My Brother Was Taken by the River

My parents always said the world had no sympathy for the weak.

So from the moment my younger brother and I could walk, they put us through what they called the 'Strong Child Program.'

At five years old, we had to run five kilometers every day. If we could not finish, we were not allowed to eat.

At seven, my brother broke his arm. My parents refused to let the doctors use anesthesia, saying enduring pain was a lesson every strong person had to learn.

At nine, I burned with a 104℉ fever. Instead of taking me to the hospital, they wiped my body with ice water and forced me to endure it because 'sick children grow stronger immunity.'

Then, on the first day of summer vacation, my father announced this year's special training:

We were going to learn to swim in the Roaring Spine River.

No life jackets. No safety gear.

"You only learn after choking on water a few times," my father said.

But my brother choked over a hundred times and still could not swim.

I desperately swam toward him, trying to pull him back to shore, but somehow the distance between us only kept growing.

I called my father, screaming for help, begging him to call emergency services.

But after listening to me, he only snorted coldly.

"Who learns swimming without swallowing some water?

"Your brother isn't made of paper.

"Stop yelling and focus on learning to swim."

But by then, my brother had already been swept away by the current…

"Dad, Ian's really going to get swept away!"

"Please! Call emergency services! Just call them!"

He did not answer. I only heard the click of a lighter, then the sound of him taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Dylan Lancer, do you know how I learned to swim?

"When I was eight years old, I fell into a river and got dragged over a mile downstream before crawling back onto shore myself.

"Undercurrents aren't scary. What's scary is your mindset, crying for your parents the moment something goes wrong."

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

"He can't swim. He's only been learning for one day..."

"That's exactly why he needs to learn. If he can handle the current today, he'll be able to handle any hardship in life later on."

"If you save him once, you'll ruin him for the rest of his life."

"Dad!"

"Stop shouting. Calm yourself down, learn how to tread water properly, and go pull your brother back."

Then he hung up.

I floated in the river, surrounded by murky yellow water, with no idea which direction my little brother had been swept away in.

There was nobody on the shore. The only sound around me was birdsong.

My tears fell silently into the river.

That morning before we left home, Ian Lancer had still been asking me, "Dylan, what's an undercurrent? Is it like those lazy rivers at amusement parks?"

I told him no. Lazy rivers had boats. Undercurrents did not.

He had not understood. He just grinned, showing the gap where his front tooth was missing.

"Then I'm not scared. Dad said strong people aren't scared of anything."

I should never have let him into the water.

I should have stopped all of this on the very first day.

On the first day of training, Dad brought us to Roaring Spine Ferry and said coldly, "Get in."

Ian stood by the riverbank, his toes digging nervously into the mud as he glanced back at Dad.

Dad did not even look up.

"Dad... I don't know how to breathe properly yet."

"You'll learn after choking on a few mouthfuls of water."

Ian was trembling so hard his whole body shook.

The water rose past his knees, then his waist.

This time, Dad finally looked up. His eyes were so cold I could feel it from ten meters away.

"What are you looking at? You think there are sharks in there?"

Gritting his teeth, Ian threw himself into the river.

He could not swim at all.

His arms flailed wildly, splashing more water into the air than he moved himself forward. His head sank under, popped back up, sank again, surfaced again, every gasp filling his mouth with river water.

I stood on the shore, my legs shaking.

"You get in too," Dad said.

"Dad, Ian's choking on water. Let him come back up first..."

"If he chokes a hundred times, he won't choke anymore. I counted when I was little. Exactly one hundred times."

I jumped into the river and swam over to Ian, grabbing him under the chin to keep his head above water.

He clung to my neck like I was the last thing keeping him alive.

"Dylan, I don't want to learn anymore. I want to go home..."

But Dad walked over and kicked him hard in the shoulder.

"If you don't learn today, nobody's going home."

After that, Ian stopped crying.

So today, even though his face had gone deathly pale with fear, he still stepped into the water.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

I pulled it out, the screen smeared with water.

It was a social media post from my classmate Travis Shaw. Attached was a photo of a bright blue swimming pool, so blue it hurt to look at.

[Accidentally swallowed some water at the pool today. Coach got so scared his face turned green hahaha.]

Below it was a picture of Dad looking panicked and terrified, completely different from the cold indifference he showed me and Ian.

Something inside my chest felt like it tore open.

Using every ounce of strength I had left, I typed:

[Why wasn't the one swept away by the current you?]