She was sick of us pestering her. She was sick of us pestering each other. She was sick of the workload ahead of her, and the distractions around her. She’d had enough.
“Alright, that’s enough.” When she spoke like that, we knew to shut up. “We’re going swimming.”
We were overjoyed. We’d been at this cottage called a house for several days and had not dipped into the lovely little lake on which it rested. My mother wanted to be with us when we broke into the calm waters; we were too young to watch ourselves.
We dug our bathing suits out from the unopened boxes of clothes, and undressed faster than we had ever done before. The excitement had been mounting for days, and the effects of being teased by the bright blue waters had become unbearable.
It was Labor Day weekend, and we had just moved from the only house we’d ever known into a tiny, 2 bedroom cottage on Greenwood Pond. The nut brown house sat on two and a half acres of waterfront property, which made up for its lack of stature. The property was lined by tall oaks, maples, pines, and bright white birches, and was set back from the road so we truly felt we were removed from the world.
It was idyllic, and we couldn’t wait to jump into that water.
We ran out to the “beach”, a small strip of weeds and coarse sand that bordered a few yards of water. My mother followed carrying our towels and a folding chair. We didn’t care that we had no sand toys, no inflatable tubes, and only one of us knew how to swim. We were ready.
Being the oldest, my sister ran in first. There were a few moments of pure jealousy that she had gone in first, had felt the cool wetness of the lake before we had even reached it.
Then she started screaming. ”My feet! My feet!” My brother and I, close behind, stopped abruptly and didn’t dare venture into the water. What could be in there, eating her feet?
My mother quickly came to the water.
“What is it, Cathy?” she asked. “What’s wrong with your feet?”
“They hurt; they just hurt!” Cathy cried.
“Both of them?”
“No, just one.”
“Well, come out of the water and let’s have a look,” my mother said in her ever calm voice.
My sister started walking out of the water, and started screaming again, “My other foot! Ow, Mom! My other foot now!”
She crawled onto the shore on her hands and knees. By this time my brother and I could see the water near her feet spiraling with red swirls. What had happened to her? we wondered.
She sat on the sand and lifted her feet for us all to see. There were slices up and down each foot, dripping with bright crimson blood.
“Well,” my mother said, “It looks like we’ve got clams.”
