This I Used to Believe

Ashley Halverson

Bonnie Moore

ENGL 2010

17 April 2014

Bubbles and Beliefs

As children, we often form beliefs and understandings that, later in life, we discover to be false. We learn that our parents, not Santa Claus, leave presents at the base of the shimmering Christmas tree. The Tooth Fairy, for whom we once left pearly baby teeth beneath our pillows, becomes a silly and somewhat embarrassing memory. The monsters beneath the bed and in the closet are suffocated by the courage we gain in our adolescent years and the debris of a messy room. We stop wishing on the first star we see as the sky grows dark because those wishes never seem to come true. In my own life, I have held all of these beliefs and more. They made my childhood a magical time, full of memories and experiences. Many of those memories came at the hands of others. For instance, my parents took the time and energy to create my childhood wonders, and for that I am thankful. Others, I am less inclined to be thankful for. Thanks to the efforts of my teenaged neighbors, Rachel and Perry Ward, I once believed that I could breathe underwater. As one would expect, I eventually had to amend this belief.

Because of my father’s position in the United States Army, my family enjoyed the opportunity to do a great deal of traveling throughout our lifetimes. We lived in Lupburg, Germany, when I was seven years old. Lupburg is a small town in the heart of Bavaria, or Southern Germany. Our townhouse was located on a sloping street, one of a dozen other military houses. Like many of the other places I have lived, the neighborhood constantly changed as people came and went from one Army post to another. My five-year-old brother, Joshua, and I constantly looked for new friends to play with in the neighborhood.

Rachel and Perry Ward lived right next door. They were a few years older than my brother and I, but they did their best to tolerate us, as we were the only other kids on the street. We looked up to them, knowing that their age and wisdom far outweighed our own. Perry referred to us as “midgets”, priding himself on the few inches he had over us. Rachel used her cleverness to make us feel small. I believe she was the mastermind behind most of the pranks they pulled on us. She once led me to believe that the fog that hung heavy over the mountains was actually a spider’s web, and that the residential tarantula, a creature the size of a house, would sneak down at night to kidnap children and drink their blood. She and Perry were certain that my name came next on the menu. I did not sleep for a week afterwards, fearing the hairy limbs of the spider that would surely reach through my window that night. It was not kind, but what they told us next could have truly led to disaster.

I have always loved the water; swimming, splashing, playing, relaxing. Give me a puddle and I’ll make a day of it. During this particular summer, my parents set up a medium-sized kiddie pool in the backyard. My brother and I spent hours in it every day. Occasionally Rachel and Perry would stop by to see what we were doing, to splash us or tease us about the childishness of playing in a kiddie pool. One day, while Joshua and I were getting ready to swim, Rachel and Perry came over to us, giggling quietly. With a smile plastered on her face, Rachel said, “I know something about swimming that you guys don’t know.” Intrigued, Joshua and I begged her to tell us the secret. She finally gave in. “I can teach you how to breathe underwater.”

Flabbergasted, but curios, I wondered if such a thing could be done. Breathing underwater was for fish, not humans. “That’s silly,” I said. “We don’t believe you!”

“Well, then I guess you don’t want to know how to do it.” Perry smirked as he sneered the words. And the two of them turned to leave.

“Wait!” Josh and I both fumbled for their attention, and with grins they came back to the side of the pool. “What do we have to do?”

“If you can hold your breath underwater for twenty seconds, you can breathe in it. Perry and I do it all the time.” Rachel crossed her arms. “What are you waiting for? Try it.”

I gulped and looked at Joshua. He bounced up and down, ready to go for it. So I nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”

We took a few last breaths, then plunged our heads beneath the water. This will be easy, I thought to myself. I had practiced holding my breath plenty of times before. Twenty seconds passed, and with excitement I inhaled deeply. Cold, metallic hose-water immediately filled my lungs. I jumped up, coughing and sputtering, and heard Joshua doing the same. Rachel and Perry were holding back laughter. “That wasn’t long enough!” they shouted. “You have to try again!”

Once we had regained our breath, Josh and I tried again, somewhat reluctantly. Twenty seconds passed, and the result remained the same. I became lightheaded, my stomach sloshing from all the excess water in my system. “Why isn’t it working?”

“That was too long. It has to be EXACTLY twenty seconds.”

We tried, time and time again, nauseated by the taste of the water and nearly drowning from the liquid in our lungs. Rachel and Perry just laughed, never telling us that it was all one big joke. Eventually they left and we gave up, exhausted by the attempts. For months after that, I tried again and again, whether it was in the bathtub or back in the kiddie pool, discovering with each attempt the sheer impossibility of the feat. As the years passed, I had many more experiences that caused me to rethink this idea that I could breather underwater.

At the age of twelve, I lived in Hohenfels Germany. We often visited a huge swimming complex a few towns over, one with tube slides, whirlpools, diving boards, and a wave pool with a giant floating island in the middle. The water grew deep there, but I still kept swimming out and climbing aboard to ride out the waves. Once, my family and I went to the complex with a few family friends. I was the oldest child there, and I took the responsibility very seriously. I did all I could to keep track of those who were old enough to swim on their own, but still young enough to get themselves into trouble. Three or four of us were out in the wave pool, climbing on top of the island, when the sirens went off, letting us know that the waves were about to begin. They lapped against the side of the island, then began to beat upon it, causing Delaney, a girl just a few years younger than me, to lose her footing and fall into the churning water. I knew she wasn’t a strong swimmer. Terrified, I jumped in after her. I found her bobbing in the water, barely keeping her head above the surface. I knew that, no matter how long she held her breath, she could not breathe underwater. If she slipped below, she might never come back up. I grabbed on to her, fighting to reach the shore. The waves just pushed me back, pulling me farther and farther away from safety. Delaney was dead weight in my arms, exhausted by the fight. The wave cycle had at least three minutes left, and they were the longest three minutes of my life. Just when I was certain that we could not keep up for another second, the waves stopped and the water calmed. I hauled us to the shore and collapsed, shaking, thinking of how useful underwater breathing could have been. Twenty seconds below the surface, then a breath. It could have been the end.

I went on to join the swim team in middle school, then continued at my junior high in Rhode Island. Being a part of the swim team became one of the hardest things I have ever done. I was constantly challenged, worn down by constant practices and exercises. I spent long hours at the pool, my lungs burning from the effort of each and every stroke I took in the water. Air was essential, something I longed for while I pushed myself to my limits. At times like these, I wished with all my might that I could breathe underwater. Then I would not lag behind the faster swimmers who sped ahead in spite of being somewhat younger than me. I would reach the end of the race first, rather than straggling in after everyone else had already finished. I wanted to be a hero for my team, but no matter how often or how hard I practiced, I could not seem to outswim the competition. This further proved that I could not breathe underwater, though the skill would have been quite handy throughout my time on the swim team.

In spite of my struggles on the swim team, I continued to love the water and the time I spent in it. When I turned sixteen, I took the Red Cross lifeguard courses and began my first job as a Picerne Military Housing Neighborhood Pool Lifeguard. As part of our training, we watched a fifteen minute video about the drowning of a young boy at a YMCA. The video contained the surveillance footage from the pool, detailing the events that led up to the tragedy. The on-duty guards were late to work, inattentive, and distracted by their personal issues. As a result, a child lost his life. He slipped below the surface and remained there, unnoticed by the lifeguards and other patrons. For those of us preparing to start our journeys as lifeguards, the video was terrifying. If we slacked off or got distracted, disaster could strike. These people we protected could not breathe underwater. They live and they die, and sometimes that fate rests in our hands. As my summers at the pool passed by, I learned a great deal about the responsibilities of guarding the patrons of the Fort Rucker pools. I saved the life of a boy very similar to the one in the video, and though I never met him again, I know that he had the opportunity to live his life because of the decision I made to be the best lifeguard I could be, underwater breathing abilities or not.

Rachel and Perry Ward did not know how much their prank would affect the rest of my life. I realize now how silly it was to think that I could possibly breathe underwater and I know that I am lucky to have lived through their immature hazing. I believe that the experiences I have had since then have occurred for a reason. Because I once believed I could breathe underwater, I am now more attuned to the knowledge that people are not invincible. They are limited, imperfect, and fallible. But, in contrast to what I have learned about mortality, I have also learned about strength, specifically within myself. When I saved Delaney, I put all of my effort into doing something for someone I cared about who could not help herself. When I joined the swim team, I learned to push myself in spite of the pain and difficulty that I faced as someone who was not great at competitive swimming. When I became a lifeguard, I learned about responsibility and how to selflessly care for others, even when they took my labors for granted. No, I cannot breathe underwater; but with each breath I take, I learn something new. I continue to grow and change, becoming stronger each day as the years pass by.