Water-skiing on Shawnigan Lake

He has a shoulder in the water, a curtain of lake between
us as he's pulled behind 200 horses of outboard motor.
The woman in the bikini and flipflops who let her bicycle
fall to the grass then sauntered into the cordoned-off pool.
The three girls in big lifejackets huddled in our bow, the
ski planks I was on ten minutes before, on the floor of
the boat. You were so funny, she says to me. You couldnt
stand up. If you'd just stood up on the skis, you would have
been okay. My god I was so scared for you, but I couldnt
stop laughing at you, either.
Then we're towed behind the monster boat, in tubes.
We hang onto the tubes as the driver guns it. The velocity
of the first surge, the dip of the back of the boat, the
tug of the tube beneath me, as we are driven into the water,
then trimming the tips of waves as
we zoom down the lake at thirty miles an hour. A sea-doo
passes us, a woman dressed like she's forgotten a bag of
sugar at the corner store. She's kneeling on the sea-doo.
All this water, in the middle of Vancouver Island. All those
wasps we left on shore, tearing out chunks of ham from
our pineapple pizza.