Page 5 of Iowa Intellect
The mere idea of this gorgeous mermaid waiting for me in my oversized garden bathtub has me thinking thoughts that do not belong at a child’s party.
I force myself to look away from ‘Sparkly Pacifica’ and think of how my grandmother used to ask me to rub her arthritic feet in exchange for a quarter. That unpleasant memory does the trick to rein in my naughty thoughts.
When I focus back in on the pool, I immediately sense that something is wrong. The girls are still practically vibrating with excitement. My brother and the other parents are chatting amongst themselves––completely oblivious to any potential problem. But something isn’t right, I can feel it.
I step closer to the edge of the crystal-clear pool and peer down into its depths.
Caroline is on her back on the bottom of the deep end. It only takes me a moment to realize that she is thrashing and struggling with something.
Without hesitating for a moment, I kick off my shoes and dive head-first into the water.
As soon as I get to the bottom of the pool, I realize what the problem is. The strap on the back of her costume has somehow gotten caught on the pool’s drain, effectively trapping her at the bottom of the water.
Her panicked gaze meets mine, just before some final bubbles of air leave her lungs and her eyelids fall shut.
Desperate to save her, I yank at the tangled strap. It must have gone through the drain slat at precisely the wrong spot because it is really caught. Unwilling to give up, I summon my body’s extra strength from the adrenalin rush and give the cord a strong enough tug to rip the fabric in two.
As soon as Caroline’s costume is freed, I embrace her and kick off from the bottom of the pool. When I surface with the beautiful mermaid cradled in my arms, it doesn’t take long to realize that all eyes around the pool are now focused on us.
Everyone stands frozen in place as I swim to the edge of the pool.
“Braden, a little help please,” I snap at my brother as I struggle to lift Caroline’s limp body up onto the concrete ledge of the pool.
The harsh tone of my voice seems to awaken the stunned adults, and a flurry of activity begins. My brother and a couple of other fathers rush forward to assist me. One of the moms yells that it’s time for cupcakes and ice cream as the women do their best to distract the children from the pool emergency and usher the little ones inside the house.
My mind barely registers hearing my niece ask if Sparkly Pacifica is okay. Even as her mother assures the little girl that she will be just fine, I silently pray that is the case.
The gathered men seem to be waiting for me to take the lead, so I point to one of the fathers and say in a firm tone, “Call 9-1-1.”
The man nods his agreement, already retrieving his cell phone from his pocket.
“Is anyone here a doctor or medically trained?” I ask, even though I can already tell from their disbelieving, wide-eyed gazes that it’s a long shot.
At their silence, I decide that I’m her best bet. I push myself up out of the water and let instinct guide me through the process of checking her pulse and beginning CPR.
It has been ages since I took the Red Cross’s certification class, but miraculously, the movements feel like second nature as I lock my hands together below her iridescent shell bra and begin doing straight-armed chest compressions to the beat of the classic Bee Gees song, “Staying Alive.”
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and say a silent prayer to God, the Universe, or anyone who might be listening to help me save this phenomenal woman.
Some portion of my brain hears my brother relaying his address for the emergency operator, but other than that, my sole focus is on doing everything I can to make sure Caroline survives.
What seems like an eternity later, but is probably actually only a matter of seconds, water splutters up and out of Caroline’s mouth. I help her tip up, so she can cough it out as immense relief surges through my veins.
When she flops back down, confusion overtakes her gaze as she glances around, quickly absorbs the situation, and works to assess what has happened. It shouldn’t surprise me at all that her first concern is for the children, rather than her own wellbeing.
Locking eyes with me, she asks in a frantic tone, “Did the kids see what happened?”
Hoping to ease her worries, I coo in a soothing tone, “The moms shuffled them inside before they realized anything was wrong.”
She spends a long moment staring up at me, obviously trying to gauge my sincerity. Evidently, deciding that I’m being truthful, she lifts a hand to her forehead and says, “Thank goodness. This is the kind of thing that could scar those sweet little angels for life.”
I can’t stop myself from cupping the thoughtful, caring, and kind woman’s face with my palm as I say, “Yes, thank goodness you’re okay. I don’t know what I would do if something had happened to you.”
The look of surprise that flashes in her eyes lets me know that my bold truth bomb hit its mark. My crush on the team doctor may not be appropriate, or even wise, but I’m not willing to keep it hidden any longer.
Watching Caroline struggle and nearly die at the bottom of the pool was an undeniable reminder that life is precious and short.
Just as I’m trying to determine the right wording to let her know about my strong romantic feelings for her, she blinks up at me and says, “Thank you so much for saving me, Brock. You’re such a great friend.”
