Routine and a Day at the Beach

Sometimes, the routine washes over my head, but by the time I realize that I should be drowning I’ve adapted to something new, and breathing water is what I do now.

Not literally, as the waves still crashed over my head. I gasped as the current swept my feet out from under me. I flail wildly, reaching out vaguely towards the surface, or towards where my friends had been standing. We had all been in a line, deeper than we should have been, trying to time our jumps to ride the wave a few feet back. I’m swept back more than a few feet, and end up sputtering, snorting water out of my nose and coughing into the inch-deep shallows. The beach is crowded, but nobody seems to notice the lone pre-teen.

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