"You wanna come swimming?" I ask.
"No," she replies. "Time to BAKE."
She is greased up with suntan oil and already looks light brown. I pick up the swim rings and run back to the ocean where Katy is sitting in the sand letting the current of the breaking waves move her legs back and forth. I throw her a ring and she reluctantly gets up, mentioning something about crabs.
"There's lots of sand fleas if you dig far down enough," she says. "We should have a sand flea race later."
"We can put them in my mom's tent," I say back as we tread further out, spurred onwards by the false security provided by our little fluorescent swim rings. Katy floats in front of me and rises and falls as large waves pass by.
"Oh Shit! Sharks!"
She looks at me panicked and points out to sea. As we watch, a dolphin jumps up in an arc then disappears. We both laugh. I am giddy.
"Put your head underwater!" I say. "You can hear them!"
We both angle our heads, submerging one ear, and listen to little clicks. The murmur of a boat motor is barely audible. We can't even see the boat from where we are.
"Let's try to get closer to them!" I say to Katy as we begin doggie-paddling furiously in our swim rings.
Another dolphin clears the water, making a loud SPLASH. We are about six yards away from them now; there are half a dozen of them swimming down shore. One of them gets wind of our proximity and the rest begin swimming faster away. Katy tires from swimming and bobs in resignation, allowing the waves to pull her back towards land.
"I'm exhausted," she says. "You go ahead."
By this point my limbs all feel like rubber and I can barely doggy-paddle.
Last summer I visited the dolphin exhibit at the Vancouver aquarium in Canada. It was a weekday and the underwater viewing area was empty. Light traced the currents in the tank as it shined through the thick and heavily smudged Plexiglas. I sat next to the cool plastic and looked in. The aquamarine concrete looked dirty at
GRANNY YODELING
© 2013 Works & Days Quarterly and Jodi Page Corley