You’re five.

You stand at the edge of the creek, bare feet inches away from the water, body tense with anticipation and excitement as you wait for the signal. A shout comes from somewhere close behind you (“Come on Stephanie, go in, the water’s fine!”), and you’re about to turn when you see it – a silver flash in the otherwise clear water; a minnow on it’s way down (or possibly up; you never were quite sure which way they were going)-stream.

You smile delightedly and laugh, lunging forward as the minnow streaks away almost gleefully from your fumbling hands. Your feet come in contact with the water then, and you shriek, jumping away from the bitingly-cold liquid that fills the stream, a look of absolute surprise on your face – because even though the same scene has repeated itself dozens of times before, you’re still naïve enough to believe that maybe this time, it’ll be different.

Things were different, then.