by Chad Morris
I hadn’t really just watched him swim before. We were usually swimming at the same time and I was behind him. But as I watched, I was impressed.
I screamed again. So did Lizzy.
Our cheers calmed a little as all the swimmers got into their pace.
“Hey,” I said, glancing over at Lizzy between claps, “thanks again for all that help you gave me with the blue whale.” It felt weird to voluntarily talk to Lizzy Wallace, let alone thank her.
“My pleasure,” she said, stretching again. “I already told you that.” She still said everything like she was better than me.
I didn’t let it get to me. At least, not as much as before.
Was Marc right that I was kind of like Lizzy? Did I do stuff like that?
Marc caught up to one of the two swimmers in front of him. I cheered again. I knew he probably couldn’t hear me with all the water sloshing through his ears, but he was doing great.
“You’ve got this,” Lizzy called out, even a little louder than I did. She wasn’t stretching any more.
Marc kept gaining. He caught the next swimmer. Then passed. Both Lizzy and I were screaming and jumping up and down. A lot of the rest of the team was too. I didn’t know if this was what you did at a swim meet or not, but I couldn’t help it.
Marc crashed forward like he was being chased by a hammerhead shark.
Or like he needed this.
There were only like thirty feet left in the race. And Marc kicked it in even faster. I guess he had more inside him. He started to gain on the boy who was winning.
Our cheering grew even more frantic.
And then Marc pushed forward even faster. It was like he had a motor. He was the motor. In the last few yards, he passed the leader and beat him by an arm’s length.
Our whole team went crazy. From last to first place. I turned and gave Lizzy a high ten. Then she hugged me. I hugged her back.
“That was amazing,” I screamed at Marc as he was getting out of the water. His smile somehow seemed wider than his face.
“Incredible,” Lizzy said. And he approached both of us and gave us high fives. He still hadn’t dried himself off all the way, so water splashed in our faces.
I would definitely have to include this in my journal.
“Your turn,” he said to Lizzy.
And it was.
“Okay,” she said. And took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”
I did.
She exhaled big and for the first time, I realized she was nervous. Just like I was going to be when it was my turn.
While she was on the block, she even looked over a couple of times at us. She still did all her professional-looking stretches and stood tall and confident, but it was like she really wanted us to cheer her on. And like she hoped she didn’t mess up for us. I didn’t know if I just hadn’t seen it before, but she wanted support. At least here she didn’t seem like she had it all under control.
She double-checked to make sure all her hair was tucked under her cap, and checked her goggles like TV cameras were filming her and she was starting some huge race with commentators talking about her every move.
But that was just so Lizzy. She might be more quirky than snobby. And she didn’t annoy me as much anymore.
“Go, Lizzy!” I said, almost not even realizing.
She smiled from the blocks and nodded. And I didn’t think it was fake.
When the turtle man started her race, she rocketed off the blocks in total grace. It was like she could fly for a second. And when she came up, she swam with perfect strokes. She probably had practiced until she mastered it. But she wasn’t as aggressive as Marc and she had competition.
Marc and I both cheered her on through the end of the race. To the very end. She got second.
And then I felt this strange feeling. I was sad she hadn’t won. I don’t know if it was because we were on the same team now, or what. Maybe something had changed.
“Good job,” I said as she came out of the water. I gave her a high ten. Marc did too.
“Sorry, guys,” she said. “I’ll do better in my freestyle relay.” She dried off her face. “Now you’re up,” she said, looking at me.
And I think my heart totally stopped cold.
I was in the next heat.
Maylan Twitchell, Journal #13, twelve years ago
Weighing in at the size of an African elephant, the mola mola fish is the biggest boney fish in the sea. They can grow to several times larger than a human, but look flat and awkward, with large, unblinking eyes. Because of their appearance, their slow movement, their curious and unfearful nature, and some lazy-looking behavior, the poor mola mola is often referred to as the stupidest fish in the sea.
But that’s unfair. Being gentle is not the same as being stupid.
As I stood on the blocks, I was a few seconds away from an anxiety attack. My heart pounded like the waves against the rocks.
What was I thinking?
At least the crowd wasn’t huge, just pockets of people scattered throughout the bleachers. They were all parents and family members of everyone about to swim in our first swim meet ever. But it made me really nervous anyway.
The girl next to me had to be five inches taller and in a lot better shape. I felt silly even standing next to her.
“Alright, Willa,” someone yelled. “Vamos!” I looked up to see Mamá Mendoza clapping and yelling.
“Go, Willa,” my dad called out. Masha whistled loud and Nadia, unsuccessfully, tried to copy her. I heard Caleb too. I don’t know if they were all excited to be here, but I really appreciated it. It didn’t fill the giant hole in me, that was my mom’s—but it filled up some cracks.
This was happening. My first race. But I probably wasn’t going to do very well; I couldn’t even win against my own team. How would I beat anyone else from the other team? I felt a bit embarrassed already.
“Willa, Willa,” Marc chanted. Then Lizzy and some of the other members of the team joined in.
I couldn’t help but smile. Which was really dangerous when I was about to jump into the water.
“Take your mark,” the bald man with the turtle head said. Then he blew his whistle.
I leapt in, like a stingray gliding back into the ocean after it shot out of the water. No one really knows why they leap out, but they slap the water when they come back in. That’s what I did.
And then, stroke for stroke, I pushed myself. I tried to imagine a sailfish or marlin or something else super speedy. I wanted the grace of Lizzy, but the intensity of Marc. But I knew I wasn’t going to win.
As I came up for air, I heard “Willa. Willa.” And I found a little more in me.
I just kept going and going.
I needed to breathe but I didn’t dare surface for air. It was only a stroke or two and I’d be done.
When my hand hit the end of the pool my head shot straight out and I gasped. I did it. I finished my first swim race.
I looked around and realized I came in dead last. One of the girls wasn’t even in the water anymore.
Last.
I laughed because I felt like I had two choices, laugh or cry, and I had already done more than enough crying.
Somebody whistled through their fingers. Happy whistles. “Good job, Willa. Good job!” My dad. Lumberjack cheers from the crowd.
“Good job?” A kid’s voice asked. “She was the very last one.” Caleb. Despite all the echoing sounds in the room, I could hear him. I guess he didn’t understand what Dad was trying to do.
But in the next heat, I was second to last. And in the next. On my last race, I was third to last.
Progress.
Or the kids I swam against were younger.
In the end, I didn’t hate it.
Coach Jackson had us all line up before we went home. “Good job to
day, everyone,” Coach said, looking down at her clipboard then back up at us. For some reason she had a paper sack next to her. “So you’ve had your first swim meet. What did you think?”
Lizzy’s arm shot up. No surprise. “I really liked competing,” she said. “It felt different than just swimming against each other.”
I thought the same thing, but now I didn’t want to say it, even if Lizzy was okay now.
“I thought it was different to have an official,” Skyler, the red-headed kid said. He was a grade above me and did quite well in the meet. “And did anyone else think he kind of looked like he had a turtle head?”
Everyone broke out in a quick laugh.
“Be respectful,” chastised Coach Jackson, but smiled a little too. “I’ve been timing you and watching your progress and I have a few pointers about how you can prepare and be even more ready for your next meet.” She took a few steps down the line. “But we’ll save those for practice.”
“And,” she said, “I don’t want to focus so much about what we can still do better that I don’t recognize all the good work you’ve done.” I liked the sound of that. “I have two awards today,” she said and grabbed the brown paper sack she had next to her. “It isn’t much,” she said. “Just a certificate and a candy bar, but it’s important to recognize what we’ve done well. And I feel a few of you deserve some special recognition.”
I looked down the line of us. Everyone was fixed on Coach Jackson. I think Lizzy was standing especially tall.
“The first honor,” Coach Jackson said, “goes to our top swimmer at the meet. He won two races and came in second on the other two. And he did it all while still learning how to dive.” Coach Jackson smiled big and we all knew who it was. His dives looked like long-legged belly-flops. She pulled out the certificate and the candy bar. He had even beat out Claire, the sandy-haired girl who had started out the fastest on the team. “Marc Mendoza.” Everyone clapped. Especially me. Even though it was really embarrassing for me to lose over and over again, maybe it was worth it just to be here for my friend.
Marc walked forward and shyly accepted his award. “One thing I want to point out about Marc is his effort, his heart,” Coach Jackson said. “Though he is still working on his mechanics, his sheer effort is helping him achieve. Imagine what he’ll be like when he gets the mechanics down.”
He blushed. I’m not sure if it was because he was just complimented, or told he had something to work on. Still, I was proud of him.
“And for the other award,” Coach Jackson said. It had to be for Lizzy or Claire. They were the next best swimmers. “Willa Twitchell.”
“Me?” That didn’t make any sense. I’d lost every race.
“Yes, you,” Coach Jackson said. I’m sure my surprise was all over my face. Maybe the others looked surprised too because Coach Jackson had a few things to say. “Did you all know that Willa has dropped several seconds each time she has raced? Several seconds,” she repeated a little louder. “From her beginning trial run until now, which was only a few weeks ago, she has dropped nearly twenty seconds. That’s a huge improvement.” She walked back and forth. “Do you remember how I told you that I was the seventeenth fastest swimmer in the world?” We all nodded. “And that I only lost to the best swimmer by four seconds?” She let that sink in. “Think of how much difference twenty seconds makes.” She paused. “Twenty seconds,” she repeated. “If Willa were to continue improving at this rate, she would break the world record within the year.”
Whoa. I had never thought of that.
“Now, it’s going to get harder and harder to improve,” Coach Jackson said. “It always does. But . . .” She looked at each person on the swim team. “I’m going to challenge you all to be like Willa, to improve. To get better. Be faster than you were. Try harder. That’s what swimming is all about.”
And then Coach Jackson reached into the bag and gave me a certificate and a Snickers bar.
Maybe Coach Jackson never won a gold. Maybe she was only the seventeenth fastest swimmer in the world. But right then, she was definitely my favorite swimmer ever.
I thought I would keep that certificate for forever. But I would definitely eat the Snickers. And hopefully I would do what she said; just keep trying and improving.
Maylan Twitchell, Journal #13, twelve years ago
The ocean is always moving. There are surface currents and eddies. Upwellings are places where deep water comes to the surface. In downwellings, surface water sinks. Waves and tides are never still. If you lose your hat, it might end up on the other side of the world. The perpetual motion of it all is mesmerizing, always moving, always changing.
Sometimes life is like that too.
I drew a humpback in my journal while I caught Meg up on everything that had happened.
“So you’re saying Lizzy isn’t an evil bottom dweller anymore?” Meg asked.
I closed my journal. “I don’t think so. I think she just needs attention.”
“Hmmm,” Meg hummed while she thought. “That’s not all bad. I like attention too.” And then out in the distance I saw a large whale rise out of the water to do a backflop. It was probably half a mile away.
“Meg,” I said. “Was that you? I just saw the most amazing humpback shoot out of the water.”
She giggled a song. “Amazing humpback,” she repeated. “I love a pleasant surprise.”
“You’re right there.” I pointed, still stunned. I always thought of her as being miles away, sending her song through the water. “Close enough for me to see you.”
“All amazing 66,000 pounds of me,” Meg said, and she surfaced again with a slap. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t self-conscious about her weight. I could imagine her wide smile as she started to swim toward me.
“Don’t get too close,” I said. I didn’t want her to get beached.
“I won’t,” she said. “I just wanted to look at you again, my favorite little human, not just hear you.” And I saw her poke her head out of the water and spyhop so she could see me.
I stood up and waved my arms.
For a moment, we just looked at each other.
“Thank you for being my friend, Willa,” Meg sang.
“Thank you for being my friend,” I said. The idea of being friends with a humpback whale basically fulfilled my every dream. So why did I feel a little sad?
Meg paused. “This might be hard to hear,” she said. “It’s hard to say.” I didn’t like the sound of that. And then Meg said words I definitely didn’t like. “It’s time for me to migrate north.”
My insides whirlpooled. Migration. Meg was leaving, swimming thousands of miles away. No more talks. No more call-outs or compliments. No more stories. No more Meg.
There was no avoiding it. She was always going to do it.
But I wasn’t ready.
“It’s time to go with my pod, my friends, my family,” Meg said. “There is great krill up there and the adventure is good for me.”
Was this how my life was going to be? Meeting and making friends and then having to let them go?
“Are you coming back?” I asked. I think my words came out a little softer than I meant.
“Always.” Meg did that bubble laugh that I hadn’t heard her do for a while. I gave a small smile in spite of myself. “When the weather gets cold there, I will come back here. When the weather gets cold here, then I will go further south. It’s what I do.”
She was right. There was no keeping her here. Mom was right. Life was always moving.
“But before I go, can I tell you a story?” Meg asked.
“Of course.” I sat down. These stories usually required my whole brain to understand.
“I told you that I’ve had a few children. Well, when I had my first calf, she meant the world to me. We would swim and whisper, whisper and giggle, eat and swim, and swim some more. She was
smart and fast. In the murky water we would have to stay in constant communication so I would know where she was. But it was scary because even though we were careful and quiet, if a predator heard us, things could change fast. So I did my very best to steer her around trouble and keep quiet. It was scary being a new mother. I had never done this before. I could tell you a dozen times when I messed up. But my daughter stuck right by me . . .”
That would definitely be scary to raise a calf in the ocean.
“. . . until she was grown,” Meg said. “And she grew up to be smart and fast. And then it was time for her to leave, to live her own life.” She exhaled long. “It was normal for her to leave. It was time for her to strike out into the deep ocean, have an adventure, to grow even more, maybe even become a mother herself.”
That made sense.
“It’s a big ocean, so I don’t see her as much as I want,” Meg said. “In fact, I rarely see her. But I will never stop thinking about her. Ever.”
The waves came in and out while I thought about those words.
“It’s okay that she has moved on,” Meg said. “She will always be a part of me.”
Another wave came in and out.
Meg waited, like I was supposed to say something.
“It’s okay for us to move on,” Meg said.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“I love you, Willa.”
“I love you too,” I said.
“You,” Meg said, “little human, are my favorite pleasant surprise.” Her voice was serious.
Everyone should definitely have their own whale.
“Are you going to be okay while I’m gone?” she asked.
I thought about it for a moment. Everything was still really hard, but I wasn’t drowning. My dad had taken me out to dinner. He said we should do that every other week. Just us. So he could pay attention to me and I could talk about whatever I wanted. And it was quiet and nice and not filled with screaming kids. At the end, he set out a few dollars and some coins for the tip. But then he picked a coin up and made it disappear, only to “find” it from behind my ear. Part of me wanted to roll my eyes—I wasn’t six anymore—but the rest of me loved it. It was like a part of my old dad was back. He said we could even do another whale watch.
