Just Swimming

  I was lying quietly on my bed listening to the sounds of the house as it creaked and settled in the night.  About a half hour ago, I heard Mother and Dad begin puttering around in their room, getting ready for bed.  I hadn't heard anything from their room for about five minutes and I wondered whether or not enough time had passed for me to take the chance heading out on my midnight excursion.  My 11-year-old sister, Gail, had gone to sleep two hours ago, so I was sure that she would not interrupt my mission.

The day had been a long one and I was really tired, but I just couldn't sleep.  I sighed to myself as I sat up and swung my legs around to land on the floor beside my bed.  “Just get up and do it, now, Paul.” I said to myself, “The sooner you do it, the sooner you'll be asleep.” I walked across the floor toward my dresser, carefully avoiding the board in the center of the room which creaked whenever I walked on it.  I grabbed my trunks from the bottom drawer and quickly changed out of the pajamas I had donned in subterfuge an hour ago. I tiptoed over to the door and slowly opened it, listening carefully for sounds of movement in the house.  All I heard was Dad's snores filtering out from under the door to their bedroom.  I took this as a great sign.  His snores would mask the noise of the window as I opened it

The streets were dark and deserted as I pedaled the half mile toward the town's only swimming pool.  Porch lights seemed to flicker on and off through the tree as I passed each house and, occasionally, I could hear the muted sounds of television sets from dimly lit living rooms. As I turned the corner to the street where the pool was located, I smiled in a kind of gratitude, for the actions of the city leaders who had decided, four years ago, that we needed a swimming pool for the town's youth.  In previous years, our only choice had been Tahoka Lake which was more like a large pond than a lake; and, to be honest, was really not much of a choice.

Memories of my one and only visit to it passed in front of my eyes.  My friend, Johnny, and I had hiked the five miles to the lake in hopes of enjoying a refreshing dip at the end of our journey.  My heart plummeted with disappointment when I saw that the lake had some other occupants. Water moccasins were sunning themselves on the opposite bank or coursing rapidly through the water below us.   Dejectedly, we turned around and started the return trip, stopping only for a moment to throw a few well-aimed pebbles at the serpents that had ruined our hopes of a lovely swim to counteract the effects of the hot Texas summer sun.

The memory of that day faded as I jumped the curb with my bike and rode around to the back of the pool.  I always parked behind the building so that Officer Rountree wouldn't catch me as he performed his midnight patrols.   I scaled the fence in the back where it met the building.  The security wire which followed the fence on its topside didn't quite make it to the wall so I always jumped over the fence at that spot so as to avoid tearing my skin or clothes on the wire. 

As I dropped to the ground inside the pool area, I stilled for a moment to listen again for sounds on the surrounding streets.  When I was satisfied that no one was aware of my presence, I walked over toward the diving board.  I peeled off the shirt from my back and dropped it onto one of the many lounge chairs which were placed liberally around the edge of the pool.   I toed off my shoes and took a deep breath.  I knew I didn't have much time to swim.  The hectic pace of the day would catch up with me soon and that would be the end of thoughts of anything but a nice long nap of the eight hour variety.

Since school had begun this year, I had been running at full speed from the moment my feet hit the floor each morning to the moment my head hit the pillow each night.  I left for school every morning at 7:30.  I came home after school for chores; and then, nearly every night after supper, I ran the projection booth at the theatre for the evening movie.  When work was finished, I came home to hit the books at the kitchen table. 

It was my senior year, but I decided to quit both football and track in order to help a little bit with the bills.   Last year, I had a part-time job as a grocery sacker at the Piggly Wiggly.  It had been only on the weekends, though, so I was able to continue with sports.  This year, however, Dad had been let go from his job at Frederick Goddard's farm and the only job he had been able to get to replace it had been a part-time job at the auto parts store.  Since Mother spent her days running the house and keeping Gail in line, I felt like it fell upon me to help with putting a few more coins in the family's coffers. 

I'll admit that there was a part of me which wanted to feel bitter about the fact that during this year, my last year before adulthood, my childhood was so very strikingly AWOL.  I didn't allow those feelings to linger around for very long.  Mom and Dad had always taught us that being blessed to be part of a family brought with it certain responsibilities.  I understood that sometimes we wished we didn't have them.  And that sometimes we didn't understand why we had them, but, nonetheless, we had them.  It was just a plain and simple truth of life.  So, though I missed the exercise and camaraderie which came from participating in school sports,  I always did what needed to be and should be done.  In the end, I was left with this particular avenue:  I stayed up late each night, climbed out of the window, and went swimming.

As I stepped onto the diving board, my heart sped up a bit because I knew that soon I would be doing one of the few things that really made me happy in this mixed up half child/half grown-up life I was living this year:  I was going to play!   As I dove into the water and my body sliced through it, I sighed to myself.  I loved these short and solitary workouts in the pool.  It was the only time I got to spend each day just for me.  It was not time for my family.  I took care of my responsibilities toward them with due diligence every day.   It was not time for my future.  There would be enough time for it...well, in the future.  This time was just for me.

After my hand slapped against the far wall, I clambered out of the pool.  As I walked around it to jump onto the board again, the grown-up responsibilities dripped off of me along with the chlorinated water.  For these few moments, I was just a kid again.  I was as far from a grown-up as I could think of being.  I had no job, no school, and no chores. I was not an employee, a student, or a son.  I was just a 17-year-old kid with no responsibilities except, perhaps,  for having some fun.  Tomorrow, when the sun arose once more, I'd be that half kid/half grown-up again.  But for these twenty minutes each night, I was just plain ol' Paul at the pool...just swimming, and it was a wonderful place to be.

Please forgive the GIANT 'A' at the top of this post. I can't even see it when I look at the story in 'writing' form.  It only shows up when I preview or post it.  I'd just ignore it??   And...about this piece: I wrote it--I think it 2009--for a writing class in college.  I had just gone with my family to a family reunion, of sorts, and--afterwards, Daddy drove us all to his hometown and gave us the tour.  The places discussed in this short story are real places. Tahoka is a real town.  The story is based on some real events, but was pretty much a figment of my imagination.  What was the BEST about it was that Daddy said that--if he hadn't known it wasn't true--he would have thought my story was a real depiction of real invents in his life as a young man.    :) :)  There are some photos to follow.

The area circled in orange is where Daddy hopped over the fence to go swimming after hours.

The front door to the community swimming pool in Daddy's hometown.