I have always been afraid of drowning. There were no swimming pools in our neighborhood in Cleveland. Moreover, water only brings trouble. In movies, if it’s not a comedy or romance, when there is a body of water it’s because someone is about to drown or get eaten by a shark. Swimming also has a different significance to many Black folks. I can’t forget the pictures of angry white racists pouring acid into pools attempting to integrate. Or dripping wet Black bodies being beaten by segregationists as they emerged from the water. Those images are burned into my psyche, subconsciously convincing me that swimming is not safe for people who look like me.

Brett keeps giving me all these tips, but he doesn’t understand the depth of my fear. He’s focused on the mechanics of swimming, but I need to overcome the psychological hindrance somehow. “If you don’t resist, you’ll naturally float. Lie on the water. Don’t move your arms or legs. Just relax your body.”

“But every time I do that, I feel like I’m being sucked under.”

“That’s because you’re pulling yourself down with panicked movements. Look, let me show you.”

He gets in the pool next to me, puts out his arms, and I lie back. While he’s supporting the weight of my body, I feel safe. As soon as he lets go, the fear takes over and I thrash wildly.

“Oh my God!” he yells. “Just don’t move! Look, watch me.”

He lies back and floats effortlessly. The water glazes his finely sculpted torso.

“I can’t do it,” I say, defeated. “I tried my hardest, but I’m too afraid.”

Brett softens. He runs his hand through his wet hair, pushing it back. I stare at his abs.

“Look,” he says, “I think it’s best if you start off with one-on-one lessons and then rejoin a class. You need focused attention to advance. You’ll get the hang of it with enough practice. Don’t give up.”

Someone weirdly starts clapping. When no one else joins, six-ab Brett shouts, “Yea, let’s encourage her.” The class claps off beat. I smile awkwardly and climb out of the pool. I walk defeated toward the locker room, despite the lukewarm applause. “Hey,” Brett calls from behind me. “You just have to surrender. Don’t fight it. Whether the water sinks or saves you depends on that.”

“Surrender, like Yoda says. I’ll try that next time.”