He looked up at me. “She’s afraid to let go…to let go of the tree!” he yelled back, his voice barely audible over the roar of the water and the sound of smashing and crashing—and screaming.

In the background a whole chorus of voices, calling out names, pleaded for help. Most of the words I couldn’t understand. They probably weren’t even English.

The water continued to rush past my father. It was filled with debris—pieces of wood and broken hotel furniture. As it raced by, some of it crashed against the tree and some narrowly missed my father. He was in danger. I knew he wouldn’t leave that women, but he couldn’t very well force her to come. And I was there, watching, helpless. If only I could throw him a rope. But where was I going to get a rope…or something like a rope? A fire hose! I could throw him a fire hose!

I raced back up the stairs to the second floor. I looked down the hall toward my mother and then in the other direction before I saw it, a box sticking out of the wall. I threw open the front. The hose inside was all tightly coiled. I grabbed the nozzle and started running while the hose spun out behind me with a whirring sound. I splashed down the stairs again, struggling as the water got deeper and deeper. I stopped before the water rose past my chest. I pulled the hose, hand over hand, getting more and more slack. I needed at least thirty feet of hose to get it that far. It kept coming and coming and then it thumped to a stop. Did I have enough? And even if I did, could I throw it that far? Or did I need to throw it at all?

Carefully I took the hose and looped it around my waist. I threaded the nozzle back through and tied a knot. I gave it a pull to check the knot. It was solid. I reached over and pulled the other end. It was solidly attached up at the tap on the second floor. I could swim out and there would be no danger of me being dragged away by the current. I was anchored to this lifeline.

I moved farther down the steps until the water was so deep that my choices were to go no farther, go under water, or start swimming. I took a deep breath and dove in. I pushed myself along the wall—the water was almost as high as the ceiling now. I had a rush of fear, of second thoughts. No time for that. If the water was still rising, it had to happen now.

I pushed off, away from the stairwell and into the open water. The current grabbed me and I struggled against it. My father was just up ahead. I could see him and the woman clinging to the tree, but they were looking the other way and he hadn’t noticed me. I started swimming as hard as I could. I was in the current’s grip but I was making progress. I was getting closer and closer—and a lounge chair came streaking toward me! I didn’t have time to get out of its way, but I put up my hand and deflected it to the side.