Drowning Luke

It was an unseasonably warm day for May. My parents decide to take a day trip up north to check on the cabin. I am six years old, almost seven now. The next door neighbor has his dock in already and the boys want to wade in the water. I can’t go in the water very deep because I have my pants on. I am too old to strip down to my underwear like the boys. Matt is 5, Mark is 3, and Luke just turned 2. Mom and I watch the boys “swim”. My dad keeps calling my mom into the cabin saying that Alissa can watch the boys. 

My mom leaves me behind to watch the boys. I can handle this. The boys were splashing around having fun, but Luke likes to push things. He keeps wading deeper and deeper in the water. Now he is flailing around in the water. Mark keeps yelling excitedly that Luke is swimming. I think that Luke needs help, but I have my clothes on and am not supposed to get wet. I stand up with one leg perched over the water ready to jump in. I can’t move, I can’t yell for help. Panic froze me like a statue. I am watching Luke drown. 

Thankfully, my mom felt uncomfortable inside the cabin because she could not see the kids in the water. She came out to check on us. She jumped in the water with her clothes on to save Luke’s life. It was a cold ride home for her in wet jeans, but my brother is alive. I would have let Luke drown. 

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