Swimming in the Rain

Some of our favorite adventures didn't have a destination. They had a tank of gas, a bag of Cheetos Puffs and beef jerky, music playing through the speakers, and two of us wondering where the road might take us. Kori loved going for drives, as long as she wasn't the one driving. She was perfectly happy in the passenger seat, gazing out the window with her forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the world go by. On this particular day, the soundtrack was Mamma Mia! We both loved the movie and its sequel, and we listened to the music from them often. There was one song from the sequel, "Kisses of Fire," that Kori absolutely loved to sing. I absolutely hated it. Every time it came on, I'd try to skip it before she noticed. Unfortunately, Kori usually noticed. And then she'd sing it. Loudly.

Eventually, we found ourselves at Mantua Reservoir. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, it began to rain. At first, it was only a sprinkle or two, so we decided to get out and walk down toward the water. That turned out to be a questionable decision. Or maybe it was the best decision we could have made. Kori and I have always loved the water, and before long, our shoes and socks were off and we were standing knee-deep in the lake. I refused to get my pants wet and rolled them up as far as I possibly could. Kori, on the other hand, apparently had no such concerns. She didn't care that her clothes were getting soaked. She didn't care that it was late in the day and the water was freezing. She didn't even care when the rain changed from a sprinkle to a downpour. Before long, Kori was completely submerged in the water while I had retreated to the beach. We were the only two people there. For a little while, it felt like the entire place belonged to us.

Then I saw lightning. That was the one thing that finally convinced me that perhaps swimming in a freezing reservoir during a thunderstorm wasn't the best idea. I eventually talked Kori into getting out of the water. Fortunately, I always kept my Blazer stocked with the things you might need on an unexpected adventure, including a quilt in the trunk. Kori wrapped herself in it, and instead of heading straight home, we walked along the boat dock taking goofy pictures. Kori was cold. Very cold. But she wasn't ready for our adventure to end. So I talked her into continuing our drive, heading farther into the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest to enjoy the scenery. By this point, though, Kori was absolutely freezing. Rather than admit defeat and go home, she stripped down to her bra and underwear, wrapped herself in the quilt, and climbed back into the Blazer.

So there we were. Driving through the forest. Me fully dressed and trying to stay warm. Kori sitting beside me wrapped in a quilt, wearing practically nothing, and laughing about the ridiculous situation we'd gotten ourselves into. We laughed so hard that day. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the destination. We hadn't planned the trip. We hadn't set out to make a special memory. We were simply two people who got bored, got in the car, followed the road, and somehow ended up swimming in the rain. But that's what I loved about being with Kori. She could turn an ordinary day into an adventure. She didn't need a plan. She didn't need a special occasion. She just needed an open road, a camera, some snacks, and someone willing to go along with her. And I was always willing to go along. Looking back now, I realize that these were the days I never wanted to end.

The days when Kori was sitting beside me, singing a song I couldn't stand, eating Cheetos Puffs, laughing until her stomach hurt, and turning a completely ordinary drive into a story we'd remember forever. I would give anything to have one more completely ordinary day with her. Even if it meant listening to "Kisses of Fire" again. ******************************************************************* After that first rainy, freezing adventure, Mantua became one of our favorite places to go. It was only about thirty minutes from home, so there was really no reason we couldn't have gone anytime. But somehow, we never went during normal hours or normal weather. We went when it was raining. Or when it was dark. Or when it was cold. Preferably all three. And no matter how cold or dark it was, there was one thing we apparently couldn't resist. We had to get in the water. I don't know why. Maybe because we could. Maybe because it was ridiculous. Maybe because Kori could never resist an adventure simply because someone might reasonably ask, "Why would you do that?" Whatever the reason, Mantua became ours. It was another place where ordinary days turned into memories. We took pictures there. We laughed there. We got cold there. We got wet there. And we kept going back. ******************************************************************** Six days before Kori's twenty-sixth birthday, I stood beside her grave. Her birthday was coming, and I wanted to do something for her. I just didn't know what. For a while, I couldn't think of anything that felt right. Then I thought of Mantua. Of course. I invited family and some of Kori's closest friends to come with me on her birthday. We gathered at the reservoir to celebrate her. We sang. Some of us ate cupcakes. We talked about Kori. And we carried colorful flowers down to the water and released them onto the reservoir. The wind was blowing just enough to catch the flowers and carry them slowly across the water. It was beautiful. And it was cold. It was really cold. It was the middle of March. The water was freezing. Nobody goes swimming in Mantua Reservoir in March. Nobody sane, anyway. But I went in. I had to. For Kori. I stood in that freezing water thinking about all the times we'd come here together. The rainy days. The dark evenings. The ridiculous decision to get in the water when we absolutely should have known better. And for a moment, I wasn't just standing in the reservoir where my daughter had been remembered. I was standing in one of our places again. The place where my daughter and I had laughed. The place where we'd been silly. The place where we'd made memories without knowing they would someday become precious. I wish Kori had been there. I wish she had been beside me, complaining about how cold the water was while simultaneously refusing to get out. I wish she had been there to see the flowers floating across the water. I wish I could have looked at her and said, "Kori, this is freezing. What are we doing?" And heard her laugh. But she wasn't there. So I went into the water for both of us. Because some places belong to you long after the person you shared them with is gone. And Mantua will always belong to Kori and me. *******************************************************************

Some places become part of your heart because someone you love was there. Mantua will always be ours