My story as told by water, part V

photo by Kate Gardiner

Have you ever been water skiing?

In high school, my best friend's family owned one of those motorboats meant to be driven at alarming speeds over great expanses of water, and I was lucky enough to get to join them for a couple of summer trips on one of the local lakes. The Texas sun was always relentless in its intensity, constantly reminding us how uninhabitable the west should have been. Taking to the water was your only real alternative to sealing yourself inside an air conditioned home. The wind and spray coming off the waves as the boat skipped across the water was the kind of refreshing that I think only a dog riding with its head out the window can understand.

The boat ramps are now closed at Twin Buttes Reservoir because of the drought, but back in the '90s there would be a line of folks waiting to put in. We were never there to fish but, instead, had a need for speed and a desire to be pulled recklessly behind a boat with nothing but a rope. It really is amazing what the oblivion and fearlessness of youth will lead you to do. But I digress.

I was never good at water skiing. In fact, I'm not sure what I did actually counted as skiing. Really, I never excelled at anything that involved a level of mastery over my own body, and water skiing was no different. A girl can only withstand so many false starts and attempts to get her feet under her. Even with wobbly legs finally underneath me, there was no grace in my form. In fact, if you were on Twin Buttes 20 years ago and remember the incredible girl who sailed around the lake bent at the waist, we may have very well been ships passing in the night.