The Pool

I have always liked heat on my feat. The sand, gravel, anything that gives me a little hop in my step from the warmth. Today, it was whitewashed concrete that made hop. I had just moved up to DC from Blacksburg, VA and was still very much caught up in the culture shock. I was about to discover that I was allergic to air pollution.

I had been living in cheap duplexes of one kind or another for about 8 years, most recently as part of a real estate venture with my dad, so the reality of apartment buildings with on location weight rooms and swimming pools had just set in for me. As hot as it was, it seemed like the perfect time to try out the pool. Had donned a bathing suit, thrown off my shirt and minced my way toward the pool.

I have always empathized with children, so as I got closer to the pool and the screams and shouts began to fill the air my heart started to beat a little faster. I knew that reality would bring me down but I let myself get carried away in the excitement of it all. Until the security guard stopped me.

The pool, he explained, was only for residents.

I replied cheerfully that I had just moved up yesterday and was looking forward to a good swim to de-stress.

The security guard looked me up and down once and explained that he would be happy to let me in if I came back with a drivers license showing my current address.

The lifeguard was much younger than me and very pretty. She was beginning to watch the excitement.

I exclaimed to the guard that only an idiot brings his drivers license to a community pool, and anyway I hadn't gotten around to changing my address yet. The guard was unsympathetic.

Over the next few hours I made no less than six attempts to sneak into the pool room. They ranged from the simple (slipping in while the guard was in the john) to the absurd (the super market was out of jello for a week). Finally, the guard called the police. The police called the rental agency, who verified my story and fired the guard for harassing the tenants.

A month later the guard kicked my door down in a drunken furor. In the ensuing struggle, I stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife. I was cleared at trial, but only after first having to hear a cancer-stricken girl explain how I had first gotten her daddy fired and had then killed him. In my guilt, I turned first to drink and then later to heroin. I lost my job and was evicted from my apartment. With no residency the pool was denied to me forever more.

I took a deep breath, let it slide through my pursed lips, and unclenched my jaw. Maybe I could wait till Monday, I thought, to go swimming.