Rising Tide on Plum Island
“Listen kids, there isn’t much time. Billy, you lie flat on the rocks and reach as far into the crack as you can without getting stuck yourself…stretch! Twins, you two hang on to Billy’s feet. Allan, make room for Billy. Leslie, support Allan. He’s very tired.”
Yes, tired and soaking wet, cold and frightened.
“I can’t move my leg, Mom. I can’t…I’m stuck!”
I looked up for a split second to see that the sky had turned ominously dark, the tide bearing down on us. It showed no mercy.
“Yes, you can, Allan You can!” I shouted in my anguish, mindful that time was not on our side. “Twist it until Billy’s arm can slip through. Just do it!”
Allan twisted with all his might. Billy plunged both hands into the icy water, and inched his fingers along the torn pants, his slim torso dangling over the rock. Each second seemed an eternity, each splash in our faces, a tsunami.
The twins kept repeating, “Got it, Billy?” Allan was crying, “I’m freezing, Mom.” And my heart was pounding furiously when Billy said, “Hey guys, I’m touching the sneaker.”
“Good going, Billy.” I said, and hugged his wet legs. “Listen…wrap your hand around it…got it?”
“Good…push the heel down as hard as you can.”
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