Broken horses and the textbook swim race

Date: 6/28/2019

My first dream: I came into my old room at dad's house. Like in reality, I had two painted ponies (painted porcelain figures) that I've kept for years, a third one recently sold on ebay. I found one broken. Someone had took the evil time to break off each leg one by one. I was heartbroken, and I saw someone had left painted bulls of the same patterns to help replace them. I cried to my mother who revealed it was cole. Dream 2: There's this canyon river. My teammates edge along its wall, our backs scraping against the rock. Many of them already in the river, we are making our way to the jump point. A narrow path of little more than four inches leads the way. It was common for someone to fall along the way, or choose to jump early. My boys and I make our way to it. Their tufts of black hair wafted in the wind. My red locks are caught, and are being dragged on the rock as I move. The boys in front of me arrive at the destination, feral determination splitting their faces as they wait for an opening between those already being carried by the river. With a galloping wail, the first one makes the leap. I'm focused on making my way toward the point, but I hear the splash. Then another. And another. Soon, I could join them. Until part of the ledge breaks beneath me. My foot slips. I grapple for a ledge, and find purchase on one, smaller than the path before. In the slight fall, I had flipped around, hugging my belly to the surface. Rookie mistake. There's a reason that the journey is to be made with your back to the wall. But now I have to jump right here. There was no way of knowing if I might fall on someone. There is no way to flip around again. Not without taking a scraping, bloody slide down the rock wall. I look to my good friend on my left. "I can't help you." He says as if I was going to ask. "I know. Just tell me when no one is in the way down there. I'm going to jump." "Like that?" "You know I have to." Yes he knew, and he made sure that I knew how dangerous the situation is. But none of the other boys can move forward until I move. I hold my grip. My thighs are tiring by the second. He peeks his chin down, not daring to move his skull from the rock, and tells me to wait. Then. "Now!" With a grunt, I push off from my hands, letting the wind guide me backward. I arch my back into a curve. Then my toes let go. The world is turned upside down. For a second I can see many faces. And then my head breaks through the water. A bit stunned, I'm slow to come back up, and I rub through my hair at the slight flaring pain. When I open my eyes again, another boy is in front of me. He searches my eyes, but I give him the thumbs up, and I dash upward. "Girl you crazy!" That boy I didn't know apparently saw the whole thing. I laugh a bit, my nerves still sizzling. I swim against the current, hoping to meet my team at the jump point. Later, I've wrapped a towel at my waist, giving all the boys a quick once over. Can't have any damaged goods before the race in a few days. This place is the starting line, outside the bay windows and sets of french doors of the summer white mansion. We had floated our way here by breaking off to the right from the main river, following a calm stream back home, still a good twenty feet deep. There's some wood stands set up already and I am starved, but I settle for some boba tea instead. Mom was making a large dinner tonight. The man behind the counter made friendly conversation, leaving me comfortable among the other strangers around me sitting at the bar. They are all late thirties or early forties. A more chill generation unlikely to be closet perverts. As I sip my cold tea, I notice there's a mini fridge sitting on the far counter. In perfect position no less, to taunt me with its contents. Redbull. Monsters. I turn my face away with a grimace. The pains of becoming a young athlete. I'm there yet. My body is still supple and rounded by fat that I have yet to burn off, but its serious progress to be certain. From many of my peers, I had gained respect, but to other teams, I was the least threatening on the outside. I like that most people leave me alone in the end, I don't look like a racer like the other fit and muscled, female swimmers here. They figure I'm some competitor's sister just here to support. Then there's the actual group of 'competitor's sisters' that lounge in the hot tub inside, attracting smirks from the other male teams, and dishing out snide conversation when I pass through. What a group of high schoolers, I think with a huff. Its a good thing I've got my thick customer service skin built up from over the years since graduation. No need to piss off someone's sister- or worse, some coach's daughter. As I came inside just then, lo and behold a new team was moving in, in preparation for the race, and the girls in the hot tub beckoned them over flirtatiously. They were pretty cute and also one of the best teams and therefore a competitive enemy. Their leader, discernable by his attitude and the others slight, submissive stances about him, smirked back but declined them with the excuse of keeping his team in top game and focused. The arrogant tone even more appealing to the girls. I remain un interested, but I do observe for any hints to their strategy or style. Despite their attitude they are the best team for a reason and I'm not the only one sneaking looks over to them. If anything those girls are keeping them in place for their racing siblings to size them up. The night and morning before the race, there's a horrendous storm. The doors are nearly blown off and I was searching race grounds for spare rocks to hold the doors shut. No one else dares to interrupt their own pre-race exercises to help out. Not even the coaches. Of course there is still going to be a race no matter the weather though there was hope it would clear up. And it did. I was huffing and rushing through my exercises. All the teams were heading outside to get their number and textbook and textbook carrier. I had run upstairs to my room to get dressed, really pushing the clock with frustration. I knew no one helped me earlier so that they could try to cut me out of the race. I was a wild card to them. My jump the other day seemed to leave them wary of me. Later: "We will start the race in the absence of miss ------" "I'm here!" I call out to the announcing coach angrily. The very same that leads the best team. I'm decked out in a formally styled red nylon dress, as my team had preferred dramatics, making me wear it. As specifically designed, I toss it off to reveal and athletic yet accentive two piece, a blood red color. He has no intention of finishing his sentence and so I head over to find my number on the table, and strap it on with the metal rack carrier to my back. I receive a plastic sealed textbook from a helper. I descend into the water, making my way to the start of the rushing river. As soon as I'm lined up with the last row of swimmers, the whistle is blown and the one mile swim starts. Some lose their textbooks almost instantly, stolen by another swimmer who seeks to gain extra points. Along the way, some of the front swimmers make their way down below to shoot back up and hassle a slower swimmer and steal their books. The worst that can happen though, is an all out war. When several swimmers on one team wait below for a clump of other swimmers. The only rule is the point system. The first person to finish gets all the glory but if some of their teammates arrive later and don't have their books, they can't win overall. The strategy of our team is to let one designated person try to make the first finish, and the others look out for each other as a group. It can make it easy for attack, but most teams don't apply the same strategy due to its obvious risk (which, arguably, they all have their risks). The fact that we know no other team will do it, is what makes it work well. As I make my way toward the front, about a quarter mile through, I feel something grab my foot. I've sprung the trap. Being dragged under, I look down at the many faces that surround my ankles. It's the big trap. And I'm the sole victim to it. Bunch of buggers. I thrash at them with my legs, feeling the brunt of a kick hit someone, but it doesn't matter as long as I can't get away. All they have to do is hold me down long enough to lose enough energy to fight them off without drowning. It's hard to tell if my book is even still there. Another swimmer above can easily nab it. Eventually, my toe gets stuck in someone's mouth, and the movement of my leg knocks her head against someone else. That someone was holding my other leg. I fall into the same trap again farther down the river, and it appears that I'm a popular target for some teams. After escaping it again, I was still ahead of most of the racers. Outrunning the whole group, it's not until I veer off into another stream, which ends with the finish line, that he bumped into me, stealing my book. The cape he wears for dramatic effect no less, is the team flag design, black with red clouds. The fact that he wore it during the race itself distracts me for a moment. Then, the both of us racing ahead fully under the waters, I veer myself out of the surface and grab his book out of his carrier. Both of us paddle with stolen books, not daring to stop and put it in the carrier to free an extra arm. I win and I wake up.