Sunday, June 8, 2014

Poolside 1.0

The two towels are lined up, end to end.  Mine, the All American special, its reds, whites, and blues, sun-soaked and faded.  Hers, black with pristine orange and yellow stripes.

I sigh, and roll onto my back, both hands resting on my stomach. And just as I was beginning to give into a lazy drowsiness, she changes directions and goes skipping off in the other direction.

She shifts onto her belly, pops up, and starts to run towards the pool. Her water-slicked hair bounces over her shoulders, and I hear the bottoms of her feet alternating against the ground. Left behind: one rumpled towel. And me.

Inside of a second later, I'm up. The cement looks harmless enough, but I know better. Baked by the sun all day long, it was now fire roasted. So hot that my little bare feet could only handle it for so long.

I hop from the hot cement to a nearby towel and then to a shallow puddle of water, lukewarm islands where I gather myself, before dashing back onto the cement. I zigzag from "Ooh" "eeh" "hot-hot" to brief pauses of "Aahh," until I reach the edge of the pool and slip into the cool water.

I plunge underneath, a trail of little bubbles floating up up up.  She is opposite me. Already under the water. Waving her arms and legs, in slow motion blue.

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