swimming in the deep end

3:55 p.m.., Wednesday, Jun. 30, 2004

It's my third trip of the summer.

Out across the parking lot, turn right, walk some more. Turn left, walk some more. It's behind the Rental Office. The big one anyway. They have a tall iron gate, but it's always locked. To keep out the miscreants, I assume. Or at least the ones that live elsewhere.

Pass through the rear parts of the rental office, into the men's room, out the back door, and there it is. The swimming pool. The chlorine smell is barely discernible. We don't get many youngsters.

The pool hours are 11am to 8pm, every day of the week. But from noon till about two, the place is usually deserted, except for the life guard, of course.

Every year it's a different one. Usually a girl. Usually from another country. I haven't figured out where this ones from yet. Not Hispanic, not French, or British. We've had them all. This one might be eastern European. We'll see.

She sits at the table near the entrance. Under an umbrella. Making sure visitors sign in.

She wears a dull orange swimsuit. The same one every day so far. The first day I didn't even get in the water. It was too crowded. That was Monday. Yesterday, It was just me and several other women. They never got in the pool. So, it was just me. I swam nearly fifty laps.

Today, I will swim more, since I didn't bicycle this morning. Instead, I spoke online with a friend in need.

Her orange swimsuit is bikini on the bottom. It rides up so high in the back you see more ass-cheek than orange. On top it's one of those deals with no straps. A tube top, I think. It works for her since she's very slim and has very little breasts. She's also very tanned. Bronze. Like in a magazine.

I don't come to the pool to see her though. I come to swim. To work my ass off. Or more to the point, my gut.

Once I get in, I swim. Swim one lap. Rest. Swim back. Rest. Repeat.

It's the resting part that messes with my head. The part where I stand there, wheezing. Trying to catch my wind. The part where I pull my head out of the water, and there she is, staring at me.

She's a very good life guard. When someone swims. She follows them with her eyes. If I start drowning, I know she will save me before I even know it.

She wears sunglasses of course. So you can't tell for sure. But you can feel it when her eyes move.

Getting in the pool at the beginning of the summer is difficult for me. There are two reasons for this. The first is that I am embarrassed about my gut. I've never had a gut, and now, I am embarrassed to be without my shirt. Swimming with the shirt on, would be worse. The second reason, is because I am a big pussy when it comes to cold water. At least in the beginning. I get in on the shallow end. Where the children walk down those big steps. I go slow, with my hands raised too high. I feel like a baby. And she watches me. Waiting for me to start drowning.

Once I get over my babyness, I begin to swim laps. I think this makes her nervous. I want to tell her I quit smoking only a few months ago, and my lungs have not recovered. I want to tell her that by the end of the summer, I will be able to swim fifty laps in a row, without even once coming up for air. I want to tell her that my gut will be gone too. In its place, the infamous six-pack. I want to tell her that sometimes I ride for a hundred thousand miles on my bicycle before coming to the pool.

But, I don't. I don't tell her anything. The only words we have spoken, either of us is, "hi," when I show up, and "bye," when I leave.

After several laps, and even more concerned looks from her direction, I rest longer than after the other trips across the pool.. My arms have begun to hurt. I think she knows, because I catch her smiling at me, out of just one corner. She is an awful girl.

She shuffles about a bit, and leans over. She needs to check the pool water. She's got one of those plastic things with the colors in them. I wonder if she wonders if I've peed in her pool.

I haven't.

I prove this to her by climbing out of the pool and walking to the men's room.

I try to hold in my gut.

At least I am not pale white. Like last year. This year I have been riding shirtless on the bike trail. This year, I am darker than the lifeguard. My one salvation.

When I return, I see she has moved to one of the lawn chairs. She's all laid out with a crossword puzzle. As I pass, she looks up. She smiles. Perhaps I have judged her too harshly.

I smile back, but know it's weak. She is at least twenty years younger than me. Lithe, yet firm. Her legs are shaped the way men like. Her hips are wide. She has a very pretty smile.

For just a moment I feel like the star in a photograph I saw in a magazine a few weeks back. A girl, all young and glowing, holding a pot-bellied pig. The pig is the star. Not me.

I get back in the pool. Hiding perhaps. My arms are too tired to do much more swimming. I splash about and swim underwater because I've heard it will help to increase your lung capacity. It makes me dizzy and gives me a slight headache. I stand at the shallow end and consider cutting short my visit.

She sits up, and begins applying sunscreen.

I wonder if life is always a cliché'. If it is all really in fact, nothing more than a teenage fantasy flick.

Too tired to swim. And too stupid to think of anything more clever, I close my eyes.

I wait several minutes, knowing it can't take long. Knowing there is nothing else I can do. Knowing I must look like some sort of new-age idiot, standing there, up to my chest, mediating in clear blue water, my eyes clamped shut, my mind, light years away.

My patience wears thin. I take a quick peek. She's making a feeble attempt to reach behind her to that spot most just can't reach.

I put my face back into the water, and force my arms to move. My feet to kick. I force my mind to wander back to that happy place that I know exists somewhere.

And I swim.

Another lap. Another rest. Breathe in, breathe out. Face down, another lap. The world has moved farther away. I am alone, in the water. Nothing can touch me. Nothing can betray me. I am alone in the world, floating above the surface. Carefree, and safe.

Safe from temptation.

From lust.

I swim until I can no longer convince my arms to obey. I stand, and climb out of that pool. I keep my eyes steady on my destination. The lawn chair I deemed my own. I walk, slowly. I sit down. I rest. I lay down and look at the sun through my eyelids.

Until I am dry.

And then, I pick myself up off that chair, and walk.

Across the cement. Past the lifeguard. Into the men's room. And home.

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