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“I’m over here!” I was really afraid, more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life. He just didn’t get it. He didn’t understand what he was doing. He was endangering both of us. I guided him back to me with my voice.

“Okay now will you follow me?” Pat asked. “You’ve got to keep going if you’re going to get across the channel. I’m sure we have to go in this direction,” he added with certainty.

“No, I will not follow you. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know where you’re going.”

“Come with me. Stop arguing. Just follow me,” he said, and he started to paddle.

If we were going to survive, I had to keep him from paddling in a circle, from making it more difficult for the crew in the boats to find us. My words weren’t working. I reached up quickly and touched the board, disqualifying myself. As I did, everything in me felt like it was falling apart again. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to quit. I didn’t want to fail. But I had to stop him.

Pat looked at me with complete astonishment. “How could you do that?”

“I don’t want to swim anymore. I don’t,” I said. I could feel myself choking up, all those horrible feelings I’d had in the Nile River rushing back, but I had to push them away.

“It’s okay. Let’s pretend that you didn’t touch the board. You didn’t hang on or anything. Come on. Just swim with me,” he pleaded.

There was no sign that the fog would lift, no sign of the Bandito or the dory. Nothing to indicate that they were going to find us anytime soon. So I reached up and grabbed the nose of his board and held on tight. I hated doing it. “I’m too cold to go any farther. I think I have hypothermia,” I said, not knowing if I did or didn’t, just trying to hold him in one place.

“Okay, you can get on the board with me. Here, I’ll hold it— climb on,” he said.

It took me a couple attempts to pull myself onto the board. When he got back on, I asked him to move beside me so we could keep each other warm. With both of us on the board, there was no room for him to paddle. We shouted into the fog, “We’re here! Over here!”

Only foghorns and ship horns answered.

Maybe it was only half an hour that we were lost, I don’t know exactly how long, but it seemed as if we were gone for a very long time. Before we could see them, we heard Stockwell’s booming voice and Johnson’s little one, and then they emerged from the fog. They had turned on every single light they had on board, and in the fog, they were surrounded by a halo of pure light.

“Are you okay?” Stockwell asked.

“Yes,” we both said.

“We just spoke with Mickey. He thinks he knows where we are. It’s a good thing you stayed put or we’d never have found you. The Bandito is closing in on the circle, and they should be here soon,” Stockwell said, pulling alongside us. Johnson reached for my hand and hoisted me into the center of the dory, and Pat stayed on the board. This brought back memories of Egypt again. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I put my head down and closed my eyes, trying to stay warm.

It was only half an hour or so later that the Bandito broke through the fog. When the crew helped me onto the boat, I completely lost it. I started crying really hard. My father and mother tried to soothe me. I felt so bad to be sobbing in front of Montrella, in front of the reporter for the Los Angeles Times and all the lifeguards. It got even worse when I saw Fahmy’s face. He knew exactly what I was feeling. I started crying even harder. I had been so scared. I didn’t realize it until we were safe, but then I’d let my defenses down. My father tapped me on the cheek with his hand, first gently, then harder, trying to snap me back to reality. He was afraid that I would become hysterical. I hated this scene. Hated giving up. Hated failing. Still, I wasn’t fully comprehending the lesson that I should have learned in Egypt: no swim, no athletic venture was worth dying over. There were times when you had to quit. Times when it was too dangerous to continue. Times when you should walk away and try again another day.

That