Lena’s parents were immigrants who had met in Boston. Her mother was Czech; as a young girl, she had seen the brutal repression of the Prague Spring... Her father had escaped from East Germany four years before the Berlin Wall finally fell. Their demeanor and their outlook on life reflected the grimness of their backgrounds. There was little that was light or happy in either of them. For all that, their love for each other was deep and strong, and their little Lena was the light of their lives.. We raced together for a moment more and then, hands clasped, fingers laced, we fell together into the rolling tide. I tilted my head and rested it on his shoulder as I fought to regain even breathing but held the rest of my body as still as I could to stay atop the wave. He continued to breathe words into my hair as his hands began to move over the slick muscles of my back and shoulders. I leaned out slightly to catch his eye and he dipped his head so our lips brushed, words still flowing. We. More

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