent my body into immediate shock. Only feet away, the eager waves of the lake were raking up the shore, trying to grab at my feet. I could feel it’s desire, it’s hunger to have me once more. I felt a weight on my chest, and an ache in my lungs, and ever so faintly, the grass blowing at my feet felt like slimy water weed trying to drag me under.

“What do you think?” he asked, a brilliant smile on his face.

“I-“ I couldn’t breathe.

“Come on, say something,” he urged.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked softly.

“You told me once about how your parents had sold your cabin by the lake.”

“I also told you why they sold it, Michael. I almost drowned.”

He sighed, running a hand through his golden locks, “Hera, I wanted to do something special for you. I wanted to help you with this silly fear of yours.”

“It’s not silly,” I felt my eyes starting to tear. “It’s real and serious and it’s not something that just goes away.”

“Come towards the shore with me,” he grabbed my hand, tugging gently on it. “We’ll do this together.”

I saw the sun, the familiar golden glow, call out to me from the distant horizon. It split the Earth in half, covering the trees and far-off city lights with the dying amber. I could feel its warmth on my face, the same warmth I felt with the sand between my toes and the damp wood of the dock under my feet. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling Michael’s hand in mine, imagining the shore I had made sandcastles in and the Disney princess towel that was laid out in the sun. I imagined how the breeze over the lake would send shivers up my spine, clashing against the last moments of daylight.

“Together,” he repeated, tugging a bit harder.

I reopened my eyes to a different scene, to Michael’s hopeful face and the foreign lake that still frightened me. The ripples across the surface seemed to reach towards me as I shuffled forward, and I imagined them to grow in volume the closer I got. I hadn’t noticed I was trembling until his other hand came to smother my own.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” he cooed, softer this time.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the shore. I watched each wave reach towards me, imagining their fingers digging into the sand. I imagined them digging into my flesh as I approached, and I felt my fear began to grow.

My therapist had never told me to confront my fears, although many times she had insisted I return to our summer home to cure my amnesia. Father insisted that I didn’t need to unlock that memory. He said it would only make matters worse. Mother had no say on the matter. She told me to do what I felt was right. Moving towards the lake didn’t feel right or wrong. The only thing I felt was fear as it gripped my heart tightly as if my life depended on it.

“Do you want to try the dock?”

I tore my eyes from the shore towards Michael and his brilliant smile that told me I was capable of anything at that moment. I glanced past him towards the dock, similar in so many ways the one I remember. But the wood looked cold and unwelcome, in a way that reflected onto the surface of the water. Not even the way the last slivers of sunlight landed on the wood did it look any less evil.

I nodded, telling myself that it was a sturdy wooden dock. It was okay; I could do it. We shuffled forward, pausing only when I first made contact with the wood. I heard it creak beneath our weight, and I had to close my eyes to muster up what was left of my courage. I imagined the dock to be glistening in the sun like diamond droplets scattered across the wood. I imagined our boat tied up next to it, bobbing in the small waves that travelled across the water. I could see the inner tubes and the lasting moisture drying off of them and I swore I could almost see my cousin’s face.

I opened my eyes once again, and with a cry I stumbled backwards. Michael’s face hadn’t returned. It was still the adolescent face of my cousin. My pulse started to race as I felt the weight in my chest. I sunk to my knees as the sensation of water engulfing my body overtook my senses. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t swim. I could only lash out around me, trying to reach for a way to the top. But the harder I fought, the faster I sunk. I wanted to scream for help, but the pain in my chest was expanding. My limbs began to ache the more I grappled for the surface.

All around me, the dark waters began to flood into my mind, and soon the only sensation I could identify separate from the iron fist in my torso was the slimy, slick fingers of the weeds as they wrapped around my ankles and began to drag me to my death. The golden glow had disappeared, and the only colours I could see were fading from grey to black to nothing...

“Hera? Hera?”

I could hear my voice being called, but it wasn’t Michael’s.

“Hera – oh god – Hera? Sweetheart, wake up.”

“James, I don’t think-“

“Shut up!” his voice sounded so familiar. “Hera, come on baby, wake up for Daddy.”

I felt a sudden burst of air forced into my lungs and I gasped loudly. I was lying in Michael’s arms, my limbs trapped against my sides as I shook and gasped. His smile had been abandoned for worry and when I glanced up at him with tears in my eyes, my heart broke at the sight of him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry I did that – I-I didn’t know!” he said frantically, hugging me to his body. “I promise I won’t ever do this again, I-“

I reached a hand up and fingered the tears at my face. Father had told me that whatever had been locked in those memories would never benefit me. He said that I was better off forgetting. My therapist said that it would explain the roots of my phobia and it would help me in the future for dealing with it. Neither force was in the wrong, but knowing the feeling of being trapped beneath a body full of water did not help my rehabilitation.

“Can we go?”

“Yes, yes – of course!” he helped me stand and pushed me towards the car. “I promise, never again.”

He helped me up and hurried back to the car, holding me like I was made of glass. He sat me down and strapped the seatbelt across my chest. Lightly, he pecked me on the forehead, whispering, “I’m so sorry, Hera. I swear I didn’t know.”

I glanced past him and his watering eyes towards the golden lake where two small figures stood on the dock watching the sun set. I watched as the boat bobbed next to it and the two children facing the edge. I watched as one turned towards the other and extended their arms playfully.

Father never wanted me to witness this memory. He fought so hard and so long to keep me from the truth, and yet all it took was a charm and a pair of eyes that reminded me of a time when I didn’t fear. Back when I was afraid of cooties and going to the corner store by myself. Back when I asked my mother to keep the hallway light on just to be safe from the dark. Spiralling back to when all I ever needed was a hug or a quick check under my bed. With or without that memory, my life was filled with a fear that the hallway light and a kiss on the head couldn’t cure. Where clasped hands and reassurances were hollow and cold, and not even Father could save me from my own terror.

This phobia was apart of me. An ugly voice that controlled the way I moved, the way I spoke, and the way I loved. I wished that I could go back to sandcastles and inner tubes, but that past was soaked up with that sunset and that soggy pair of hands that propelled me towards the fear. As I looked over at Michael whose eyes were dark and morose like the lake we left behind, I wondered if even a heart as soft and warm as his could dispel this dark, awful demon that lived inside of me.


(c) 2011 The Avalanche
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Contact: taylor(at)crookedteeth.org