We first became friends through the summer swim team. Neither of us knew how to swim, so we took baby steps together. Our instructor tried to set our focus on swimming, but instead we blew bubbles at each other, laughing and frolicking around. We didn’t need to practice- we were already mermaids.

As the days went by, our skills evolved. I adored backstroke, and she was a natural at breaststroke. The strokes couldn’t be more different, and at the time it didn’t matter.

Years passed, and we were old enough to walk to the pool by ourselves. I would wear my drab old one-piece, and she’d wear her stiff new bikini. Before we could get in the pool she had to take off her make-up and put on her sun-tanning lotion, and I would always wait, listening to the little kids giggling from the pool. 

Before long, she started inviting boys to come with us. The time outside of the pool soon eclipsed the time inside the pool, as we played truth or dare instead of water tag. I didn’t mind at first, and I even started putting on suntan lotion too. 

But, as she started saying that I needed makeup to be pretty, that my one-pieces weren’t fashionable like bikinis were, and that hanging out with boys were what made us cool, I couldn’t wait for her any longer.  

I still love backstroke to this day, but sometimes I miss the days when she swam breaststroke alongside me.