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And so May became June.  It was the last weekend of the month; my parents were away for the weekend, attending a reception held by the university in honour of my mother, and my brother was in New Brunswick, visiting some older friends who had a house on Mount A’s campus.  Having the house to myself was relaxing; after weeks of getting used to a foreign layout and new furniture it was finally starting to feel like home.  I jumped when for what seemed like the millionth time that week the screen door leading to the backyard slammed behind me.

Note to self: You gotta stop doing that!

I settled down in one of the recliners facing the lake and started flipping aimlessly through the newest issue of Vogue.  I didn’t really follow the latest designers or even that many of the newest trends, but I’d always adored haute couture – clothes so ridiculous that there were less than 1,000 true couture customers left in the world, the article said – though ‘ridiculous’ was my word, not theirs.

Bored with the magazine, I leaned the chair back and rested it, pages open, over my eyes. My skin wasn’t as fair as most people of Irish descent – my dad loved to say that we were probably at least part Spanish, from when all those Spaniards settled in Ireland after the Spanish Armada and mixed into the gene pool. Still, I hated the feeling of a burn, and my arms and legs were exposed – I was wearing a bikini top under a white tank with khaki shorts – so I ran inside and doused myself in sunscreen.  As I walked back out I noticed for the first time that Alex had left the canoe tied to the dock.  It was towards the end of the afternoon, and the water looked so inviting.  Hadn’t I wanted to get out on the lake all this time? Now was as good a time as any.  I checked inside the storage shed for the life jackets I knew were around somewhere, but couldn’t find them. 

Alex must have left them in the boat when he took it into town for a new mast, I thought.  

I had been taught that canoeing was a no-go without a life jacket, but those disastrous swimming lessons all those years ago hadn’t left me totally inept – I could doggie paddle, though I’d never tried it without a life jacket on. I was pretty competent in a canoe, too – all these years and I hadn’t tipped over a single time.  I carefully climbed in and sat down, laying the magazine at my feet for later.  Pushing off, I plunged the paddle deep and away from the canoe on my right side to clear the dock.  I started out North, keeping a careful distance from the shore, as I didn’t yet know where the lake might become shallow and rocky, grounding my canoe, or worse.  I heard motor boats in the distance, but couldn’t see anyone from where my canoe was situated ahead of an outcropping of land full of evergreen trees.  I circled back, going South now, further South than the house, and when I was equal distance between the lake’s Eastern and Western banks I let the canoe drift to wherever it chose.  The water was relatively still, so I stayed in roughly the same place as I twisted the seat off to the side to make room for my legs.  I lay down in the canoe, the aft bow cradling my head, and began to read again, deciding to go through the magazine in detail this time.  I had barely flipped through all the ads at the beginning when a violent gust of wind came out of nowhere, ripping the magazine from my hands.  Without thinking, I lurched my upper body to try to catch it, extending my torso out over the boat and losing my balance.  A sharp pain came swiftly to my head – in a daze, I tried to think of where it could have come from, but I was losing consciousness, and fast.  I struggled desperately to breathe in, but I was below the surface, and I was punched in the chest, over and over again, as water tore my lungs ragged with each breath.  I’d become heavy, so heavy, and my eyes struggled to close while my head screamed.

STAY AWAKE! FIGHT!  

But it was too late.  I wasn’t shuddering anymore – my lungs were full – and I slipped down….down…