Shrimp Boats, Sisters, and Mint Tea
by Sarah Koehler

The tide sneaks in, just enough to make visible the overgrowth of algae and barnacles on the dock buoys. My sister, our friend, and I sit on the dock with our feet submerged in the cold water. The shrimp boat towers behind us. The shadow cast from its sails rests on the soft water. On the wooden planks, we wait, thinking about how to pass the time.

Rising up from the dock, we stare at the murky water below us. The same thought goes through our heads incessantly.

Grab hands, close your eyes, and JUMP. Just do it. JUMP.

We stand there, each of us a timid kid grasping the other’s hand for dear life, quietly repeating the same mantra that is going through each of our brains.

Just do it. JUMP. Just do it. JUMP. Just do it!

Our eyes close tight like a newborn’s fist when her hands wrap around her parent’s finger. We jump, our toes barely striking the edge of the dock. We are air-born, triumphant at the success of our leap. Our feet crash into the frigid water, our heads soon follow. It is a scary plunge, yet we still hold hands. Our heads pop up out of the water after briefly being immersed. Not paying attention to the water, we splash each other and laugh about how daring our plummet was. We swim over to the nearby ladder and get out, waterlogged and sopping. Our skin is still dotted with goose bumps from our shivering.

We’ve passed just enough time to catch the brewed pot of mint tea at my grandmother’s house. Strolling over to the porch, we discuss our next daring feat for the following day. The aroma from the mint sprigs fills our noses

We can’t wait for our next escapade. In front of the same giant boat, awaiting the same pot of mint tea. It’s just another summer day in the life of a true South Carolinian. Shrimp boats. Sisters. And mint tea.