A Panicked Four-Year-Old.

It seems appropriate that my first memory takes place at a swimming pool, seeing as the last twenty years of my life have been largely consumed by the great aquatic sport. I started swimming because my older brother was a swimmer and perhaps my parents wanted us to be involved in the same activity for convenience or camaraderie or consistency. Or maybe they just truly thought I'd enjoy it. At the age of my first memory, however, I simply enjoyed tagging along to my brother's practices and meets and keeping myself entertained. I was a chubby-cheeked, wavy-haired, betty-boop loving four year old who had more social interaction with my imaginary friend, Dorothy, than even some members of my family. I had become impressively able to occupy my time without having to open my mouth or include anyone else in my activities and at this particular swim practice of my brother's, I was doing what I do best when my first feeling of panic and fear that I can remember set in.

The pool at the YWCA where my brother was swimming is not a pool made for spectators. The deck is small and hot and terribly frightening to even get to, built in the basement of an early 20th century victorian house. Above the pool, however, is a more spacious viewing area and open space that doubled as a nursery during the day and punk rock show venue at night. There were large windows that looked down on the pool which are about four inches higher from the ground than my eyeballs were. Seeing as I couldn't watch my brother swim, I decided to practice laps of my own, running up and down the long hallway that paralleled the windows. I didn't like being away from my mom for too long when I was young and when I reached my independence threshold, I quickly turned my attention from my workout to reminding my mom I was present and okay.

My mom is a five foot tall woman who loves to wear long jackets and gaudy snow boots. That's the most vivid image I have of her when I think about her during both my childhood and present day. So when I decided it was time to check in, I returned to the woman in the long black jacket and garish winter footwear. I tugged at the jacket expecting my mom to answer my pull with her familiar smile. Instead, a woman whom I had never seen before glared down at me. My heart raced, my brain panicked. All of a sudden I felt alone and scared. Why had my parents left without telling me? Who was this woman in my mom's jacket and why was she so mean? I didn't know what to do. If my mom wasn't around my brother usually was, but he was likely submerged under water and completely unaware of my terrifying situation that was taking place. I was all by myself and frozen with fear. I don't know if the woman said anything to me, I was too afraid to even look at her. I stood in shock for what seemed like hours, not understanding where my parents had gone. When I finally came to, the first person I saw was my dad, sitting about three people over with a scowl on his face like he had been watching the entire time but was embarrassed that I mistook another woman for my own mother. He motioned for me to walk toward him and I obeyed, ashamed and embarrassed myself. My mom noticed I was visibly shaken and as I explained to her what had happened, she held me close and I felt better. She wasn't angry or upset with me, she was comforting and understanding. I was done frolicking by myself for the day and looked at the wall below the windows until my brother was done swimming.