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Gulp.

Breathe.

Wait! Wave, don't breathe!

Gulp.

OK, quick, breathe.

My head popped up above the white-foamed crest. I saw the next one coming. Or rather, I was heading toward it. Quick glance over my shoulder. The wife was somehow still in the goddamned Kayak. She was safe, though paddleless. I didn't have to worry...

Wave!

Gulp.

What did that tanned and blonde pretty-boy river guide say? Relax... Feet out in front.... Let the current take you... Oh Shit, I forgot to breathe!

Wave!

Gulp.

My hat was gone. My paddle was gone. The air was shocked by force and cold out of my lungs. The kayak and the rafts were still too far behind.

All had been well. We punched through a hole and came out the other side, but a rogue wave scooped me by surprise from the left. There was nothing to hold on to. The kayak was gone. I was taken by the water.

The third stretch of rapids began. I was still in the water. I was just a wee-bit concerned about striking a rock. I was a tad-bit more concerned about mis-timing gasps of air. The blinding slap of waves in my face also caused mounting awareness of the total fucking unpleasantness of a potential eddy or hole in my path. Fucking Kayak. I didn't want to try out the kayak. I should have stayed in the raft.

The icy current worked its way with me, pushing me up and pulling me down. It swept me forward at its own pace. My free will, and the exercise thereof, was worthless. I suppose there's a metaphor for life in there, but I'm not in a metaphore place tonight.

I backstroked toward the calm-looking border current to my left. I saw the nearest raft, crewed by my coworkers, rowing like Vikings, in hot pursuit. I also spied the fourth run of white waves looming all too near.

"There's his hat!" cried a voice from the raft.

"To hell with that cheap-ass ill-fitting hat..." I thought to myself.

"The hat is sinking!!" cried another.

"FUCK THE HAT!" I screamed silently to myself, as I suggested in an audible but bedraggled voice, "If you could manage to get me out before the next rapids, I would appreciate it..."

Which, they did, to my great appreciation. They also retrieved the wayward kayak paddle and my wife, pilot of the paddleless kayak. We were both aboard, and I took up my starboard bow rowing station. I felt numb. I felt empty. And then, a small voice squealed behind me, "The hat floated back to the surface!"

Yep. There it was, an oar's reach away.

Reading for Comprehension:
1. Ever been to Maupin?
2. If you are a 6'4" 23-year-old tanned shirtless river guide, with six-pack abs, white teeth and curly sun-bleached blonde hair, just how much sex do you get?
3. Anyone want a hat?