"Bruce, the Slue, and Me"

"Come on! You can make it!" my cousin Bruce said excitedly as he pointed to the other side of the slue.
"Look, it's not that far."
We were at the part of the slue that was now entering the North Platte river, between Ft. Laramie and Lingle, Wyoming. This meeting between the two was very uncommon. At one time it was a very large irrigation ditch that ran through several miles of farm land connected to the river. Several generations before this day, it was closed off from the North Platte, leaving what seems like a dead river. The still standing water is, according to Webster, what technically makes it a slue, but to me it's a great place to find frogs and turtles and other beautiful wonders of nature.
There had been a lot of rain that year which caused a very serious amount of flooding. All of the old-timers commented on how they had never seen such destruction and damage by flooding in these parts. There were up-rooted trees and mud slides everywhere. We were on Uncle Jim and Aunt Cat's farm on the south side of the corn fields, just down from the main house. Grandpa had decided to take us fishing with him on this breezy summer day in late July.
As I looked across to the bank on the other side of the slue from us, I couldn't help but notice how fast the water seemed and how threatening it was acting. The water seemed to mock me with an evil glare as each ripple in the waves flashed it's sharp, white teeth.
"I can't swim," I stammered, not wanting to sound like a sissy. That over-eager, green voice of ego wanted me to be accepted as something other than a little boy by my peers. Bruce was two years my senior, a real teenager already, and tall, but very thin. I was only eleven and small for my age. Not that I was going to admit it, but I was damn scared of that water.
"Why do we need to go over there, anyway?"
" 'Cause the fishin's better over there. Besides, Grandpa's fishin' here," he explained as he brushed aside his sandy brown-colored hair. It was a bit longer than what was socially acceptable at the time, unlike my very short bowl-cut. Bruce always seemed to be level-headed, with a deep voice that commanded authority. He was always in charge, even with adults around. He was becoming impatient with me now.
"Come on. It ain't that far. You can swim. Everybody can swim."
"No I can't," I said in a very high pitched, childish voice, that tried to speak with
authority. That water spooked me. I could see what looked like a tree, or parts of one, under the water. It made the water swirl forming huge maddening circles of death, like the tornado I saw when we lived on the farm in Torrington six years ago. That tornado was dark and gray, as my mother, younger sister and brother, and I watched it destroy the
corn field across the highway from our house. As we watched it from the basement, ripping trees from their roots, throwing dust and debris, I thought I saw a face in the tornado, laughing with delight. A shiver of fear ran through me as its' eyes made contact with mine.
"I'm going to the other side. I'll help you. I'll go across first and you follow me." It was becoming clear that the Sergeant was not going to take "I can't swim" for an answer. I watched in disbelief as he swam to the other side.
Being the cool-headed, I-can-handle-peer-pressure person I was, I summoned up some stupidity and walked into the water. The water was freezing as it soaked into my shoes. With each step I took, the current became swifter. All of my senses told me that this was not the thing to do, but that little, green voice was very persuasive.
The water was probably no deeper than my shins when suddenly I was completely submerged and rapidly pushed under that tree. My body was no more than a spec of dust in a wind storm, being tossed around with no concern for the laws of gravity by the evil undertow. The strong force of the water pinned my back to the tree with me in an upright position searching for the sky. My mind was frozen with sheer panic because I could not move in any direction. The yellow sunlight was being filtered down to me through only about two feet of water. It would not have made a difference if it was two hundred feet or two inches, I was not going anywhere. No matter how hard I struggled, I could not even move my arms. It was as though I was tied to the front of a freight train that was going so fast the G-forces were flattening me into mere particles. The water felt like a strong wind blowing through me, deafening me with it's mighty roar.
The thoughts of my inevitable death slowly started to dissipate, as I began to lose all of my sensory perceptions. The sounds of thunder that the water had filled my mind with started to become gentle and comforting. I noticed that the cold, dark water had turned to a warm light brown, like the fur on a lion. A bright but soothing, soft light gradually overtook me, completely surrounding my entire body. As far as my peripheral vision could see, everything was encompassed by the light. My back no longer felt the pressure from the tree. No longer did I feel the brute force of the water pushing me. The sensation of floating and not touching anything solid was still with me. As I traveled deeper into the Light, I could see the figure of some adult female standing to my left in front of me. Her figure was more of an essence than solid, like a ghost in a movie. She seemed as though she was waiting for me, but I did not recognize her. As I got closer to her, I thought I heard many soft, quiet voices whispering to me. I could now see other people appearing before me. Slowly, I realized that I had no sensations in my body. There was no want for the air that I had so desperately needed earlier. I could not feel cold or
moisture or my legs moving. It was just my sight and sound. A feeling of tremendous relief and joy filled every part of my essences. No pain or sorrow. All negative feelings and sensations were gone. The very next moment, I was on my hands and knees on the shore, forgoing my liquid lunch.
"Boy, you can't swim, can you," I heard Bruce say with some surprise from above me. His clothing and hair dripped water from having pulled me out.
"I told you, damn it!" I screamed with all my might.
"Hey!" our Grandfather yelled over to us.
"What are you guys up to?" Neither of us replied; we just walked over to a different part of the slue.
"Just what the hell was I up to?" I thought to myself.
"I know damned well I can't swim." This was just one of my poor attempts at handling peer pressure and a good lesson in how not to handle it. However, it would take me until well into my adulthood before I would learn not to do stupid things like this.
Bruce and I did not have a whole lot to say to each other the rest of the day. All I knew was that it scared the hell out of me (water still scares me to this day). For years, when I thought of this moment, I would get that same feeling of panic and fear, often times, with the same intensity. I think maybe I earned a little respect from him, though. At least enough for him to believe me when I told him I couldn't swim.