In the mid-90s, Marty and I visited the family home of one of her college roommates, Brigid. Brigid's family lived in western Pennsylvania in an old country farmhouse. Her father was the orthopedic surgeon to the high school football stars of the area. In the winter, they would ride snowmobiles to the grocery, and in the summer, they would take advantage of the wonderful outdoors that region of the country offered. One of those outdoor options was white-water rafting. 

As we donned our helmets and vests, the guide who prepared us to push off explained, "There's only three things to remember. One, have fun. Two, if you fall out, keep your feet up. And, three, if someone in your boat falls out, get them back in the boat IMMEDIATELY." I've never been known as a great listener, and fifty minutes later, I found myself exerting great effort to remember those three simple instructions. 

So things were going swimmingly. We were chatting and laughing and commenting on the beauty of the river. Then we came around a bend and found a shore-to-shore expanse of angry, churning water. Quickly scanning the options, we thought we saw a less-evil path through and paddled toward it, people yelling commands as we worked. But we got pulled into the one channel we were most trying to avoid. When the boat dipped into the swell, Marty who was manning the front right, got thrown backward and disappeared completely from view. Once through the worst of it, we saw her resurfaced and floating with her feet up. We quickly made our way to her, and Jim, Brigid's large and strong boyfriend, impressively hefted her back into the boat with a single arm.

Once in calmer waters we recounted the excitement, each person animatedly telling their side of the story. My version might have said something along the lines of, "I saw we were going to drop into that dip and knew Marty would fall out, so I tried lunging for her and just missed grabbing her vest before she fell backward." Everyone complimented my foresight and bravery, and we finished the float without any further mishaps. 

When we got to the end and were escorted out of the facility, the guide pointed us to a wall of televisions and said that some photos had been taken of us during the float and we could purchase them if we'd like. At this point in our relationship, I had known Marty for somewhere between six and eight years. In this time together, she has never, ever once been swayed by a memento of any sort, crazy-overpriced or even free, so I did not expect us to be getting anything on this day. When we stood at the counter and found our set of pictures, I studied the two-photo set and was struck by how clear and detailed the images were. 

The first photo showed us about to hit the swell that ate us whole. The second photo, this would be the one that should have shown me reaching for Marty and trying to save her from falling out of the boat, somehow, instead, curiously, showed me diving, sans paddle, toward the center of the boat to safety and possibly even laughing while I did so, as my girlfriend perilously fell backward out of the boat.

After taking in the image, I turned to Marty, who was staring not at the photo but directly at me. 

TROY
Hey. That's pretty great quality they got there, huh? I wonder how they do that.

MARTY
Yeah, it's great that we have a picture of you trying to save me and NOT of you diving to the middle of the boat, saving your own ass while I got thrown into a wild river. 

TROY
Yeah, I agree. It is a little hard to make out what's happening there.

The worker appeared in front of us and asked if we would be interested in buying a photo. I began to say thanks but no thanks, but Marty spoke over me and said, "Yes, I'd like one of each of those in an 8x10. Oh, and he's paying." 

And that is how these two custom-framed photos came to be hanging in our upstairs hallway, should you ever visit.

Everyone seems well aware, peril is at hand.
The question is how will you react?

I understand it might look like both Brigid & Jim are looking to Marty with concern. And it might look like I am diving to the safety of the middle of the boat, and, maybe, possibly, laughing while doing so. I get that is what it kinda looks like, but I think what we are really seeing here is an unfortunate camera angle.
Further, I would contend that what you should be looking at, instead of me, is Marty's impeccable form in entering the water. I mean, look at that pointed toe, and you can barely detect the splash!

Click photo for an enlarged version