Dominic Gutkin-Nicolas

My body plunges in the cold, but refreshing water. There is a ski attached loosely to my left foot, and my right foot drifts along the surface of the agitated water. A familiar yellow boat passes in front of me, and my grandfather tosses me the rope. I quickly grab the plastic, whip the rope over my head, lean back, and bend my knees. A swift anxiety passes through my mind, and then I raise my thumb and yell “GO!” The engine roars to life and the wavy rope straightens out. With my hands firmly grabbing onto the plastic handle at the end of the rope, my arms stretch out and my body begins moving forward. As I slowly break the surface, I struggle to insert my right foot in the saddle behind the left one on the ski. Shaky and having trouble keeping my balance, I finally manage to get my feet in place, then I extend my arms and lean back, feeling a rush of excitement.

As the boat skips rapidly across the water, my hair lashes the back of my neck as a violent wind strikes me right across the face and makes me grimace. The sun’s scorching heat eradicates the water droplets on my skin, while I try to decrypt the blurred landscape of small cottages bordering the lake. My brain manages to empty itself of the stress after having found a comfortable and stable position. I loosen up and enjoy this exciting moment, managing smiles when the boat turns away from the low four o’clock sun. This moment of peace is over all too soon; the boat has gone around the lake and I know that I’m going to have to go back in the water despite being warm, dry, and comfortable. I lean to the right, pull on the rope, and feel a bump as my knees bend while I go over the leave the elevated, v-shaped trail behind the boat. When the shore seems close enough, I let go and glide, getting nearer and nearer to the homebuilt dock. Then suddenly I stop moving forward and slowly sink back into the water, getting wet once again. I take off the ski and swim to the shore carrying it. I rush up the rusty metal ladder, lay the ski on the grass, and saunter towards the little brown table where my towel rests.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.