I am so cold and tired. My neck is sore from constantly straining it back to keep my face above water, so I turn and lay my head to the side, on top of the inflated pants . . . as if the pants are a pillow. I begin to hum. Nothing in particular. I am surprised that no real tune comes to mind. No melody, no verse, no hymn . . . but I hum. The vibration is soothing to my ice cold head and face. My mind begins to think of home.
I think of my son Alexander, my daughter Rachel and my wife Scarlet. I see the children’s faces, stoical and stressed, sad and empty. I guess they know. Dad is dead. I have the weirdest image of Scarlet. I see her weeding the front garden as a police cruiser pulls up. She stands up as a policewoman approaches her and tells her that I am gone.
I think of friends I made over my life. I see friends in England and Sweden so clearly: finding comfort with each other, fighting with emotion, trying to stave off the tears. I think of many of my colleagues and friends at Air Canada. I see them gathering in their uniforms at what appears to be my funeral. Many are crying. I continue to hum. Hum, hum, hum. I close my eyes. The rhythm is so comforting . . . I don’t realize it, but I am slipping . . . it is getting quiet . . .
“NOOOOOOO; wake up! JUST DO IT! SWIM!” My heart is pounding in my chest . . . swim, swim, focus. Come on, Davie. Don’t do that again! Focus . . . come on, man . . . focus. Kyokushin focus. I stare ahead at my objective — tiny, fuzzy-looking cabins with their porch lights just coming into view. Yes, dusk is falling. Com’on, just focus.
Stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick.