Don't Let It Drown You / Ciao bella!

Lilian waited for a smile of approval from her mother before she inched closer to the end of the diving board. Mamma smiled and waved. She watched ready to be wowed.

Lilian shrugged her little shoulders to loosen them up, took a deep breath, and, without hesitation, dove head first, splashing water to a minimum—always her goal. She stayed at the bottom of the piscina as long as her tiny lungs allowed her. When she swam to the surface, she dog paddled back to the pool ledge, pretending she couldn’t swim well. Mamma smiled because she knew Lilian was a good swimmer. She smiled back and climbed out of the water and walked back to the diving board as fast she could without running—the bagnino always kept an eye in the direction of the diving board.

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This morning at breakfast, Lilian racked her brain, but could not remember learning how to swim no more than she remembered learning how to read or write. She saw herself jumping in the pool at a very early age to amuse her mother. She was four or five, maybe younger. She had clear memories of mamma reading to her before bed and she saw herself filling pages after pages of secret diaries. But she could not remember being instructed to swim, read, or write.

Water and books had been in her life for nearly thirty years. They were her extended family and had always been there for her. They helped in times of sorrow—when her mother lost a battle to breast cancer. They made her twice stronger in times of happiness—when she earned tenure and her third book made the New York bestseller list in the scientific category.

Dr. Lilian Vincere was a conservation biologist. She spent most her days between her lab at the University of Michigan and the shallow waters of the Huron River. She studied amphibians’ mutation cycles in polluted swamps.

At conference, she introduced herself by saying she was a Franco-Italian frog, born and raised just outside Paris, studying Midwestern frogs and turtles, born and raised just outside Detroit. After an intentional pause she usually added: “One important disclaimer: I study frogs, I don’t eat them. I’m more Italian than French.”  Her accent was flawless. People adored her brand of self-deprecation. They laughed readily.

When she didn’t charm academic crowds in university auditoriums across the world, she entertained middle-aged women at the local YMCA. She’d taught water aerobic since High School; first in France (during the school year) and in Italy (during the summer) and now in the US. That’s how she stayed in shape and that’s how she "gave back to the community,” she often joked.

This evening, it was her last opportunity to give back. Like it or not, she had to quit. Her own body was forcing her out. 

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“Allez, Allez Mesdames and you Colonello, a few more jumps and you can wave good-bye to another five calories. Au revoir e arrivederci!” Lilian sung in an exaggerated half French and half Italian accent.

She was standing a few feet away from the ledge of the pool, facing nearly seventy middle-aged women in colorful suits stretched to all shapes and sizes and one bald, tattooed, pot-bellied retired Marine. Three more series of lateral steps before the end of this Saturday session; the last one this term.

A hot spring day was making its presence known through the large bay windows along the pool. Why should they come to torture themselves on a beautiful day like today? Lilian thought, continuing to count her steps. They should be outside bathing in a ray of life instead of a pool of chlorine. They should be strolling in their postcard perfect neighborhoods, walking their golden retrievers, dragging along their turbulent teens, and their senile parents. They should be wandering in their flower gardens with an eye on slender tulips and tardy daffodils, on hostas spreading their large wings, and weeds beginning their invasive campaign. No, instead they chose to bob up and down out of breath for a whole hour.

Lilian stopped counting. She went through the last crab steps silently. She needed to lower her own heartbeat, gather her thoughts, and catch her breath. She had to keep the pain under control.

It all ends with crab steps, how ironic? She thought. She hadn’t planned it that way.

“Arms up, we shall start by stretching our neck and shoulders. And no more flabby triceps, will you please.” And then in a mock-exasperated voice: “Mesdames! Colonello!”

Lilian stretched her muscular arms outward, shook her lower body, looking every bit like the competitive swimmer she’d been fifteen years ago. She shook her upper body, with one leg forward, belly dancer style. Nothing moved. Lean meat did not jiggle.

She continued the routine, showing off her tanned musculature, her broad back, and her fabulous hips. Men loved those hips; it turned them to stone (something of them, at least). Women envied that fantastic body. A near perfect shell, she thought. A fragile shell, she worried.

She turned around when the pain was no longer bearable. She didn’t want them to see that she had to bite her lip to cope with the excruciating pain. Moving, simply moving, was become an ordeal. 

Lilian took another deep breath, glad that her weakening lungs still cooperated. She turned around when she felt ready for the finale: the pep talk, first, and then the final announcement.

“Another great session, Ladies and gentleman. Remember that good health requires proper balance. What’s the point of exercising if you don’t spoil the gains immediately afterwards? Go get that pint of beer, that fat slice of cheesecake, or that box full of chocolate. Treat yourself with whatever you fancy, I say. Excess one way and excess the other, that’s proper balance, the French secret for staying steady chubby. So have a chubby week and see you next time, Ladies and gentleman.”

Lilian flashed a large smile and blew kisses to the crowd. They applauded joyfully, paying tribute to his delightful lunacy.

The last kiss went for the Colonel, her most devoted student.

The Colonel had been in the water from day one. He was one of the twelve students present when Lilian took over the class one cold morning in January, a few years back. By the next session the crowd had doubled and a year later Lilian taught to pool capacity.

Words of mouth about her entertaining style and her motivational skills spread like an itching rash. Colonel Providence made sure that many a YMCA bunny got the itch. He recruited like a squadron dispatched in an urban high school to entice young man to join the armed forces. He became her second in command and could be seen every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday morning opposite Lilian at the back the pool.

When Lilian first met him, the Colonel was coming back from four consecutive rounds of duty in the Persian Gulf, six straight years without returning home to Michigan. He’d lost half his right foot and nearly a third of his skull the last time he went.  He needed help to walk. He couldn’t talk. He could smile, but with great effort and equal pain. He needed the assistance of three lifeguards to get into the water.

Now the Colonel jumped in and out of the water like a third grader. He was the one helping others get in and out of the pool. He could run, jump, talk, boo, cheer, and smile effortlessly.

They wanted more. There wasn’t going to be a next time.          

Lilian's class was one of the few spirited moments in their wavering lives. She’d witnessed more than once their silent cry for hope. It was all in their stare, a sparkle on the verge of extension. They came to shade off despair turned to fat, and a defeated sense of self as big as a second ego. She tried to teach them more than the ability to raise arms and legs under water. It’s confidence she sought to bring to their lives. What really mattered was the inside, wasn't it? If the inside when through regular cleansing, the outer shell would transform on its own, wouldn't it? If only that was true! If only it was more than just a message of hope.

Lilian had a short minute to make her last announcement. She took a deep breath and clapped her hands to call their attention.

“Ladies, Colonel Providence, today was my last session. I must hang my colorful Speedo.”

A mixture of disappointment and surprise echoed round the pool. Those a few steps from the locker rooms stopped and turned in Lilian’s direction. It was in her best interest to make her announcement as brief as possible. They’d try to make her change her mind. But she couldn’t. The body that inspired them had failed miserably. 

“Next week, there’ll be another good looking, slender specimen wearing a tight trunk, and gesturing madly. Added bonus: there’s a great chance that he or she won’t be as rude as yours truly. Not everyone can be so privilege as to be French!”

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That was it, it was all over. She wouldn't give back for a while. She couldn't anymore. She picked up her clipboard, and her keys and joined the crowd resuming its penguin march towards the locker rooms and lobby. She welcomed a few entreaties with an honest smile and accepted the many wet hugs, kisses, and firm handshakes that followed. 

Last in line was the Colonel. He was as wide as the broad shouldered Lilian though a head smaller. Lilian could see a couple of scars crisscrossing near the peak of his shaved head. At the center of the eagle tattooed on the left shoulder was a round mark that looked like a bullet wound. There were similar marks further down on the shoulder blade. Lilian stopped counting at eight.

At the moment, he stood upright, hands in his back, perfectly balanced, at ease like in the old days. “I’m going to miss you Lilian,” he said in that deep voice that came from the depth of his hairy chest. He grabbed her strong right hand with both hands. Normally, he would shake it vigorously. But these days he was cautious. He knew. 

“I got my confidence back thanks to you, miss. I feel young again.”

“If I may say so Sir, you don’t look that young from where I stand.”

The Colonel laughed: “Thank you for making me laugh. Thanks for making me forget the pain and ignore its lasting memory.”

Lilian wasn’t always irreverent: “It’s been a pleasure working with you. I will miss you, Sir.”

She held the door to the lobby, but released it when she noticed that the Colonel had one more thing to say: “You’ve been here for me, from day one. I want you to understand that I’m here for you,” he said looking up in Lilian’s eyes. “I’ve seen many wounded men and women in my career. Capitulation was in their eyes from day one. I don’t see it in your eyes.”

Then after a long silence: “It’s cancer, isn’t it?”

The Colonel watched Lilian’s eyes fill with tears. He didn’t need an answer. “It’ll be a tough battle, but you won’t quit. You won’t be able to. If it had been in your blood, you’d quit already.”

Then, he pointed at Lilian’s chest: “There is a big ray of life in that French heart of yours. Don’t let it drown, Lilian. Don’t let it drown you.” 

“It’s a promise,” Lilian responded, after a deep breath.

“Ciao bella!” He added with a smile.

Then she pushed the door to the lobby. The Colonel went in first. Lilian followed right behind this brave soldier and promised herself to follow his steps as far as she could.