A story about the power of nature to inspire us all.
Swimming Naked Under the Crescent Sun
Jerri Blair
I drop my overnight bag on the floor as I enter my front door. I should feel tired, but I don’t. I rush through the house to look out into the back yard clutching the special plastic glasses that will protect my eyes from the solar flares of the eclipse. I’ve thought of nothing all day but floating naked in my pool as the moon traverses across the face of the sun. It seems a perfect way to baptize my return to the realm of the healthy. I just left the Mayo clinic with a clean bill of health for the first time in two years. The struggle is over, and life can begin again. Did you really hear what I just said? Can you possibly understand what it means? I’M FREE!!! I want my first experience in my healthy body to be memorable. I want to expose myself to the clear blue sky resting on a bed of silky soft water as I gaze at something rare and precious to behold. This will be a perfect day!
My first experience in my new life rapidly deteriorates from perfect and becomes a dud when I see a group of men applying plaster to the walls of my empty pool. I’d forgotten they were starting the job that day. My heart sinks. I’d so much wanted to view the rare solar eclipse embraced by the waters of life on the surface of the planet where I will apparently be staying a while. I know it may sound strange, but I’ve dreamed of this day for so long. Sometimes I just need something a little metaphysical to celebrate the physical and vice versa. Swimming naked under the crescent sun would be the absolutely perfect way to celebrate this rare day of confluence between the heavens and my physical well-being. There’s got to be a way to make it happen.
I remember a spring not too far away. The water there will be even better than my salt pool. I might even be able to get away with naked. Not many people are ever there on a weekday. I glance at my watch and see that I have no time to spare.
I rush back to my car and drive across town to the little patch of woods that surrounds the white sandy beach and crystal clear spring where I hope to find no one. My second disappointment of the new day occurs when I arrive. The parking lot is full of cars. The place will be crawling with other people. Naked is probably not going to happen.
There’s no time to lose if I want at least my toes in the water when the eclipse begins. I make a beeline for the beach. It’s not quite as bad as I thought it would be, but there are several people at the spring. Two older women sit at a picnic table. A couple of boys who appear to be maybe ten years old are fishing on the other side of the spring with a woman sitting beside them reading a book. There’s a silver-haired man reading at another picnic table.
I kick off my shoes and wade into the water. It feels divine. Suddenly nothing else matters. I have to fully immerse myself in the clear clean water. I’ll swim in my underwear. It’s not perfect, but I really need this moment of purification.
I step back out of the water and pull off my pants. I’m wearing plain cotton panties that almost look like a bathing suit bottom. This is going to work just fine. Then I pull my shirt over my head and look down. “Oops,” I say to myself. I’d forgotten that I wasn’t wearing a bra. It’s too late to stop now. I rush into the water and lose myself in its cool acceptance of me as I am.
The water is marvelous, a constant reminder of how we denizens of the planet should treat each other. It treats us all with equal acceptance no matter what our blemishes. Beautiful or plain matters not at all. From the natal waters of the womb to the rivers, lakes, and seas, the water of life embraces all of us; head, hands, feet, our most intimate parts touched by its all-encompassing liquid force. My toes twitch, my legs kick, and I feel the water caress my chest. I feel the bob of breasts and the pull of muscles. I relax into the arms of the planet and share my tears with the waters around me, lost in the joy of living.
I roll over to float on the surface, placing the glasses I have carefully protected from the water’s touch over my eyes. I open my eyes to the wonders of universal mechanics in motion above me. I watch the sun become a crescent and then a sliver of a smile. I wonder about the feelings of the animals scurrying in the woods around me. I wonder what this interference with their diurnal cycle is doing to them. What will a squirrel or a rabbit think when the sunlight fades before it’s supposed to disappear? Do they think at all or just run about like carbon based robots programmed to scamper in parks and woods? I think of the people who lived before we understood the mechanics of time and space. I imagine them praying to their gods for the sun to return. I’m sure they were frightened. Even now, I have to admit a random thought or two about what’s happening today. What if the moon got stuck? What if we had to live in the light of solar flares, never able to gaze up into the light of the sun? I marvel at how the universe works. I feel the embrace of time in the eternity of shared experiences with others who have lived on the planet.
As I begin to exit the water, I see that all of the people from around the spring are now standing together beside the table where the silver-haired man sits. He’s placed his book on the table and turned his face to the others, listening to them as they speak in loud voices. There’s a cacophony of words circling his head as he calmly nods but does nothing.
I hear one of the women say stridently, “You’ve got to arrest her for indecent exposure. What kind of lesson is she giving our children?”
I notice the silver-haired man is wearing a uniform. He’s some kind of law enforcement officer. He looks familiar. I’ve seen at least his picture before, I’m sure of it.
One of the boys turns and looks toward me. He yells, “Gross!”
I look down at my body and see that the breasts I imagined in the water are gone. There’s nothing there on my chest except massive ugly scar tissue. It still feels strange that there’s no swell of flesh there, no softness, no brown colored tips, nothing but red colored streaks of tough patchy skin.
One of the women grabs the boy who spoke and pulls his head around so he can’t see me standing there alone and at a loss. She glares at me and says, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
I don’t know what to say. I guess if I’m arrested it will make a good story, but I really don’t want to spend the rest of this special day in jail.
The woman grabs the silver-haired man’s arm and says, “She’s disgusting. I’m telling you, it’s a crime that she’s standing her in the open like that. It’s indecent.”
The silver-haired turns and looks at me. He wrinkles his brow as if trying to remember something.
I remember who he is. I met him once, but we didn’t introduce ourselves. Then I saw his picture in the paper not long ago and learned his identity. He’s the sheriff of the county. I met him at the chemo clinic. I helped him get his wife up from the floor one day when she collapsed after her chemo. He wasn’t wearing a uniform that day, and he was still hopeful. I’m sure his hope faded over time. She was one of the ones who didn’t make it. She died of breast cancer a few months ago. I saw his picture in the paper at her funeral. I was sad because I’d met them when they both still had hope. It’s always sad and scary to learn someone you knew is dead.
The silver-haired man smiles and I can tell he remembers meeting me that day. He says, “I don’t see anything indecent. In fact, what I’m seeing is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
The woman says, “How can you say that?”
“Survival is a beautiful thing.”
“Oh … now, Sheriff, you can’t let life’s tragedies affect your job performance. Whatever else can be said about THAT woman, she’s not wearing a shirt. I believe that’s illegal. You have to arrest her.”
The sheriff says, “Well, I can see her chest is exposed, but she doesn’t have any nipples and that’s what the nudity statute says can’t be exposed.”
The woman sniffs and says, “Sheriff, I voted for you in every election you’ve ever had to run, but I never will again if I have to put up with indecency because you won’t perform your duty”
The sheriff smiles and says, “The only thing indecent I see anywhere around here is a strident woman who seems to be insisting I bully a cancer survivor even though the law doesn’t support that her behavior could in any way be construe d as criminal.”
“Are you trying to say I’m indecent?”
“No … I’m saying it loud and clear.”
“You’ll never get my vote again.”
“Well, ma’am, since I’m never running for office again, I guess you’ll never have the chance to withhold your vote … but maybe I’ll change my mind about running since I wouldn’t want to deprive myself of the opportunity to tell you to keep that vote anyway. I would never want the vote of a person unwilling to give a breast cancer survivor a little perk … to allow her a moment in the sun.”
“Well,” says the woman as she turns and walks away. The other disgruntled people follow her leaving the sheriff alone at the table.
I pull on my clothes and walk over to the sheriff. We sit and talk for hours. I share my thoughts about rabbits and squirrels and people long ago. We cry together about the loss of his wife. He cries again when he learns I’ve received a clean bill of health. He says his tears are joyful, but I’m sure there’s a little sadness too. It’s hard sometimes to reconcile the hand fate deals to you. It’s hard to figure out why I lived and she died. But I’m here … and I have my health. That’s worth a few tears of joy.
My first day of freedom from disease is definitely a good one. I swam almost naked under the crescent sun, and escaped arrest for what some would call a crime of immoral behavior. How’s that for excitement? Most of all, I bathed my beautiful ugly mass of scars in the waters of life, and I made a new friend. Life
The only thing that bothered me is that spring water usually comes out of the ground about 50 to 55 degrees and therefore, is shockingly cold except to fish. But for a story like this, I will concede that the heroine, overheated with joy and life, but easily accommodate the cool waters and think of them as refreshing.
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Swimming Naked Under the Crescent Sun
