KAYAKING THE PANDEMIC Jessica Du I have had the same dream, the same repeated memory, over two weeks. Immediately upon arriving, it is love at first sight. A turquoise-blue stream looms in the distance, winding its merry way towards me. Babbling, the sound from the stream fills up the tranquil scenery; the precipitous valley stands protectively beside the stream and listens together with me. Near the shore, pebbles whisk about in the undercurrent like pieces of glitter. Lush sunlight spears through the clouds and bathes the sand, the water surface, and everything in droplets of gold. The stream glints with little sparkles, like a thousand fairies blinking their eyes and inviting me to join them in the stream. I sink deep into the conversation with the stream, but right on the spot, my father cuts through and takes me away to join the instruction class on kayaking. My father found the kayaking site address while poking through a worn-down New Zealand tourist book in a restaurant one day, and without previous planning, we changed our schedule to try kayaking. In the wooden cabin, the instructor first presents a swift 15-minute rafting class, going through a list of the basic techniques, then he turns on the TV, and in front of my eyes, again, are the unbelievable beauties of the stream. The limpid water is dynamic as an actor, briskly switching from tranquil to angry without a moment of hesitation, splashing in clusters of white bubbles. Living in the city for my whole life, I never imagined seeing such beautiful scenery face-to-face. When the instructor leads us to the stream, my anxiety finally pours back in; I realize that I still don’t have a single clue on how to kayak. The instructor partners me with my father in one boat and pushes us hard into the kayaking party. Then, the problem starts. In the beginning, my father and I row slowly and meticulously; we row along with the rhythms of the stream and relax while the water carries us forward. Suddenly, like a switch of the light bulb off and on, the stream turns against us, and my world flips upside down. The waves collide with each other, jumping up to form high peaks or diving down to create whirlpools. Like sitting on the roller coaster right before it plunges, a piercing cry of fear bursts from my heart. My father panics, and a split-second later, we lose control of the kayak and fall into the tumbling water. This time, I am the pebble tossed around carelessly by the treacherous force hidden beneath the shimmering golden surface of the stream; the two banks are opposite teams, and I am the rope in their tug of war. Water rushes into my nose, and soon my mouth is gaping wide to gulp down gallons of water. Using my last breath, I manage to reach the shore. “Daddy… Dad…? ” I frantically call out, scanning at the stream for signs of my Dad before my tears blur my vision. For the first time in my life, I feel imminent danger to my safety; I can see the outstretched hand of death in front, approaching me with an invitation. I back away and bump into my Dad, who still has the nerve to playfully nudge my face. I immediately throw myself in for a hug as tears start cascading down my face. The bawling sound from my cry startles me back to reality. For the third time this month, I have dreamt about the same kayaking trip. I look across my bed, beside the calendar, at a clock illuminated: 1:00 pm. What a bummer—I’m waking up late again at noon. On the almost torn-down calendar, red crosses already fill up the Christmas holiday dates. They were words put up in August, such as my perfect skiing plans to try my first ever skiing experience in America. I cross them out and replace them with nothing. If you pick up any random month’s paper torn from my calendar in 2020, you will see that I canceled many trips around the world. I missed watching flamenco dance in Spain or riding in a hot air balloon in Turkey, watching the sun watercolor the sky with soft radiating orange. With Covid-19 accompanying us for almost a year now, my life flipped upside down, just like falling off the kayak. First, it started with a dangerous 14-hour flight back to China in hazmat suits, plus the 14 days quarantine in a hotel, then followed by the announcement of closing borders between the two countries and the canceling of flights to return to America. As if these were not enough, my school year began with a schedule of midnight zoom classes and unimaginable waves of loneliness, longing for my friends who all live across the globe.
34
Dana Hall
