Hanging on for dear life, I shouted something at Carol, and I know she was shouting at me, but there was water rushing over the tops of us, across the deck of the boat, and filling the middle. We couldn't hear anything else.
The little boat was picked up by the mighty hand of the wind, and dumped unceremoniously on its side, spilling its contents, mainly Carol and I, into the cold lake.
We were fighting the boat, fighting to get out from underneath the sails, fighting to keep it on its side, fighting to stay afloat.
I have no idea when the rescue boats got there, all I remember is trying to hang on to the slippery bottom of our capsized scow, and not doing a very good job of it.
Someone threw us some lifejackets, and Carol and I clutched them like the saviors they were.
We were dragged into a motorboat, and as we sat in the bottom with towels draped over us, teeth chattering, and in my case, hyperventilating, our rescuers got to work righting the swamped boat.
"I don't know if we're going to get it out of here right now," I heard someone mutter, "It's blowing too hard.
"You have to!" I cried "You can't just leave it here, it'll be ruined!"
I don't know if it was my desperate plea or what, but they eventually got the little boat attached to a motorboat, and started the slow drag home, with my little sister in the stern bailing as we went.
We made it home, cold, and tired, and just a little bit embarrassed.
"It all happened when we tried to get to our lifejackets," I said, a sheepish grin on my waterlogged face.
My mom just smiled, bless her heart, and didn't rub it in, but we knew then, what we still know now.
Mother is always right.
Wear your lifejacket.
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