My family is broken into two groups, and each group has its hands full, trying to move two large log cabin-type houses across a makeshift bridge made of wooden pylons and planks of plywood. The bridge is busted, segmented, and not meant to be traveled, it seems, although there is some construction going on, which makes our passage even more perilous. Below us, there is some dirty, shallow water measuring possibly two feet deep.
It's slow going, and I'm in the first group. I look behind me to check the progress of the second group, and see my mother trip and teeter and then finally hit her head on the edge of one of the pylons, and then fall into the water below. My father, who's the head of my group, yells to my brother and me to take off after her and make sure she's breathing, because she has a concussion.
Somehow my brother dives into the two feet of water. I drop feet first and get to mom before my brother does. She's lying on her back under the water, unconscious. I lift her out of the water — she's heavy — and wonder how I'm supposed to get her to breathe. I don't know CPR. "Shake her!" someone yells, and I do, and she starts breathing. I'm yelling at her to stay awake, because she's drifting in and out of consciousness. Not sure what I'm supposed to do, I look up to see the family continuing to carry the log houses across the rickety bridge.
I suppose they cross the bridge successfully, because soon they are all beside me as I stand there trying to hold mom up. One of my nephews or maybe my brother — I can't remember which — starts going off on me for leaving chairs out in some building, presumably where the log cabins were taken to be stored, which is why it took them so long. I yell at him to back off. I feel completely helpless with my mom nodding off in my arms. We're both waterlogged.
I look up to see another family carrying another wooden log cabin across that confounded bridge. Someone makes a misstep and the wood cracks and collapses around them.
Good luck with that, I think.