It was a beautiful morning. Warmer than before. He was perspiring just from the walk to the pool. He was frustrated, at what he couldn’t identify, but he needed the water. He couldn’t think without it. He couldn’t think with it either. But perhaps that was his goal. To be able to turn off his head, to allow the water to flow over him, wash away the pain.
Diving into the crystal clear water, acutely aware of the bottom of the pool as his chest slipped a few millimeters from the rough surface. Gliding under water, arms pressed against his ears. Toes pointed, body tight. Freezing was probably the only way to describe the water, oppressive, his lungs perturbed, at the abrupt cut-off of oxygen his heart seemed to slow as he angled himself slightly, allowing his bodies natural buoyancy to do the rest. Just a foot from the surface, he exploded into motion. Whipping his entire body propelling himself forward, rapidly replicating a dolphin like rhythm, ankles flexing, hips rocking. The surface exploded around him, light, sound, air. Breaking streamline, he pulled, flexing, a slightly outward pull, biceps straining, lattissimus dorsi next, taking the weight of his body, his forearm vertical in the water, his shoulder taking some of the strain as his arm rotated around. Forming a slight S shape with each stroke. Breathing on the fourth. His stroke had changed slightly. Six months of intense weight training, and his body no longer moved the same way. He was stronger, the powerful movements he had learned, now carried more meaning. Each stroke carrying him further from his start, each stroke carrying the momentum he had built. His legs were powerful, long in comparison to others, but short and thick for his build. Legs were the powerhouse of a stroke, kicking pushed the body forward, as his arms took their turns pulling, reducing the slight decrease in productivity, while one arm took the place of the other.
As the water flowed over his shoulders and head, his mind was empty, the little thought that was needed to keep swimming, barely a buzz, as he let his inner turmoil melt away. Replacing his anger with a build up of lactic acid, allowing the suffocating nature of water ease his confusion.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Feelings...Bedded
Laying next to her, he felt good. He was going to seal the deal. If not tonight, than in one of the nights later. Looking into her blue eyes, as they lay, touching, learning, feeling the body of the other. He remembered every detail, as his hands, fingers, dexterous from years of playing the saxophone, strong and slightly rough from hours of work he had put into his body pushing iron. He stifled the urge to flinch as she touched his arms, shoulders neck, breathing was difficult. His tension melted slowly away. Conversation had been set aside for a few moments, kissing, making love with their mouths. She was a biter, a forceful, playful, kisser, different, completely from her American counterparts.
She was sad. Her ex-boyfriend was being an ass-hole, visiting the country, in the same group as her. She was angry, and as he lay beside her he fed off that. He talked her down from the rage that she felt, he held her, protected her. He kissed her pushing her further, further, further. He knew what he was doing. He had never done this before. Well he had slept with someone before, but it had been under the influence, awkward, rushed. He didn’t, couldn’t rush this. Now was not the time to push her all the way. She was vulnerable, she needed him, just as he needed her body.
Beautiful would hardly begin to describe her, fit, not thin, muscled, with a small amount of fat, she was clearly an athlete. Enchanting was not nearly the right word to describe her personality. She could drag anyone into her circle, her mood effected those near her. She was incredible interesting, smarter than most. She would talk for hours, about nothing at all, and everything. He was perhaps enthralled with her, slightly obsessed, she was everything he looked for.
He didn’t know completely what was going through his head. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. He had made his moves appropriately, and easily. Perhaps a little slow. He wanted to sleep with her, he wanted, needed, her body, he needed her soul. He was happy, holding her, for as long as he could warming her, protecting her. It was all he knew.
She was sad. Her ex-boyfriend was being an ass-hole, visiting the country, in the same group as her. She was angry, and as he lay beside her he fed off that. He talked her down from the rage that she felt, he held her, protected her. He kissed her pushing her further, further, further. He knew what he was doing. He had never done this before. Well he had slept with someone before, but it had been under the influence, awkward, rushed. He didn’t, couldn’t rush this. Now was not the time to push her all the way. She was vulnerable, she needed him, just as he needed her body.
Beautiful would hardly begin to describe her, fit, not thin, muscled, with a small amount of fat, she was clearly an athlete. Enchanting was not nearly the right word to describe her personality. She could drag anyone into her circle, her mood effected those near her. She was incredible interesting, smarter than most. She would talk for hours, about nothing at all, and everything. He was perhaps enthralled with her, slightly obsessed, she was everything he looked for.
He didn’t know completely what was going through his head. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. He had made his moves appropriately, and easily. Perhaps a little slow. He wanted to sleep with her, he wanted, needed, her body, he needed her soul. He was happy, holding her, for as long as he could warming her, protecting her. It was all he knew.
Flashback...Anger
There wasn’t anything he could do. It was a bad day. One of those days when nothing made sense, and there was no escape. The rage had been there under the surface, and as he looked on he could almost literally see it overwhelm his mother. He was terrified of her anger, it was to his seven year old mind unconquerable, and there was nowhere to hide. Silently he prepared himself to take the brunt of it all. Better him than his brother and sister. They were little more than babies.
The flour. Leaving it in reach of the young ones had been a mistake. They didn’t know any better, and to them it was a toy. A game to be played. Snow on a temperate fall day. It was everywhere by the time he made it downstairs. Covered from head to toe, they had been happy moments before they were discovered. He should have been watching them, he should have stopped them, he should have known. He was responsible.
As the yelling ensued, he watched his siblings cover their ears. Good they were learning to protect themselves. Looking back at his mother he stood stoically, trying not to flinch as she whipped out screaming, it was his fault, why hadn’t he been watching them. The kicking started later, not a lot of it, but enough to scare him. Enough, to hurt.
He was terrified that the anger would be directed at his brother and sister. He didn’t want it himself, but he would have taken any of it on his own shoulders, if it would protect them. He was after all responsible for them. He was all they had when things got bad, and he was their whipping boy.
That he had to be there would hurt him for a long time. He would flinch at physical contact, and shrink away from intimacy. He would seek anger from those he loved, anger was something he could understand, it was something he would grow to need, and it would break him.
The flour. Leaving it in reach of the young ones had been a mistake. They didn’t know any better, and to them it was a toy. A game to be played. Snow on a temperate fall day. It was everywhere by the time he made it downstairs. Covered from head to toe, they had been happy moments before they were discovered. He should have been watching them, he should have stopped them, he should have known. He was responsible.
As the yelling ensued, he watched his siblings cover their ears. Good they were learning to protect themselves. Looking back at his mother he stood stoically, trying not to flinch as she whipped out screaming, it was his fault, why hadn’t he been watching them. The kicking started later, not a lot of it, but enough to scare him. Enough, to hurt.
He was terrified that the anger would be directed at his brother and sister. He didn’t want it himself, but he would have taken any of it on his own shoulders, if it would protect them. He was after all responsible for them. He was all they had when things got bad, and he was their whipping boy.
That he had to be there would hurt him for a long time. He would flinch at physical contact, and shrink away from intimacy. He would seek anger from those he loved, anger was something he could understand, it was something he would grow to need, and it would break him.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Sunny...Rescue
Taking the stand for the other guard, he quickly scanned and counted the crowd. Forty-five. Too many, way too many. The pool just wasn’t that big. He’d seen larger pools in the backyards of single families. Noticing too that there were way too many people for one person to guard at once, the other guard caught his eye and indicated that she would be staying on deck to help monitor. He wasn’t particularly relieved. His obsessive compulsive nature would make it impossible to focus only on his zone, meaning he’d be guarding the entire pool anyways. But the added help meant that he would be able to lighten up, at least a little bit.
It had been a long day. Opening the grocery store had left him drained, no matter how many monster mochas he “borrowed.” And the sun was no help, easily 100 degrees, with a high UV rating, and to add insult to injury he hadn’t had time to pack a lunch, so he was starving. Scanning religiously, counting heads, watching eyes, arms, head position. Listening to splashing, yelling screaming, crying, choking, gaging. Hundreds of sounds, movement everywhere. A lady in the far corner was sneaking some beer, the kid in the red bathing suit had been underwater swimming for five seconds, the non-swimmer in the spiderman floaties, was on the stairs standing. A couple teenagers were flirting in deep water but they could swim. Two year old walking on the deck, non-swimmer, a yell pulled his attention, it was nothing. The two year old was gone. He scanned quickly and saw her, safe with her mother.
Rapid movement caught his eye as a blue suited boy tripped into the water, non-swimmer, twelve meters away, six seconds with a clear path, there was no clear path. Standing whistle blasting he sprinted, nine seconds on foot with tight corners. House wife was going to get wet. The other guard was trying to figure out what was going on. He leaped over an ignorant six year old, into the water, hit the bottom calculated the angle pushed off reaching under the child's arm lifting him up, making sure his head was out of the water, and all but threw him onto the deck. His heart beating again as time caught up with his brain.
It had been a long day. Opening the grocery store had left him drained, no matter how many monster mochas he “borrowed.” And the sun was no help, easily 100 degrees, with a high UV rating, and to add insult to injury he hadn’t had time to pack a lunch, so he was starving. Scanning religiously, counting heads, watching eyes, arms, head position. Listening to splashing, yelling screaming, crying, choking, gaging. Hundreds of sounds, movement everywhere. A lady in the far corner was sneaking some beer, the kid in the red bathing suit had been underwater swimming for five seconds, the non-swimmer in the spiderman floaties, was on the stairs standing. A couple teenagers were flirting in deep water but they could swim. Two year old walking on the deck, non-swimmer, a yell pulled his attention, it was nothing. The two year old was gone. He scanned quickly and saw her, safe with her mother.
Rapid movement caught his eye as a blue suited boy tripped into the water, non-swimmer, twelve meters away, six seconds with a clear path, there was no clear path. Standing whistle blasting he sprinted, nine seconds on foot with tight corners. House wife was going to get wet. The other guard was trying to figure out what was going on. He leaped over an ignorant six year old, into the water, hit the bottom calculated the angle pushed off reaching under the child's arm lifting him up, making sure his head was out of the water, and all but threw him onto the deck. His heart beating again as time caught up with his brain.
Parental...Communication
Taking a breathe he knocked on the door, running quickly through the things he needed to say, the arguments he might have to use. Asking for the car, for anything but work or practice was something that hadn’t happened often. He didn’t do a whole lot of dating, and the rest of his friends had cars of their own, so if they hung out, they drove. Asking for anything was terrifying in it’s own way. Deep rooted conditioning told him that he should wait until something is offered rather than ask. This was the wrong context for that, but he instinctively hesitated.
“Can I use the car to go see a movie?” he said after the cursory greetings. Flinching slightly as he registered vague surprise in his father’s eyes.
“Can’t one of your friends drive?” he quickly responded, that he wasn’t going with his friends.
“You’re going to the movies alone” his father asked, now teasing.
“With a girl, dad.”
“Yeah sure, be back by 1:30”
“OK... wait what?”
“You can go, with a girl to a movie in MY car, just be back by 1:30.”
He stood there staring for a moment, suspicious. Thought about asking why that had been so easy, while it had taken weeks of arguing to be allowed to drive with more than one person in the car. Then thought better of it. He didn’t think the idea that a beautiful girl would be far more distracting than a couple friends, to occur to his father. He ran grabbed the keys, and left.
“Can I use the car to go see a movie?” he said after the cursory greetings. Flinching slightly as he registered vague surprise in his father’s eyes.
“Can’t one of your friends drive?” he quickly responded, that he wasn’t going with his friends.
“You’re going to the movies alone” his father asked, now teasing.
“With a girl, dad.”
“Yeah sure, be back by 1:30”
“OK... wait what?”
“You can go, with a girl to a movie in MY car, just be back by 1:30.”
He stood there staring for a moment, suspicious. Thought about asking why that had been so easy, while it had taken weeks of arguing to be allowed to drive with more than one person in the car. Then thought better of it. He didn’t think the idea that a beautiful girl would be far more distracting than a couple friends, to occur to his father. He ran grabbed the keys, and left.
Angry...Turkey
Standing for eight hours straight is nobody’s favorite activity. Working at the grocery store required one to stand for eight hours. Glowering at customers behind their backs became his favorite sport, but earned him a reprimand, when he was caught, he became extremely good at not getting caught. Glowering at managers was also an equally entertaining activity.
“Tuck in your shirt,” his manager hollered from down the aisle, glower. He had been able to avoid this for the past two and a half years, he rolled his eyes, glowered some more, and hastily obliged. It wasn’t that he didn’t like looking professional, he did, but it seemed rather pointless. Wearing a shirt that was now more purple than blue, from over exposure to the sun and repeated washing would make sure he never looked professional. But mostly, no one gave a damn what the employees at the grocery store looked like, at least not this grocery store. People only came here because they had to, his own parents drove the extra 5 miles to the competitions store.
“You are no longer permitted to scan your personal bonus card for customers.” Was the next new rule, not bothering to ask why he went about his glowering and relayed the message to customers who had forgotten their cards. This method of glowering indifference worked rather well until someone started to question him.
“Ok, I get it, you’re a moron, now shut up and bag my groceries.” she said all but yelled, after he explained for the third time that it wasn’t his decision.
Smiling pleasantly at the 20 pound frozen turkey in his hands, he turned and dropped it with a sharp crack to the floor. Half the store turned at the noise, at a loss for words the lady opened her mouth silently, clearly puzzled by what had just happened, everyone was frozen. Without a word he walked out of the store and did pull-ups, until a manager came looking for him, a paper reprimand in hand.
“Tuck in your shirt,” his manager hollered from down the aisle, glower. He had been able to avoid this for the past two and a half years, he rolled his eyes, glowered some more, and hastily obliged. It wasn’t that he didn’t like looking professional, he did, but it seemed rather pointless. Wearing a shirt that was now more purple than blue, from over exposure to the sun and repeated washing would make sure he never looked professional. But mostly, no one gave a damn what the employees at the grocery store looked like, at least not this grocery store. People only came here because they had to, his own parents drove the extra 5 miles to the competitions store.
“You are no longer permitted to scan your personal bonus card for customers.” Was the next new rule, not bothering to ask why he went about his glowering and relayed the message to customers who had forgotten their cards. This method of glowering indifference worked rather well until someone started to question him.
“Ok, I get it, you’re a moron, now shut up and bag my groceries.” she said all but yelled, after he explained for the third time that it wasn’t his decision.
Smiling pleasantly at the 20 pound frozen turkey in his hands, he turned and dropped it with a sharp crack to the floor. Half the store turned at the noise, at a loss for words the lady opened her mouth silently, clearly puzzled by what had just happened, everyone was frozen. Without a word he walked out of the store and did pull-ups, until a manager came looking for him, a paper reprimand in hand.
History...Swimming
Athlete. A word that he would not have used to describe himself. That is until his teacher had persuaded him to join the swim team. Despite his arguments to the contrary his teacher had managed to convince him that it would be a good idea to dress in a skin tight lycra, jammer style, bathing suit, and compete. Promising that he would be fine as long as he could swim from one end of the pool to the other, without looking like a complete idiot.
A week argument to say the least. What he failed to mention was that the school was part of one of the most competitive swimming divisions in the state. Another minor omission, was that swimming fast, takes hard work. Lots of it.
The first practice was a disaster, convinced that he needed to pump up his muscles so he didn't look like a total moron in the water he performed a full bodyweight workout, the first time he had ever done such a thing. Unfortunately, because he was not yet a hardened athlete, in deed describing any part of him as hard would be amusing, trying to perform a whole new workout regimen, and take on a new sport, in the same day just didn’t work. Within minutes, his shoulders were straining, his breathing was labored, and his legs were sinking.
After 1000 meters the coach called it quits, not that he needed to, everyone was finished anyways. Ready to approach the coach and demand that he be allowed to quite this insanely difficult activity he was startled to see the coach walking purposefully towards him, a look in his eyes.
“Good work today” That was all, a simple acknowledgement that he had been watching, an acknowledgment that he had seen the hard work. It was in that moment that he decided that he was an athlete. Not for the social standing being a varsity athlete gave, not for the freedom being away from the house an additional two to three hours gave, but for the feeling that came from someone watching, and complimenting what they saw. Oh, and the half naked girls didn't hurt.
A week argument to say the least. What he failed to mention was that the school was part of one of the most competitive swimming divisions in the state. Another minor omission, was that swimming fast, takes hard work. Lots of it.
The first practice was a disaster, convinced that he needed to pump up his muscles so he didn't look like a total moron in the water he performed a full bodyweight workout, the first time he had ever done such a thing. Unfortunately, because he was not yet a hardened athlete, in deed describing any part of him as hard would be amusing, trying to perform a whole new workout regimen, and take on a new sport, in the same day just didn’t work. Within minutes, his shoulders were straining, his breathing was labored, and his legs were sinking.
After 1000 meters the coach called it quits, not that he needed to, everyone was finished anyways. Ready to approach the coach and demand that he be allowed to quite this insanely difficult activity he was startled to see the coach walking purposefully towards him, a look in his eyes.
“Good work today” That was all, a simple acknowledgement that he had been watching, an acknowledgment that he had seen the hard work. It was in that moment that he decided that he was an athlete. Not for the social standing being a varsity athlete gave, not for the freedom being away from the house an additional two to three hours gave, but for the feeling that came from someone watching, and complimenting what they saw. Oh, and the half naked girls didn't hurt.
Swim...Conversations
Lap after lap he swam, struggling not to check too often to see if she was watching. Gliding through and pulling, allowing his slim figure to slide gracefully and rapidly through the water, flipping at the wall. Being alone in the pool at this time of day was not rare. 10am on a Weekday, even the housewives were either asleep or busy feeding their children. This means that from about 10 to 11 or so the pool was usually empty, allowing him to swim. Lap after lap, knowing that she had no choice but to watch. A twinge of guilt sprang through him realizing that he would have been extremely pissed by a single lap swimmer for an hour on a daily basis. But she never complained.
“Are you from here?: she inquired at the end of a set. He was out of breathe but he pushed off the wall and slid down the wall towards her guard stand.
“Excuse me?” he inquired, she repeated herself readily, a strong accent made it difficult to understand at times, a fact she seemed to have accepted graciously. “No, not originally, but I have lived in this area for five or six years now.”
“I see”... Pleasant, educated, and casual, conversation was hard to come by. And he talked to her for several hours whiling away the time until he had to leave to work. Learning her name, about her family, which she missed very much, her asshole ex-boyfriend, whom she did not miss. She was a law student, two years his senior, granting a glance into the life of another universe, a life of adult-hood.
“You will return tomorrow?” He replied with a small smile, a look in her eyes slightly longer than casual, and a promise to return the next day at 10. He was late 5 minutes the next day, and he was greeted with mock anger, and a CD full of music to listen to while they sat by the pool wasting the hours till once again he had to leave .
“Are you from here?: she inquired at the end of a set. He was out of breathe but he pushed off the wall and slid down the wall towards her guard stand.
“Excuse me?” he inquired, she repeated herself readily, a strong accent made it difficult to understand at times, a fact she seemed to have accepted graciously. “No, not originally, but I have lived in this area for five or six years now.”
“I see”... Pleasant, educated, and casual, conversation was hard to come by. And he talked to her for several hours whiling away the time until he had to leave to work. Learning her name, about her family, which she missed very much, her asshole ex-boyfriend, whom she did not miss. She was a law student, two years his senior, granting a glance into the life of another universe, a life of adult-hood.
“You will return tomorrow?” He replied with a small smile, a look in her eyes slightly longer than casual, and a promise to return the next day at 10. He was late 5 minutes the next day, and he was greeted with mock anger, and a CD full of music to listen to while they sat by the pool wasting the hours till once again he had to leave .
Flashback...Hungry
Today was going to be a bad day. Feeling hunger clawing at his stomach he remembered that they had eaten the last corn-dog, they had been out of cereal for a week, and it was a Saturday on the wrong week. Raising his rail thin frame from the secondhand bed, and sheets that hadn’t been washed in months, he washed in the bathroom down the hall as well as he knew how. Looked in on his sister and brother sleeping still, thankfully, there was no crying.
There was no music, the first sign that today wasn’t going to be a good day. He stayed upstairs tiptoeing so as to make as little noise as possible. Government welfare housing wasn’t exactly sound proof, and a misstep could lead to a tirade of yelling, and then crying as his sibling realized there wasn’t a very diverse menu. If his memory served, and it hadn’t failed him recently, the pantry contained oyster crackers, and flour. Not much nutrition in that, but there wasn’t really anything a seven year old boy could do.
Staring out the window, at the vacant basketball court no nets, no rims. A children's playground, and a drug dealers stomping grounds. The sun had risen over the tree line, the woods that were forbidden, no one really knew why, but legend had it that was where the teenagers kissed. The thought of kissing was rather disgusting, especially a girl.
Feeding a 3 year old and an infant oyster crackers is less about actually feeding, and more about making it a game of pick up and feed you face. Dumping some crackers onto the cleanest section of table he could find, he watched as his three year old sister and two year old brother ate their carb laden breakfast. Snagging a few crackers here and there, he hoped the Schwan’s order had included more corn dogs than the last, and maybe something else for variety.
Jumping up and leaving the two little ones to their own devices, he hid the crackers and went outside, in search of that neighbor girl, and her mother with the carrots, grapes and sad eyes.
There was no music, the first sign that today wasn’t going to be a good day. He stayed upstairs tiptoeing so as to make as little noise as possible. Government welfare housing wasn’t exactly sound proof, and a misstep could lead to a tirade of yelling, and then crying as his sibling realized there wasn’t a very diverse menu. If his memory served, and it hadn’t failed him recently, the pantry contained oyster crackers, and flour. Not much nutrition in that, but there wasn’t really anything a seven year old boy could do.
Staring out the window, at the vacant basketball court no nets, no rims. A children's playground, and a drug dealers stomping grounds. The sun had risen over the tree line, the woods that were forbidden, no one really knew why, but legend had it that was where the teenagers kissed. The thought of kissing was rather disgusting, especially a girl.
Feeding a 3 year old and an infant oyster crackers is less about actually feeding, and more about making it a game of pick up and feed you face. Dumping some crackers onto the cleanest section of table he could find, he watched as his three year old sister and two year old brother ate their carb laden breakfast. Snagging a few crackers here and there, he hoped the Schwan’s order had included more corn dogs than the last, and maybe something else for variety.
Jumping up and leaving the two little ones to their own devices, he hid the crackers and went outside, in search of that neighbor girl, and her mother with the carrots, grapes and sad eyes.
Work...and Jobs
“Fucking Finally” he muttered, clocking out, after a particularly slow morning shift at the grocery store. Nodding in acknowledgment as his manager said good bye. Pulling his shirt over his head walking through the parking lot, the warm sun hit his skin for the first time and he walked to his car.
“Damn,” behind schedule, as usual, “and they wonder why I hate working there” Shoving his jeep into gear he rolled down his window, cranked up the music squeaking his tires, and revving up the RPM’s unnecessarily high swinging in front of the store, out of the parking lot, and onto the highway. Ignoring the 65 miles per hour speed limit, flooring it past the mid afternoon grandmas, slowing only long enough to avoid the speed trap two exits down. Letting the wind mess up his hair, and the smile spread across his face.
Whipping into the pool parking lot he changed in his car, ignoring the perturbed middle class mother who would probably complain to the Home Owners Association. Swapping khakis and a sun bleached navy polo, for red guard shorts, flip flops and a whistle. Leaping from the Jeep he jogged the forty yards to the gate, waited impatiently for someone to notice him there and then walked in.
Early, and a new record for the commute. Lifeguarding was his second job of the day, and by far the more enjoyable one. Sitting in the sun, talking to pretty girls, swimming when it was too hot, it was what he would be doing if he didn’t have anything else to do that day anyway. Why not get payed to be a pool rat.
Sitting on the stand, soaking in Ultra Violet light, Vitamin D pumping into his system, gently smiling as the children splashed each other. Looking into the horizon a storm could be seen rolling in, grinning from ear to ear, he listened for the first thunder clap, a Guard’s best friend.
“Damn,” behind schedule, as usual, “and they wonder why I hate working there” Shoving his jeep into gear he rolled down his window, cranked up the music squeaking his tires, and revving up the RPM’s unnecessarily high swinging in front of the store, out of the parking lot, and onto the highway. Ignoring the 65 miles per hour speed limit, flooring it past the mid afternoon grandmas, slowing only long enough to avoid the speed trap two exits down. Letting the wind mess up his hair, and the smile spread across his face.
Whipping into the pool parking lot he changed in his car, ignoring the perturbed middle class mother who would probably complain to the Home Owners Association. Swapping khakis and a sun bleached navy polo, for red guard shorts, flip flops and a whistle. Leaping from the Jeep he jogged the forty yards to the gate, waited impatiently for someone to notice him there and then walked in.
Early, and a new record for the commute. Lifeguarding was his second job of the day, and by far the more enjoyable one. Sitting in the sun, talking to pretty girls, swimming when it was too hot, it was what he would be doing if he didn’t have anything else to do that day anyway. Why not get payed to be a pool rat.
Sitting on the stand, soaking in Ultra Violet light, Vitamin D pumping into his system, gently smiling as the children splashed each other. Looking into the horizon a storm could be seen rolling in, grinning from ear to ear, he listened for the first thunder clap, a Guard’s best friend.
Graduation... submersion
Sitting in a coliseum, designed to house thousands, an American monstrosity of its time, was now reduced to conducting high school graduations, the only building large and cheap enough to serve. Surrounded by hundreds most of whom he had never met, and very few for whom he gave a damn. Waiting for the endless line to circle to him, to have his name called, shake the hand of a principal he disliked, walk across the stage with his empty folder and hand it right back to a pretty junior waiting to get back to over-tanning. Diplomas weren’t actually handed out at this ceremony, in fact this was a meaningless spectacle put on for the sake of parents and grandparents. A way to force them to place meaning in the completion of 12 years of, mostly, compulsory education.
Returning home after the ceremony to find some cheap decorations, last minute gifts, and greasy food, was part of the process. As enjoyable as sitting in a white washed room with no doors, no windows, no escape from the mundane, emptiness that was living there. And as quickly as he could unwrap the cash he was changed and headed to the pool, bringing cousins, simply so they would stop pestering him. His first day at the pool. It was hot, sunny, beautiful, it was too early in the year for the UV to be at dangerous levels, relaxing in the sun, laughing at his friends jokes, tossing his cousins around in the water, helping them overcome their aquatic phobias, splashing. Rocketing down the slide, sneaking a beer from the cooler of a less conservative patron.
Conversing casually with his lifeguard friend, a bronze skinned high school junior. Meeting the very beautiful, very intriguing, brand new, foreign, lifeguard. Gently touching her hand, and shaking as he was congratulated on his graduation, smiling for real, for the first time in a while. Feeling the uncertainty of decisions made fall away, taking in the blue-green eyes, Russian blood, high cheek bones, soft skin. A voice European gentle and sweet, or rough and warm, a smile marred only by a slight discoloration from smoking.
And suddenly the world was falling away, turned horizontal, and cold, as he was tackled into the frigid early summer water. A cry of startled, playful, rage cut off as his head sank into the clear, slightly under-chlorinated, water.
Returning home after the ceremony to find some cheap decorations, last minute gifts, and greasy food, was part of the process. As enjoyable as sitting in a white washed room with no doors, no windows, no escape from the mundane, emptiness that was living there. And as quickly as he could unwrap the cash he was changed and headed to the pool, bringing cousins, simply so they would stop pestering him. His first day at the pool. It was hot, sunny, beautiful, it was too early in the year for the UV to be at dangerous levels, relaxing in the sun, laughing at his friends jokes, tossing his cousins around in the water, helping them overcome their aquatic phobias, splashing. Rocketing down the slide, sneaking a beer from the cooler of a less conservative patron.
Conversing casually with his lifeguard friend, a bronze skinned high school junior. Meeting the very beautiful, very intriguing, brand new, foreign, lifeguard. Gently touching her hand, and shaking as he was congratulated on his graduation, smiling for real, for the first time in a while. Feeling the uncertainty of decisions made fall away, taking in the blue-green eyes, Russian blood, high cheek bones, soft skin. A voice European gentle and sweet, or rough and warm, a smile marred only by a slight discoloration from smoking.
And suddenly the world was falling away, turned horizontal, and cold, as he was tackled into the frigid early summer water. A cry of startled, playful, rage cut off as his head sank into the clear, slightly under-chlorinated, water.
The Beginning...again
She had him cornered, again, alone, the others were on the other side of the building, preparing for the performance. His mind flicked back briefly, to the cold basement stairway, the first, a different basement heated rushed frightened, a couch sharing warmth and listening, a starry, frigid night, in the mountains, afraid to speak, his heart beating, and then he was back in the present, startled by a brazen attack on his mouth. Not sure how to react, a feeling of wrongness, swept over him, Weather from fear of discovery or simple non-interest, he couldn’t tell, and didn't want to. He broke the kiss before it had truly begun, and tried gently to pull away.
Whispers, a gentle pulling, followed by another failed attempt at intimacy, and he was free. This was the last thing he needed to have on his mind. The performance was moments away, and although his minor supporting role was by no means vital, on-stage performance was not one of his strong suits. He pulled firmly away, and tried to be kind, a smile, a look, and a mumble. The tools of uncertainty, he wasn’t sure how he felt about this situation, and he wasn't ready to commit to a particular course of action yet.
Looking back to the weeks before, it had been his doing. the casual flirting, eye contact at the right moment. Complaining of muscle soreness from working out, and allowing her hands work over his shoulders, back, chest, all in public display, and casual. Friendly he had thought, until the moment in costume when the warmth of their costumed bodies met. Friendly, until he saw the confused look, the sadness he had come to recognize, a sadness he would become all too familiar with.
Aware that he had failed utterly to communicate his intentions, that he had left her with a sense of openness, he processed for hours. Thinking and over-thinking, again, and again, until he was sure that he was sure. Or at least that he was more unsure than he was sure, he carefully crafted the words that carried as little pain. A muddled collection of thoughts pouring into his email rushed and terrified:
“I’m sorry. I cant pursue anything with you. Life’s too short. I love you but you are my friend, and it has to stay that way. Please understand I'm not being mean, or rude, or anything. I'm just trying to be honest.”...
Whispers, a gentle pulling, followed by another failed attempt at intimacy, and he was free. This was the last thing he needed to have on his mind. The performance was moments away, and although his minor supporting role was by no means vital, on-stage performance was not one of his strong suits. He pulled firmly away, and tried to be kind, a smile, a look, and a mumble. The tools of uncertainty, he wasn’t sure how he felt about this situation, and he wasn't ready to commit to a particular course of action yet.
Looking back to the weeks before, it had been his doing. the casual flirting, eye contact at the right moment. Complaining of muscle soreness from working out, and allowing her hands work over his shoulders, back, chest, all in public display, and casual. Friendly he had thought, until the moment in costume when the warmth of their costumed bodies met. Friendly, until he saw the confused look, the sadness he had come to recognize, a sadness he would become all too familiar with.
Aware that he had failed utterly to communicate his intentions, that he had left her with a sense of openness, he processed for hours. Thinking and over-thinking, again, and again, until he was sure that he was sure. Or at least that he was more unsure than he was sure, he carefully crafted the words that carried as little pain. A muddled collection of thoughts pouring into his email rushed and terrified:
“I’m sorry. I cant pursue anything with you. Life’s too short. I love you but you are my friend, and it has to stay that way. Please understand I'm not being mean, or rude, or anything. I'm just trying to be honest.”...
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