Ok. So I'm scared of water. Do not laugh! It's nothing to laugh about. Not that I fear drinking water or looking at water, but being in any kind of water body scares me to hell and back. Needless to say, I don't swim. I have the body for it, but not the intention. I'm tall at 190cms, lanky, and toned. But outside the water.
A couple years ago, our phys ed coach put it in his mind to teach me how to swim since I always remained on the bench watching the other boys splash and have fun. I refused. Categorically. After much cajoling and pressure from my parents, I finally thought what the heck! It was just fucking water, and all my friends were having such a grand time.
I sat on the pool edge and dangled my legs down. It was ok. Coach was standing in the pool, goading me to slide down. I did. Slow. Water reached my waist and my breathing started to speed up. I held and closed my eyes. I felt coach's hand in the small of my back, applying some pressure. I slid a bit further, felt the water at my nipples. I panicked. Feet thrashing. Head thrown back. Mouth wide open as if in a horror movie scream but without sound except the inhaling and exhaling of air. Arms flailing. Two strong hands grabbed me by the armpits and pulled me out, laying me on my back.
It took a couple of minutes for me to calm. I was sweating and my breathing was still faster than it should have been. As I finally managed to open my eyes, it was Grif's face looking down at me, concerned, thick eyebrows knotted. Griffin was a kind of a neighbor, two blocks away from my home. Our two mothers are buddies, sharing recipes and gossip. Grif and I were not that close but our relationship was friendly and courteous. We moved in different circles at school, me with the nerds, and Grif with the jocks.
"You ok, buddy?" Grif's voice floated down.
I nodded, my breathing slowing down, the pain in my chest receding.
"What the fuck happened to you, bro?" He settled back on his haunches, still looking concerned. Coach was standing on the other side looking down, and I felt he had a look of guilt on his face.
I pulled myself up into a sitting position. "I'm fine," I managed to croak.
"You fuckin don't look fine, dude," Simon, another boy who had strode over to see what the commotion was all about, said with a smirk. Grif glared at Simon, who shrugged and strode away in a not-my-fucking-business-anyway manner.
Coach visited us at home that evening. He told my parents about the incident. My mom was stoic and said that I would eventually grow out of it. Nothing serious. Dad was glum. I felt he thought I was a sissy. Who the fuck was afraid to dip himself into a shallow swimming pool? I was confused and scared. At my age, what did I know? My body reactions did not occur according to my will. And I had tried. A late bloomer academically, at 18 I was still a senior.
"It could be caused by some kind of trauma?" Coach wanted to know.
"Not that I know of," Dad said gruffly turning to Mom, who shook her head.
"Perhaps seeking psychiatric help is in order?" Again, Coach threw his statements around as questions.
"The boy is no psycho, Coach," Dad retorted. I could tell he was moving from upset to angry.
Coach must have felt the tense atmosphere. He pushed back his chair and rose. "Anyway, folks, Asher here is a good kid. He does all the activities, except for the swimming part, and I can't complain. Have a nice night, now." And he exited as gracefully as he could manage.
A period of awkward silence ensued. I felt terrible that I was the cause of all this, especially since it didn't feel as if I had done anything wrong. Mom moved next to me, her arm around my shoulder reassuringly.
"Boy," Dad glared at me. "Has this happened to you before? Like in the shower or something?"
"No, Dad. Um... well... once last year when the showerhead in my bathroom broke and Mom said I could use your bathtub? I couldn't bring myself to get in there. I was afraid I would slip and break something."
"Yes, I remember," Mom snickered. "I had to towel clean you and you kept hiding your privates with your hands."
I blushed, of course.
"Honey?" Mom finally addressed my father across the kitchen table where we sat. "Maybe we should consider what Coach suggested."
"You mean a shrink?"
Mom gave Dad "the smile."
"Fuck that I know." Dad's way of not committing.
Mom's immediate look of horror that Dad was using profanity in front of her boy must have pierced through his head like an arrow. I snickered inwardly. At 18 I could use as much profanity as my dad!
"Ok. Whatever," the appeasement from Dad now that he was in the shithouse with Mom.
"It's called aqua phobia," the shrink declared a week afterwards.
The short of it was that after the first visit to the psychiatrist recommended by the school, the three of us decided that it wasn't going to work. The whole session was filled with banalities and theorizations. Nothing practical or meaningful, really. "Aqua phobia"? Fear of water? Seriously? That was what we got from the scheister, and we all fucking already knew it. Giving it a highbrow name didn't change anything.
Around two weekends after the incident, Griffin dropped by our house on his running route. He sometimes did that, especially since my mom would always have a glass (or three) of her specialty lemonade that he loved.
"Hey," the Griffin normal greeting as he stepped into the kitchen. Now I must admit that Grif had a killer body. Not only that, but he loved to show it. Narcissistic as well as exhibitionistic. For running, he wore those thin, nylon, running shorts which you could almost see through, sneakers without socks, and a tank top midway down his chest revealing his lower belly, rippled abs and all. In short, he look fucking great.
"Oh, Griffin," Mom smiled and immediately moved towards the fridge for the lemonade. "Some refreshment?'
"Hey," I mumbled, jealous.
"That would be great, ma'am," he gave her his wide white-toothed jock smile. I was turning green.
Griffin sat at the table next to me and started sipping the iced lemonade slowly, which surprised me since he usually gulped the first glass in one shot.
"Ma'am, I was thinking," he started.
"Yes?" Mom sat across from us. I could tell she had eyes for Griffin. Not that my mother was a baby snatcher or a sex fiend, but I guess a woman had the right to appreciate a beautiful male body like Griffin's.
Grif suddenly put his arm around my shoulder. "I think I have a solution for Asher. In the water, I mean."
"Oh?" Mom exclaimed. I moved a couple of inches away but liked the way he chummily grabbed my shoulder.
"Yes, Ma'am. I done some research. About what they call 'phobias'? Like when someone is scared of something?"
Mom nodded. "Yes, Griffin. We know what a phobia is."
"And I discovered that there is a thing called aqua phobia, which means..."
"Fear of water," I cut in. Who did he think he was, this Grif? "Also referred to as hydrophobia, in case your research didn't show it," I added, knowing that there was a difference between the two phobias, but needing to put Griffin in his place.
Griffin glared at me uncomprehending my attitude. He was there to help, wasn't he? His eyes told me.
He turned to my mother and said without looking at me: "I'd like to try something with Ash, if you don't mind. I think it might work." As if I wasn't in the room. But I was starting to mellow out. Griffin was a friend. And he was willing to go the extra mile and do research on this fucking thing. Besides, Griffin was hot as fuck.
