Recently divorced(离婚), I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to the employment offices. I had no umbrella, and I could not afford one. I sat down in the streetcar and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella with a silver handle.

I examined the handle and saw a name. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but somehow I decided to take it with me and find the owner myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called and a lady answered.

Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen more than a year before. She was so excited and I was so happy that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small house. She took the umbrella, her eyes filled with tears. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my address. I didn’t remember.

The next six months were tough. My last job ended the day before Christmas and my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and I had only fifteen dollars. When I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment, the air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment. But there should be no Christmas for me. Unless a miracle happened, I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless.

Peggy, my daughter, had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put out pans and three cans of food which would be our dinner. When I looked at those pans and cans, I felt broken-hearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow. I stood in the cold little kitchen and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.

I arrived at the pool hall on Wednesday with a heavy heart. Teams from other schools were already suited and warming up by the pool or in the water. The bleachers (露天看台) were full.

“I don’t think I can do this.” I said, twisting the belt of my bag.

“You’ll be fine, and I will be right here watching.” Mom said, dropping an arm around my shoulder and squeezing.

I bit my lip and looked out over the other swimmers. “You sure?”

Mom leaned forward. “Remember, it’s just you. Don’t worry about any of the other swimmers. Just swim your race.”

“OK.”

The warmups and preparations were over before I knew it, and the first round of swimmers were up on the blocks.

I felt sick. I watched my competitors swim, and they looked so strong and skillful in the water. The events screamed by, one after the other. My knees shook as each event clicked closer to mine. The knots in my stomach twisted and coiled like a bag of ropes.

Then the one-hundred breaststroke (蛙泳) was announced.

Nerves choked my throat.

“Just swim your race. Don’t think about the other swimmers.” I repeated it over and over in my mind.

I bent forward on my block in line with the rest of the swimmers, waiting. My body tensed up like a spring. My heart pounded in my ears.

The buzzer (蜂鸣器) sounded. I sprang forward, diving into the water and kicking like a dolphin. Then my head broke free of the water. Just count strokes. I kept my eyes focused on the black line in front of me, ignoring the splashes of movement on either side. Pull. Breathe. Kick. I hit the end of the pool and then my first turn came. I took a deep a breath and turned over, pushing hard against the wall and bursting back the way I came.

Then everything changed.

I was the last one to finish the race.