Splash!

Splash!

It started out as a tinkle, the laugh that escaped my lips. Then it rolled through me as it gained confidence, releasing a chortle. I felt gleeful and mad at the same time. Maybe my partner did, too, because I could hear his responding guffaw from behind me.

We had done it all wrong. The sky had forewarned us of rain, but we didn't listen. We kicked through the pool, our feet propelling around the squared out lines cut into concrete. The pool was too small to swim in, but we made the most of it seeing as how we had ridden to an adjacent town to try it out.

We were surrounded by water–the water in the pool plus the molecules bursting around us. And burst they did into a full-fledged rain. My bare feet quickened to the alcove where I had left my love to peruse the grounds.

So, we sat under the protection of the trees munching on banana bread. (Who brings banana bread to the pool? And then eats it with the intention of swimming afterward?)

The drops squeezed around us, occasionally falling on our already damp heads. A lifeguard told us that since it was raining only the indoor pool could be used. Why? I wondered. We're already wet and there's no lightning.

We obeyed the lifeguard anyway and moved away from the incessant drops. Now we had to choose between a "kiddie" pool with, well, lots of kids or an "adult" pool with precise lanes laid. We coasted into the second, just wanting to float and be together. We adapted to the other swimmers and did some strokes until kids crowded us out for their lessons.

We got out and only changed our bathing suits–no showers, no drying the hair clumped to our skulls. But the showers outside the building had become relentless. We waited in the hall, investing in hot chocolate from a machine to warm us up, more hot than chocolate. The indistinctive taste went along with our indecisive mood as we tried to gage the right moment to make our break.

At some point, the flow flowed less, so we set out on our adventure. We peddled home in the rain, our clothes clinging to us as if afraid of the moment when they would be discarded for dry ones.

It was all wrong, but maybe that's why it struck me as being so right. I leaned back on my bike seat and laughed–not like a child or a mad woman, but as me.

Photo: Noelle Otto: https://www.pexels.com/photo/splash-of-water-906023/

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi