A Lazy Nightmare

By: Anonymous

I couldn't breathe.

Trapped under the water with no way up. It was terrible. My lungs felt like they were going to pop at any moment.

Earlier that day, it was the summer of 2019. We were getting ready to go to a water park called Wet’n’Wild for a daycare summer school trip. I believe I was about 11 years old when the best—and worst—day of my life occurred.

Me, Kana, and another girl whose name constantly slips my mind were all so excited! Being taller than others my age, I knew I had a greater chance at riding the bigger slides, like the Typhoon or the Hurricane, and making all the little shorties weep at my victory.

Meanwhile, Kana wanted to go to the big surf wave pool—the kind where you'd get swept away by tides no matter how small the waves were, or have to play treasure hunt for your lost jewelry.

And lastly, we’d all go to the lazy river, where you were supposedly meant to enjoy a slow, comfortable float under the beaming sun.

Little did I know.

As we lined up for our bus, our teachers—one from the upper floor and one from the lower—began their necessary (and long) head counts. Some of the boys behind us thought it was cool to try and scare us away from the height-based rides in a very misogynistic way.

Saying stuff like, “You know I’ve heard many girls died on those rides. Their fragile bones couldn’t handle the height.”

You know, the standard stuff you say when you're still at war with the opposite gender. It’s a water slide, not a torture chamber.

Their attempts were futile, along with their weak comebacks when we argued back. A bunch of “your mom” jokes and something about not having balls were thrown around. It didn’t matter—we all knew they weren’t going on those slides anyway. Height-wise.

The bus ride was long and energetic, filled with chatter, delighted screams, and the occasional kid getting out of their seat while the bus was still moving. Normal chaos, I suppose.

Once the bus arrived, everyone collectively paused. I could hear excited whispers and see wide smiles, which only made me more excited.

The place was huge—so huge you could see it from a mile away. My jaw practically hit the gravel of the parking lot.

For a kid who had never really been anywhere big, my little eyes found it extraordinary. Like I’d been blessed by the “fun” god.

After the second head count, our teachers led us to the “spawn point,” where we’d keep our stuff—bags, lunch boxes, water bottles, and a change of clothes.

Now it was finally time to explore all the attractions and go down as many slides as we could before our golden day of fun was over.

But… since this was a school trip, and we were all underage, and the park was huge enough for us to get lost in, we had to vote on what to do first.

The choices were split into columns: the big slides (Hurricane, Typhoon, Caribbean Chaos, Crazy Canuck, etc.), the lazy river, or the surf wave pool.

We organized ourselves into two groups depending on the vote. Slides on the left, calmer rides on the right.

I wanted to go on Caribbean Chaos first, but found myself standing in the calmer group because of my friends, Kana and the other girl (I’ll just call her Jenny). They weren’t quite ready and wanted us to stay together.

So I agreed.

We had a blast at the wave pool. We got pushed, shoved, lost some items, found some items (which ended up in lost and found), and eventually started pretending to be pirates—all while trying not to inhale whatever floated on top of the chlorine water.

The fun lasted a while until it was time to move on. Our next stop was the lazy river.

It was a peaceful, non-chaotic ride where all you had to do was sit on a floaty and relax as you drifted along the current.

But is that what we did? No. Of course not.

We grabbed our floats and took our time settling in. Everything started off fine. We floated along, toes dipping into the water. Sometimes we’d “moonwalk” against the current, sometimes not—just having a great time.

Then I had the best idea. This would be the perfect place to play mermaids.

The water was calling us to recreate some magical underwater world. So we ditched our floaties and started swimming and diving like graceful sea creatures.

To us, we were exploring the Atlantic Ocean. In reality, we probably looked like a bunch of kids flopping around like fish and pretending not to drown.

Our game escalated.

Around our second lap, we started a breath-holding challenge to see who could last the longest, basically to prove who was a “real” mermaid.

We kept dipping in and out of the water, completely forgetting there were other people around.

I was doing well. I might have even won—if what happened next hadn’t occurred.

Once I thought everyone was back at the surface, I decided it was time to rise and claim my victory.

But when I tried, something squishy pressed against my head.

I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, so I kept pushing. Harder.

I started panicking. My lungs were running out of time. I shoved at whatever was blocking me, slapping and pushing in desperation.

Then I opened my eyes.

To my horror… I saw ass.

Just… ass. Fully in my line of vision.

I jerked away immediately and finally broke the surface with a gasp, my eyes stinging from chlorine and the sight I had just witnessed.

I turned back.

An old, balding man with a deep frown stared at me. He looked about 60.

Oh my LORD—I TOUCHED ASS. Bare cheek. No warning. No preparation.

And I didn’t even think to look up.

I grabbed an empty floaty, embarrassment written all over my face, and sped off—moonwalking my way to the finish line.

I never heard the end of it from them

Kanna and Jenny kept begging me to answer their swarm of questions. 

“ Was it big? Was he big?”

“What did it look like?”

“Was he mad? Did he say anything to you?”

“Did you apologize?”

Given their hunger for answers, I tried to respond as best I could with the state I was in.

Petrified.

It was the most realistic thing I have ever seen. Pale, with wrinkles like Gordon Ramsay’s forehead. I count all ten.

He was indeed big; the sheer size alone would make mountains quake. At least for a little kid like me.

And that look, not anger, not just unhappy, but disappointment. I'm kind of disappointed. “Your generation is screwed.”

This day will never leave me, a memento I'll carry forever.

A story that never fades.

One that I’ll be telling…against my will…for the rest of my life.

Hello, I am a student from Toronto. I like to write poems and pieces that reflect the way I feel or just for my own personal, magical, creative projects, but it’s the first time I've actually written something meant to be shared. 

This has truly been a very fun experience for me.

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