The first time that my brother and I had gone sailing without Dad. The first time we checked the weather and set a course like real navigators. The first time we had an important destination, the sailmaker’s loft, to pick up a new spinnaker. Mom seemed dubious, as her brows arched silently questioning my skills as a newly minted skipper. Her fourteen-year-old son now charged with the safety of his younger brother, Dan, three years his junior.

I didn’t have any concerns as we grabbed our bicycles from the tool shed and headed for the park, where our boat was moored. As we put our bikes in the rack at the park, I remarked on the blue sky and gentle breeze. While the quiet wind offered a less exciting sail, I was actually relieved. The responsibility of taking care of Dan, though a slight weight on my mind, would be easier with less wind. A light puff carried our nineteen-foot sloop about half a mile out of the anchorage. Then the wind died. We sat absorbing heat from the afternoon sun and bantering about nothing in particular. I wondered when the wind would freshen. That usually happened later in the afternoon. My brother asked with a yawn, “Where’s the excitement of sailing? Am I missing something?”

“It’s coming,” I promised knowingly. He smiled like the experienced seaman he was not and responded, “Sure thing.”

An hour passed as the boat drifted without any definite direction. Then, distant storm clouds gathered and surged towards us. Flashes of lightning pierced the sky. My heart took a mighty leap. Still, I barely perceived the challenge that was coming.

“Exciting!” I thought, “I can handle this.”

The sky darkened, the wind gusted to gale force, and the sails flapped wildly before shredding. How could the storm have engulfed us so quickly? I was roused to a state of extreme vigilance, my nerves on high alert. I started to sweat and noticed a tremor in my left hand. My heart beat loudly in my ear.

Dan looked as panicked as I felt. This wasn’t like riding bikes through town. Reflexly, I felt the need to give him confidence that we could survive the storm, no matter my uncertainty. He had to know that I would be supporting and guiding him every moment. That’s what a big brother needed to do.

I checked his life vest while our boat pitched, as water cascaded over bow and stern. The mast and boom began to groan. My brother’s body tensed, and he looked close to tears. My teeth chattered from the mixture of cold water and wind. Perhaps from fear, too, though I didn’t want Dan to see that.

I tried to sound confident. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this. Just follow me.”

I don’t know if he heard my words above the screaming storm, but he looked at me with admiration. I felt the full weight of being his big brother, the role that I knew was mine and only mine right now. Dan’s life was in my hands.

Nature did not pause as I decided what to do next. In short order, the mast collapsed, and the boom sliced through the cabin like a hatchet.

“Follow me. We’re gonna be fine.”

The surging wind and sea drove our boat towards protruding rocks. Without any idea what would actually become of us, hoping he’d follow my lead, I dove into the dark waves, swimming as far as possible from our boat’s death throes. Probably only twenty yards, but it was the longest and most frightening swim of my life. I watched my brother as he made slow progress as he bucked the waves behind me, and we saw the hull of our boat splintered on the rocks. My hope for a quick rescue disappeared. How would anyone even see us?

Enormous waves lifted, then plunged me down again. Between them, I saw my brother struggling just a few yards away, trying to breathe whenever his head bobbed above water. He was drifting away from me, and I swam with all my strength, hoping each stroke would bring me close enough to grab his arm and pull him to me. As our eyes locked in a lucky instant, I saw his look of relief.

“Hold on tight. We’ll be okay.” He clung to me with a grip tightened by panic.

I held him as the waves battered us. In my memory, we treaded water for hours. In truth, it was probably no more than forty-five minutes. But I spent every moment of it wondering if we would survive. Flashbacks flooded my mind: the two of us playing together in the park, celebrating family birthdays, exploring the marshes on Long Island. It was all on me. I had to save us.

Then, to my amazement, the hellish sky relaxed and admitted a pale streak of blue. The motor launch emerged from its protected harbor to pluck us from the still treacherous waves. We were too exhausted to climb, so the launch driver pulled us into his boat. Motoring back to the dock, he yelled above the roaring motor, “You boys are lucky. There were some nasty accidents out here today. Didn’t see that storm coming until it was almost on us.” Dan sat quietly, watching the now diminished waves toss the motor launch. Finally, we pulled up to the dock, and Dan said to the driver as he climbed out, “I just stayed close to my brother, and it all worked out.” The captain responded without hesitation, “Good strategy, son.”

At the dock we struggled to climb the gangway before throwing ourselves on the undulating ground. We had been saved.

Later, my brother asked, “How did you know what to do?” I would never admit how helpless I had felt. “That’s my job. I’m your big bother.” We looked at each other and smiled. He seemed painfully small and vulnerable as he hugged me closely for a long time. I had to save him, and I did.

Everything seemed different.

David Stern is new to the community of writers after decades working as a physician scientist and health sciences administrator. He has placed pieces in The Writer Launch, Windmill, Free Spirit Publishing, 1922 Revival/VOICES, Citizen-Times (Gannett), and Personal Story Publishing Project. Dave grew up on the North Shore of Long Island where he spent summers sailing on Long Island Sound.