Dear dad

It’s Alice. I’m an aqua-phobic, taking swim lessons. But I never get too deep. As I take a step in the ice-cold water, my toes already feel pruned. My instructor is too busy crowding the “overachievers” to notice that I’ve already leaped out of the water and skipped to the towel basket. I’m shivering frantically in the 85 degrees room. I want to go home terribly, so I text my mom with doubt knowing she won’t let me miss my swimming lessons that I’m being forced to take. She tells me my lessons will decrease my fear slowly until the phobia has finally disappeared. But I know if I’m not in the water I will not lose it one bit. But I could care less if I die being afraid of water. Mom knows this but is just too stubborn. I lie and tell one of the instructors I’m not feeling too great, so I’m gonna go lay down. But really I just walk around until it’s time for mom to come get me. I go from floor to floor, wandering around like a lost puppy. It takes me 12 minutes to walk throughout every floor of the huge tower. You would think it would take endless time. I walk throughout the entire tower about three times until my swim meet is over and my mom finally replies to my text with her usual lie “Sorry honey I just got your text and I’m out here waiting for you.” I walk to her car and as my dry body plops down in her cold leather seat she carries on and on about how one day I’ll wish I could swim. Please talk to her dad, she’s wasting money on careless instructors and my boredom. I love you.
                                                                                        Love, Alice.