hot tub reflections

We're in the middle of a one week house-sitting gig for some relatives of mine, and they have a hot tub. Every night I've been sitting in it for as long as I can stand, roughly 15 minutes. I love the hot tub, but I'm a tenderfoot, a lightweight. What's unusual here is that the cover is broken to where you can only lift one half of it off the tub. The other half of the tub must remain covered while you soak.

The first night I went tubbing alone. I lifted the cover's good half over onto the bad half and peered into the tub. Because it's dark outside, and because I left the porch lights off, I already couldn't see anything. But then, half of the tub was even darker, and who knew what could be lurking beneath? I gingerly got in, eyeing the dark side. I slowly sat down on my haunches with my back against the corner, waiting for my eyes to adjust enough to know I was alone in the tub, at least on the uncovered side. I stretched out my legs. My breaths were short. Surely if there was something in the tub with me, it would've floated out to within view, right? How could it stay on one side, especially with me getting in and upsetting the water?

Could I ensure no dead squirrels or worse were in the tub? I inched my foot toward the dark. Retracted. Nevermind. Just enjoy soaking, I thought. "Where are the stars? Hm...maybe the neighborhood lightage is too bright for them to poke through. La la la. I'm not afraid of the dark side of the tub. No Sir. That'd be silly. How would anything/one even get in here, especially if it/they was/were dead? And if it weren't an accident, why would someone of ill intent choose such a random hiding spot for their victim? La la la. Wonder what Jason's up to."

Could my reaction to the dark side of the tub reflect my deepest nature, my true character? Do I avoid the dark? Say it isn't so! Do I avoid the unknown? I hadn't thought of myself that way. After all, I see it as honest and good to acknowledge doubt and night and the wanderings of the soul, and I venture to say they're oft times life-enhancing. But still, I was wussing out pretty bad on this one. Before I knew it, focused on analyzing my fear, I had forgotten about it. So I took a couple little foot stabs at the dark. Very little stabs, and I came up empty. It had been about 15 minutes, so I headed inside.

The next night, Jason went with me to tub. I stepped in and hunkered down into one corner, watching for what he'd do. It was so very obvious that we were in peril, but let's see if he'd notice. Chattering about something, in he hopped, and within two seconds was letting his legs float completely under the cover!

Sometimes one person is braver than the next. Sometimes the not so brave one is you. That's when you feel a strange blend of exhileration at being in the presence of a hero, the other person, and a mite of shame that you yourself are such a nerd. That's also when you try real hard to think of times you've been braver than the other person. When you can't think of any, you think of other things you can do better than them, totally unrelated to bravery. By then it has been 15 minutes. Time to go inside.