A Tale of Two Pools
When I was 7 my family lived in New Mexico. If I tell you where we lived then you will get distracted.
I lived in Roswell.
That’s not the point.
Summers were hot there. My dad drove a TR6 with leather seats. Any kid who has lived in a hot climate still call to memory the hideous sensation of sitting down, mosquito bitten legs bare, on a hot car seat.
My mom worked as a nurse with a schedule that was practically a night shift. When my dad was away she would crowbar me into different child care options.
My least favorite was at the home of an old woman who didn’t seem to like kids very much. She was stern and the inside of her house was dark and boring. But she knew how to make you long for that unfulfilling space. When the younger children went down for their afternoon naps, she would walk us out to her dusty backyard and plonk a pitcher of water onto the concrete patio. “Don’t knock” she would say. And we didn’t. When that back door opened again, we all had a fresh appreciation for the interior.
My favorite sitter had a lot of children of her own. Mostly teenagers. She gave us free reign of her house. I remember laying on her bed, talking to some other kids about black widow spiders and how they found a nest under her bed. Eyes wide, I wondered if I should warn my sitter. I didn’t. But I did think about it when I laid down in my own bed that night. Was there a killer nest of spiders under my bed too?
Sometimes one of her teenaged daughters would take the keys and leave to go to the pool. We begged. We pleaded. Take us please. Please. Please. Please. One time they relented. We went to the pool. It was blue, full of kids and smelled like chlorine and coco butter tanning cream (SPF 0). It was heaven.
Later, my mom found another sitter. Her name was Gina. She had a little girl and, apparently, a scary ex-husband. She would leave her front door unlocked on the days that I came. My mom would drop me off at 3 AM, on her way to her shift at a dialysis unit. She would set me up on a sofa her living room. I would try to sleep until I finally gave up and turned on the TV to watch a Spanish language children’s show that featured a big carousel. It may have been called Carousel.
Gina had a waterbed and her own swimming pool. I was the only kid that she watched. I could have swam in her pool anytime I wanted to but I was scared. The joy of a pool full of running (tweet! STOP RUNNING) kids…even with the torture of the adult swim breaks was held in stark contrast to the eerie still of an empty pool. I would tentatively go into the water. Careful not to submerge my head and then cling close to the side. Who knew what could grab you out in the center of that vast, still water.
I rarely swam at her house. I guess the point of this is, that sometimes sharing something that you can’t have instantaneously is better than owning it outright.
