Life jackets. Or the closest I’ll come to a PSA.
“Don’t be alarmed. When you see our house, every manner of emergency vehicle will be parked out front.” It was my father-in-law.
This was the call we got as we drove over the bridge to the St. George Island.
Sure enough. When we rounded the curve to the beach house we’ve stayed for the last few years, a firetruck, sheriff’s cars, ambulance, resort security truck were all stopped in front of the house.
Poised in front of the house was the better word.
An electricity tickled my skin as I got out of the truck. Something was dreadfully wrong.
* * *
“Please pray mister.”
A young boy ran up to my brother-in-law.
The upshot of all this emergency hoopla was that two riders had tipped over a jet ski and couldn’t be found.
See. This is what it looks like when loved ones are looking for you.
Loved ones who don’t know if you had a life jacket on.
Kind of like wanting to attend your own funeral to see all the down faces and tears. Well, hopefully to see tears.
First we heard two girls were on the jet ski. And that they weren’t wearing life jackets.
Then it turns out the girls were the ones who came to shore and told my son that the elderly men riding with them (granddads perhaps?) had tipped over.
And were gone.
One girl thought they were wearing life jackets.
One girl wasn’t so sure.
“Well. If they were wearing life jackets, I’d say the chances are good they will be found alive.” I said this to my in-laws and sister-in-law gathered at the rail.
As I went upstairs to help unload all our gear, looking out the window reminded me of one thing.
It would be dark in 15 minutes. Rescue boats and jet skis had been crisscrossing the water for an hour at this point.
I prayed. I did these prayers while shoving down my imagination, which tried ever so forcefully to insert the terror the loved ones must be feeling.
We all were praying.
“Why don’t they send out a plane?” my mother-in-law asked.
And as if on cue . . .
Well, about 10 minutes after the plane went out we saw activity.
People running to the sheriff’s SUV and driving off.
The men had been found.
Four miles out.
One of the police boats out in the Gulf.
Yes, just as darkness closed in, they spotted the men.
Alive.
Bobbing four miles out to sea. Wearing life vests.
Neither could swim.
Seat belts and life jackets.
No trip is too short.
