Testing the Waters

I could’ve sworn you were inviting me in.

Calling to me, “come on in, the water’s great.”

I don’t normally do this.

You seemed to me a beacon.  A buoyant, shining landmark I could easily swim to. I was hesitant, but you wooed me with sweet words and exuberant eyes.

I thought, “Okay, he must want me to get in with him.  It will be safe.”

I saw your bright brown eyes gleaming at me.

So I jumped.

But the instant my feet touched the water I sensed it was cold. I plunged down into the freezing fathoms, pulled by the strong arms of gravity and inertia. Until, at last, my breath brought me back up and my head broke the surface.

I looked around for you, but my beacon was gone. Perhaps I created a wave so big that it carried you away.

I suddenly realized I was naked and exposed as ice fear spread from my stomach outward, making my shivering inside as cold as my desperately flailing appendages.

The surface of the water was no longer smooth and playful. Now, I was lost in a gale of choppy freezing waves.

I struggled to keep my head above water.

“You should have never jumped in.”

“You should have known better.”

Those eerie voices sang to me from depths below. Every time my ears were submerged they caught a snippet of the dirge.