A glimpse

Her head bobbed in and out of the waves, the sun reflecting on her golden hair. Boats rowed past her, left and right. She would dive in and vanish for a minute or two, and then her arms would appear before her head surfaced again. Then, in she would go once more. After a few minutes, she would turn to find me on the shore and wave to me with a smile. When the current carried her away from me, she would swim back to face me again, and I would wave back with a towel.

I wished I could swim. I wished I wasn’t so afraid of the water. I wished I could dive in with her, splash around, and enjoy the coolness. But all I could do was sit in the sand, my toes occasionally touching the waves. My hands grabbed handfuls of wet sand, letting it slip between my fingers as the cold waves gently caressed my palm.

I looked ahead and saw her move like a siren. She lived for the water, and if she could, she would have stayed there forever. Our plan was to buy a small cottage facing the blue sea and rent surfboards. I would handle the finances, and she would take care of the surf lessons, the clients, and all the social things I could never do.

I watched her dive, her legs momentarily popping out of the water, and saw the golden bracelet she wore glint in the sunlight before vanishing below. I smiled and stared into the distance, waiting for her to come up. I counted seconds, then minutes. But she didn’t resurface. I looked around, wondering if she had come up farther away or on the other side. Nothing was clear—the glowing waves made it hard to see faces.

I waved my towel, waiting for a wave back. I waved so long and so fast that my arm began to ache. Panic set in, and I ran into the cold water, a shiver coursing through me until it reached my chest. Still waving the now wet and heavy towel, my hands trembled. I dropped it and ran toward the lifeguard tower at the end of the stone pathway, yelling frantically,

“I can’t see her! She dived and didn’t come up!”

They ran with me to the water, asking which direction she had swum and what she was wearing. Three lifeguards dove in, swimming so fast that I lost sight of them within minutes. One lifeguard called for people to exit the water, while another brought out the rescue boat.

They searched for hours, and when night fell, they found her. She was tangled in seaweed and wedged between rocks at the bottom. The white, luminescent light gave her hair a greenish hue, her skin pale and statuesque. The weeds were tangled in her hair, and her blue lips bore cuts and bruises. Her eyes were closed, obscured by the tangled hair and the damage to her head.

They said she must have hit her head on a rock and then become ensnared in the weeds—or perhaps it happened the other way around. They buried her as soon as they brought her back. There was no funeral. Her mother wept, clutching my arm as if she would fall. Her father fell silent and remained so for a long time. That’s all I remember.

Years later, I was out shopping for a new dress for my cousin’s birthday party. My sister was at my side, dragging me from shop to shop. We passed a jewelry store selling items collected from the beach with magnets. There, I saw her bracelet. My name was etched on a small heart dangling from the chain—the same heart that bore her name on my bracelet.

I bought it and walked to the beach for the first time in years. I stood there, gazing at the horizon, imagining her golden hair waving at me. Slowly, I stepped into the water, my toes sinking into the sand as the waves kissed my legs. The current pulling me in, calling me to join her. I had always thought I would sink, but that day, I floated.