Childhood Memoir, Rewrite!

College Composition                                                                          

           Roaring water could be heard in the distance, but not everyone picked up on it.  Not yet anyways.  My Pastor said that as long as he lived, even if he made it to a hundred, he would never forget that day.

            It was the end of summer and my church’s youth group went to Holeb for a vacation.  Not every group decides to go halfway between unused logging roads and Canada for a vacation, but that’s where we went.  We had a group of about a dozen kids, plus our pastor and youth leader.  On our last full day, we decided to go on a hike. 

After crashing through the woods on deer-forsaken trails for about ten minutes, I heard the dull, faraway sound of roaring water.

            What I heard was The River.  When we came out of the forest, we stood on a rocky river bank.  The river was fifteen feet wide and swollen from the recent rain.  Further down the river it funneled into a small pool, then poured out into a raging, twenty-foot waterfall.  

            Most of the youth group carefully picked their way down the embankment around the waterfall to follow the river downstream, but I had other plans.  If I could get to the other side of the river then I could climb onto a giant, beautiful rock that overlooked the river below.  My plan seemed infallible, so I asked permission to cross.  My youth leader rubbed his chin.  He sized up the gap that I wanted to cross, and finally gave me his permission.

He was only 18, probably too young to be making judgment calls like that, but I gave it no second thought.  The river funneled into a three-foot-wide space of roaring white water, and it was there that I jumped across.  I landed on the other side with clammy fists and heart pounding.  Without glancing back, I made my way to the view. 

It was to die for.

When I had drunk my fill of landscapes, I went back to my crossing.  There I found Hannah waiting for me.  Hannah and I were good friends, and bunk mates for the trip.  She was asking if she could come across with me.  If my youth leader was under-qualified in choosing this kind of decision, I was much worse.  For a moment, I hesitated.  She was a little bit timid, and I was surprised that she wanted to cross at all.  But my resolve was broken by her hopeful eyes, and I told her that she could come over.  

There we stood, facing each other and only separated by a few feet of white water.  A mentor of mine told me just this year to be careful.  “Be careful, Danielle,” he said. “You are apt to project your strengths on other people.”  But that piece of life-saving advice wouldn’t be imparted to me for years to come, and in my head on that day I was sure that nothing would go wrong.  This is real life, and bad things like that don’t happen.  Things would be fine.  She would make the jump.  

Then she didn’t.   

Before either of us could scream, she disappeared into the angry, foaming water.  After a few moments, they lasted so long in my mind, she popped up in the pool above the waterfall.  She immediately grabbed onto a log that had fallen across the pool, and she hung on for all she was worth.  She was a small girl though, and the current fought her grasp.  With every second it gained on her.  She wouldn’t last long.  

By now the scene had attracted some attention from those on the shore.  Quickly, our pastor made his way to where the pool poured out into the waterfall.  Our youth leader, on whose face was written every ounce of his distress, had kicked off his shoes and was trying to inch his way out onto the fragile log that Hannah was holding onto.  I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that if I was to be of any help, I would have to be on the other side.  Without giving it another thought, I jumped.

I didn’t make it.  Blinded by the raging water, I had no idea which way was up.  Luckily, the buoyancy of my body was enough to bring me to the surface and before I could think, I was beside Hannah, hugging the log for dear life.  

I felt like I was in a dream, and though I am sure people were shouting, I didn’t hear a thing.  I noticed that my shirt had risen with the water and I was immediately self-conscious.  I couldn’t think of a way to fix it without letting go of my hold though.  Then I began thinking about the lesson we had that last night.  It was about Heaven.  I thought to myself that this wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, provided that it ended quickly at the bottom.  Would there be jagged rocks waiting to skewer us?  Would the force of the water keep us under 'till we drowned?

Somehow, I came to my senses and realized where I was.  This wasn't over yet, and I didn’t want it to be.  So I began looking for a way out.  To my right the log was resting on a boulder that served as the far side of the little pool.    I shouted over the din of the water to Hannah, and we began sliding over to the boulder.  It was hard work and our nerves were shot, but we both dragged our bodies out of the water and up onto the boulder.  

We sat still for a moment, panting from the exertion.  Then we both stood up and made our way to the bank.  We passed our crossing without even a second glance, and kept walking upriver.  We walked a long ways until the river was shallow enough for us to cross.  We grasped each others hands as we dipped our feet back in the water, and crossed on unsteady feet.

            There was a whole posse of people waiting for us by the time we made it back to the group.  People said I was so brave to jump in after her like that.  I quickly corrected them, but somehow everyone still thought I saved her.  Conversation rose about the incident.  Questions of “Where were you when they went in?”  and “Do you think they would’ve died if they had gone over the falls?” were swapped back and forth.  

            I was silent through it all.  After a few minutes, their flippant response to the situation overwhelmed me, and I walked a little ways off so that I wouldn't hear them.  I couldn’t blame them, they weren’t in that water.  It wasn’t their life they were talking about.  I sat down next to my pastor and youth leader on a rock that overlooked the river, and set about wringing out my hair and shirt.  

            My youth leader had his arms folded over his chest, with a more tired look than I had ever seen him wear.  My pastor was standing, facing the river.  When I first broke out onto the bank, I would’ve called the sound of the river comforting, maybe even lulling.  We all knew better now.  My Pastor sighed and commented, “For as long as I live, even if live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget this day.”

            I just quietly nodded, and watched as the river rushed away.