Wind and Water: a College Essay
The Memory
Wind and Water
“You’re wind and water.” He said. I blinked and looked back to my knitting, not even realizing that I’d been staring.
“Is that so?” I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. I put my work down and fixed my gaze at the passing scenery. The river of concrete and stone had melted into tall trees and fields. I could already catch a passing whiff of the sea salt caught in the breeze of an open window. It wouldn’t be long now until we reached the site and set up camp. It was early September, 2007, and my senior class was just beginning our orientation.
Even if I didn’t show it, I thought a lot about my friend’s words. He had referred to me as elements. Why? How did that even make sense? How are wind and water even that connected anyway? I thought about it as we set up tents, the smell of salt and earth smothering everyone as they worked. That night we’d all nervously sit around the camp fire, on the brink of the rest of our lives, clinging to our childhood the whole time.
Nobody wants to grow up. It was a message clear as glass that was reflected on everyone’s faces. We had arrived at Cape Cod with more than just excitement for the new school year’s arrival. Each and every person around the fire was uneasy as we sat together, caught between laughter and tears. Every funny joke was just another reminder that our days were numbered. Soon it would all just be a “Remember when”. Soon it would all just be another anecdote with no real point but the memory and the feeling.
We went to bed that night with watery smiles and the cold tear of innocence being ripped away with realization. We wouldn’t have another orientation trip. It would be one of the last times we were together as a class. We were going to make it something to remember.
There was no assigned schedule for the entire trip. Forged out of laziness and stress the teachers who led us had simply come out to relax and get to know the youth surrounding them. I could write a novel on the group experiences, what we did, who said what, who cried when, but it would take a lot of time that I don’t have. So I’ll keep it to this, my one memory that’s never going to fade.
The lake by our site was warm and still, so we expected about the same of the ocean nearby. We all threw on our swim suits and hopped in the vans for a fifteen minute car ride. The whole way I frantically worked on a scarf for the winter up-coming as I ignored the sense of impending stress that seemed to build with every minute slipping by. I’ve heard senior year can do that to a person.
The people in the front of the van had their foot out of the door before we could even announce our arrival to the rest of the group. We all ran for the shore but those first to the line of water shrieked and turned back.
“Oh god, it’s so cold!” They shouted. I followed, unsure of myself and constantly watching. I had gone to great lengths to be able to swim and I didn’t want it to go to waste. So, calmly and slowly I just kept on walking: one step, then another until I was fully submerged. I looked back to my friends on the shore, already lounging around, reading or talking avidly to one another. Cedar, one of our mentors, had even started up a game of Frisbee on the dunes. Only two people remained to watch me brave the icy depths surrounding me. I waved to them, my best friends, and called to them but they would not come in. It was only me.
I turned away from the shore and gazed out towards sea. I felt an odd sense of safety as I felt my body cradled by the waves. I took a deep breath and sank to the bottom of the rocky shore, feeling my feet tangling in seaweed and scraping against the jagged floor. I opened my eyes. I could see nothing but oh, the things I felt. The water was like millions of tiny icicles pricking my skin and surrounding me completely. I felt my arms and legs burn with the cold as I tried my best not to thrash in agony. I gasped as I came up to the surface and looked around frantically, before remembering the feeling of protection from before. Instead of fighting I let my body float in the tide. The rhythmic back and forth did not make me sick as it usually did but instead calmed me, made me laugh at its playfulness. The wind howled as it danced across the waves and I laughed and laughed. The sea was playing with me, the only one who dared to let go within its grasp.
Eventually others waded in, but they did not stay long. I laughed as they retreated and sighed at the sadness that others could not let themselves go in the churning ice. I laughed when I did get out and went to wash the sand from my hair in the outside showers, feeling it hot and burning, my friend telling me that the water coming from the faucet was actually rather cold. I laughed at my lack of feeling and I laughed as I shivered because of the sudden warmth of land.
I laughed because I had finally felt like a part of something bigger than myself. I laughed because of how much sense it made. I really was wind and water. They ran through me like my physical blood. And it took a friend with a keen eye and my own will to go where no one else would for me to realize it. The water is where I belong, but I must keep to the wind as well, pledging myself to both. May I never forget the embrace of the sea, for it truly is the blood of the world.
“You’re wind and water.” He said. I blinked and looked back to my knitting, not even realizing that I’d been staring.
“Is that so?” I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. I put my work down and fixed my gaze at the passing scenery. The river of concrete and stone had melted into tall trees and fields. I could already catch a passing whiff of the sea salt caught in the breeze of an open window. It wouldn’t be long now until we reached the site and set up camp. It was early September, 2007, and my senior class was just beginning our orientation.
Even if I didn’t show it, I thought a lot about my friend’s words. He had referred to me as elements. Why? How did that even make sense? How are wind and water even that connected anyway? I thought about it as we set up tents, the smell of salt and earth smothering everyone as they worked. That night we’d all nervously sit around the camp fire, on the brink of the rest of our lives, clinging to our childhood the whole time.
Nobody wants to grow up. It was a message clear as glass that was reflected on everyone’s faces. We had arrived at Cape Cod with more than just excitement for the new school year’s arrival. Each and every person around the fire was uneasy as we sat together, caught between laughter and tears. Every funny joke was just another reminder that our days were numbered. Soon it would all just be a “Remember when”. Soon it would all just be another anecdote with no real point but the memory and the feeling.
We went to bed that night with watery smiles and the cold tear of innocence being ripped away with realization. We wouldn’t have another orientation trip. It would be one of the last times we were together as a class. We were going to make it something to remember.
There was no assigned schedule for the entire trip. Forged out of laziness and stress the teachers who led us had simply come out to relax and get to know the youth surrounding them. I could write a novel on the group experiences, what we did, who said what, who cried when, but it would take a lot of time that I don’t have. So I’ll keep it to this, my one memory that’s never going to fade.
The lake by our site was warm and still, so we expected about the same of the ocean nearby. We all threw on our swim suits and hopped in the vans for a fifteen minute car ride. The whole way I frantically worked on a scarf for the winter up-coming as I ignored the sense of impending stress that seemed to build with every minute slipping by. I’ve heard senior year can do that to a person.
The people in the front of the van had their foot out of the door before we could even announce our arrival to the rest of the group. We all ran for the shore but those first to the line of water shrieked and turned back.
“Oh god, it’s so cold!” They shouted. I followed, unsure of myself and constantly watching. I had gone to great lengths to be able to swim and I didn’t want it to go to waste. So, calmly and slowly I just kept on walking: one step, then another until I was fully submerged. I looked back to my friends on the shore, already lounging around, reading or talking avidly to one another. Cedar, one of our mentors, had even started up a game of Frisbee on the dunes. Only two people remained to watch me brave the icy depths surrounding me. I waved to them, my best friends, and called to them but they would not come in. It was only me.
I turned away from the shore and gazed out towards sea. I felt an odd sense of safety as I felt my body cradled by the waves. I took a deep breath and sank to the bottom of the rocky shore, feeling my feet tangling in seaweed and scraping against the jagged floor. I opened my eyes. I could see nothing but oh, the things I felt. The water was like millions of tiny icicles pricking my skin and surrounding me completely. I felt my arms and legs burn with the cold as I tried my best not to thrash in agony. I gasped as I came up to the surface and looked around frantically, before remembering the feeling of protection from before. Instead of fighting I let my body float in the tide. The rhythmic back and forth did not make me sick as it usually did but instead calmed me, made me laugh at its playfulness. The wind howled as it danced across the waves and I laughed and laughed. The sea was playing with me, the only one who dared to let go within its grasp.
Eventually others waded in, but they did not stay long. I laughed as they retreated and sighed at the sadness that others could not let themselves go in the churning ice. I laughed when I did get out and went to wash the sand from my hair in the outside showers, feeling it hot and burning, my friend telling me that the water coming from the faucet was actually rather cold. I laughed at my lack of feeling and I laughed as I shivered because of the sudden warmth of land.
I laughed because I had finally felt like a part of something bigger than myself. I laughed because of how much sense it made. I really was wind and water. They ran through me like my physical blood. And it took a friend with a keen eye and my own will to go where no one else would for me to realize it. The water is where I belong, but I must keep to the wind as well, pledging myself to both. May I never forget the embrace of the sea, for it truly is the blood of the world.