River Trip

I decided to write down an experience I had last summer...

I've been waiting in the car for an hour now and I’m restless, hot, and annoyed. We’re almost leaving, I remind myself, if only they can hurry the fuck up! As we drive on to the freeway, I notice we are caught in bumper to bumper traffic and that’s when I smell the smoke. I look around, nothing but cars, trucks, and—an ambulance? Now what?! I continue to gaze about. Suddenly, "Brush Fire" appears in mocking red letters. I sigh. It’s going to be a long ride.

Throughout the ride I’m irritable, but who wouldn’t be? I could barley hear myself think! My aunt is gossiping, my niece is howling over my aunts ‘juicy news’, my cousin is spitting cherry seeds at my arm and my sister’s babies daddy is driving like a fucking maniac. The only way I’m able to keep sane is by shouting at my sister Paloma. I know that only adds to the chaos, but it makes me feel better.

It takes my dimwitted brother-in-law about forty five minutes to exit the freeway. “Are we almost there yet?” I ask my mom, “It’s so hot.” She smiles at me and responds, “Si hombre! Ya para de chingar!”

The road curves like a snake and I figure it is just as deadly. We are driving on the mountain side and I can see the river hundreds of feet below. I clutch the side of my seat and look out the window fearfully. The only things protecting us from falling off the mountain is stone and a skimpy one foot wide sheet of metal. My stomach feels heavy and on every turn I hold my breath thinking it will be my last. My brother-in-law must think he’s a stunt driver from the movie "The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift" because he’s speeding and making extremely hasty turns. I finally had enough and begged my mom to tell him to slow the hell down or we’re all going to die! “Think of the babies!” I say, but I am mostly thinking of myself.

Finally, over the mountain and across the bridge, to the river we’ve arrived. I couldn’t get out of the van fast enough. I grabbed my bag, put on some tanning oil, and waited for everyone else to get out. As the van is being unloaded, I look over the cliff and am surprised at how beautiful the mountains look. Below, the river is clearly visible and the lake is crystal clear. I look around for stairs, steps, any type of stone or wooden path that will lead me down there, but I didn’t find anything except for a steep dirt trail. Is this it? I guess so. I observe as each family member either runs or slowly staggers down the trail. I’m the last to go. I try to calculate each step in my mind, but as I step onto it, I realize how sandy and lumpy it is; which is not what I had planned. Slowly but surely, I make it down to my family.

The sun is scorching hot and I’m exhausted from the walk down. I sit on the edge of the lake and try to admire the scenery. The water is refreshing and my stress is carried away by the small waves. My nieces seem to be enjoying the shore as much as I am; we laugh and splash water at each other as well as play with the wet sand. After all, I’m not such a good swimmer; I almost drowned in Mexico a couple of years ago and I haven’t swum in deep water since. Maybe I will swim in the deep today— or maybe I should die a horrible death!

 

The next day we are back. My upper torso and legs are sore for some reason and I am equally annoyed. I make it down the sandy trail and find that there are furious monster trucks and motor bikes obstructing our path to the lake. We look around dumbfounded. Why are they here? I think. Stupid orange fence! My mom doesn’t think twice and walks away from the lake, towards a thin river. “But I want to go in the lake!” I pout. “Apurate antes que se llene de gente!” she shouts. I drag my feet as I follow her. I’m upset and go on a rant about the trucks and the people that drive them. Eventually, my anger subsides and I am at peace with nature.

The following day my father is home and tells us we are going to the lake. I’m hoping that the lake will be open today, but it isn’t. The river is crowded and the four by fours take over most of the shade and sandy spots. We are forced down the river where the sand turns to stone and the water does too. I say this because my mom decides to add large stones to the already dammed river in order to make our side of the river deeper. I watch as she picks smooth clean stones off the river bank and carefully places them on top of moss covered ones. She looks like I beaver I joke. My dad laughs.

Hours pass and I am still not pleased. Why are there people swimming in the lake, but we can’t? My oldest cousin is also questioning and decides to lead me, my sister, his sister, and my brother on the search for truth. We walk towards where the river and the lake merge into one and see that there are more people than we expected; there are people in the river chilling in knee high water as well as barbequing and fishing on the deck. There is also a white pick up truck fighting against Mother Nature; it kicks and screams but it just won’t budge. A group of ten men surround the truck now and they are finally able to push it out. “It should have stayed stuck”, I say irritated, “stupid ass guy”. My sister looks at me and laughs. Meanwhile, my cousin spots the park ranger and points him out to me. If he is here, I think, why are there still people swimming in the lake?! All of a sudden, the park ranger pulls up to the shore and starts to threaten all the people that are swimming. As they walk out of the water towards the river, my sister and brother "boo"; I can’t help but to laugh out loud. We keep walking to get a closer look at the action. My sister takes advantage and asks the park ranger for a legitimate reason for not being able to swim in the lake. I can tell he is frustrated, but he calms down and clarifies.

“There are state and federal laws restricting people from swimming in reservoirs”, he explains, “a ten year boy died here ten years ago. He was swimming in the reservoir when the dam pumps switched on and he disappeared. We found him two days later wrapped around a tree.” My stomach turns. I wonder if he is telling the truth, or if he is just lying to make his job easier. My cousin obviously doesn’t have the same reaction as I do. He smiles and tells me that if the chances of having that boy’s fate are one in a million, he would take that risk. I look at him and call him a dumb ass because I, unlike him, have a life and enjoy breathing. I don’t want to risk losing everything I have worked hard for, for a mere dip in that crisp drinking water. Instead, I walk back to where the sand turns to stone to sit in the river bank and enjoy what is left of the blazing sun.