Chapter 5-3
1008 Words
“Get on your knees.” She points at the board that sits on top of the sand. “This is a very important position especially when you need a break from…” She licks her lips, and Dylan waits on edge for her to finish the sentence.
“…standing,” she says with a wink.
Considering we’re the only two in the class, I’m starting to feel like the third wheel.
“I agree,” he says with a smirk, eating up everything she’s saying. I’m trying really hard to keep my scoffs and eye rolls to myself.
Once we’ve practiced a few times on the sand, she tells us to take our boards to the water, which is as calm as can be. We mount our boards how she taught us, and at first, we both look like baby cows learning to walk for the first time—all wobbly and trying not to fall on our asses.
But before too long, we’re both standing and paddling around.
After an hour, Trish lets us know the beginner’s lesson is over and releases us to the ocean alone but tells Dylan now that if he wants another lesson, she’d be happy to give him a one-on-one. Knowing Dylan, he’d be more than happy to take her up on that offer, but he wouldn’t leave me alone, so he tells her maybe another time.
Without further hesitation, we head back into the water, but paddle farther than before. From a distance, the people lying out on the beach look tiny, and I know it’s time we turn around.
“Race you back?” I ask Dylan, and he happily agrees to the challenge.
“Loser buys drinks tonight,” Dylan calls out, confidently.
“Deal.” We line our boards up and then count down before we both take off.
We’re laughing and talking s**t, and just as I start to pass Dylan, he takes his paddle and swings it at me, but misses and falls off his board.
“Cheater!” I yell back at him, waiting for a rebuttal. I’m halfway to the shore when I turn around and realize he’s not on his board or floating in the water. Panic rushes through me, and I start yelling his name before diving from my board back toward him. I swim as hard as I can, searching for any sign of life when I finally find him sinking lower into the water.
Seconds feel like minutes as I wrap my arm around Dylan’s chest and pull us up above the surface. I swim as fast as I can back to shore with one arm. Before I make it to the shore, a few people take notice and run into the water to help me carry him. I’m freaking the f**k out as Dylan lies on the sand on his back, blue in the face and completely unresponsive.
Like an angel, River comes running from out of nowhere and immediately goes to work on Dylan. Without hesitation, she checks his pulse and begins chest compressions as hard and fast as she can. It all happens so quickly that I can barely think, and I feel so helpless as River directs her ear to his mouth to check if he’s breathing. Someone behind me cries out on the phone, and I realize the woman is on the phone with 911. I’m completely speechless watching River work like a pro. She tilts his head back and pushes air into his mouth twice before going back to chest compressions. A moment later, Dylan begins to move.
“He’s breathing!” River exclaims, rolling him over onto his side, and I watch as he coughs up water. The crowd that gathered around us breathes a collective sigh of relief as Dylan blinks up at us.
Just as he comes to, the paramedics arrive, and once River explains what happened, they begin the process of inserting an IV with fluids into his arm and ask Dylan how he’s feeling. He responds while they place an EKG monitor on his chest and clip a thing onto his finger.
“What’s that for?” I ask, nodding my head at it
“A pulse oximeter so we can see how much oxygen is in his blood and make sure he’s getting enough air,” one of the paramedics answer.
“The normal range is between ninety-five to ninety-nine percent, so he’s a little low right now, but that’s common given the circumstances,” the other paramedic adds.
More questions are asked as to what happened, how long was he underwater, how long it took for him to start breathing on his own, and River and I answer the best we can as they load him onto a gurney and recommend he see a doctor for follow-up tests.
“I don’t need to go,” Dylan says softly, trying to sit up. “I’m just fine,” he insists.
“You should,” I hear River tell him. “They need to make sure you’re okay, and that I didn’t fracture a rib or anything.” She smirks at him, and he actually decides to listen to her.
As Dylan’s pushed into the ambulance, I climb in behind and sit on the bench next to the gurney. The paramedics strap in and we take off to the hospital. On the way, all I can think of is how his mama is going to kill me as I replay every moment in my head.
One minute, he was being an asshole trying to cheat by knocking me off my board, and the next I’m dragging his unconscious body to the beach because he nearly drowns. It seems surreal, actually. I couldn’t find him, and when I did, adrenaline pumped through me so hard I rushed back to shore as fast as possible.
Once we arrive and Dylan is unloaded, they immediately move him to a private triage room as we wait for a doctor to evaluate him.
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