The Shallow End

The water laps over the edge of the pool, making a rhythmic slapping sound.  Unlike the soothing, powerful waves on the ocean, however, it is shorter and more hollow — a fitting description as well for the pool patrons.

“Did you hear what she said to him?” 
“Is he really having an affair?”

Lifeguards sit half poised in their chairs.  Red rescue pads are draped over their laps.  One swings his whistle.  He struggles to remain watchful.  His thoughts float back and forth between annoyance and playing poker with his buddies later that evening. The other lifeguard sits not high up in the lifeguard chair, but underneath a large, blue mesh canopy that shades chaise lounges occupied by mothers and towels.  It’s hot.  It’s sunny.  There isn’t an umbrella on the other lifeguard chair.  The chatter behind him creeps up the back of his neck and bangs in his head.  He wishes pool management wasn’t so cheap.

“No, I wouldn’t invite ‘them.’”
“We ended up going with the BMW.  The CEO has one.”

Shrieks of glee fill the air as small children run in and out of the pool.  Wet feet slap and thump on the concrete, slowed only by cautions from the paid guardians.  The exhilaration of frolicking through clear, clean water resurrects sounds once muted by the introduction of mp3 players and handheld games.  Low tech items such as water noodles and plastic inter tubes emerge as the vehicles of status.  Water flows into the toddler pool from a five-foot tall overhang, creating a wide, steady stream of liquid fun.  Mouths are open.  Eyes are closed.  It pounds down hard on their heads as they jump up and down excitedly.  They couldn’t be happier.

“So are you going to redecorate the house before you go to France?” 

Fathers wade through the deep end of the pool.  Alpha males emerge to dominate teenage sons.  Recreating boardroom battles — crushing fragile egos with demoralizing criticism and hypercompetitive play. A small child in the corner clings to his mother.  Feet kick wildly and arms flail. Screams of fear erupt and flow forth from his lungs with the power of an ocean liner whistle.  The commotion pauses all life temporarily.  She lifts him out of the water.  He has won.

“We try to ‘discourage’ play days with their daughter.  I’ve heard she has emotional problems.”

A sudden blast and then quiet navigates across the pool deck.  Break time arrives for the lifeguards.  Mothers enter the water to cool tired, hot bodies before sweat puts their carefully manicured appearances in jeopardy.  Fathers remain, attempting to reaffirm superiority through demonstrations of swimming prowess and intentionally casual talk of glory-day conquests. Children sit along the ledge fully enveloped in the thrill of pool break time deviancy.  In and out of the water they go.  Recognizance keeps watch on the front desk, fixated on lifeguard movements.  Poised to give the universal warning signal should danger approach.  A few parents keep watch as well.

“I was terrified.  I mean she knocked right on my car window to ask for money.”

The second hand approaches twelve and a slow, barely audible sound rings out.  Invisible flood gates restraining hot, energetic bodies open.  Plunges and splashes echo across the pool deck.  Mothers return to chase lounges fully refreshed for another hour.  Fathers remain in the water, continuing their demonstrations of strength and superiority while teenage sons emulate.  Shrieks of glee and the thump of wet feet on concrete once again fill the air.
I do my best to stay focused on my book.