Pool Day
He was close enough to watch.
It was an abnormally warm July morning; that is what had brought us to the pool. Normally, I’m the first one in, prodding my son to jump into the water. On that day, I stayed on the edge. In a pool chair, I watched my son and wife playing in the water. He splashed her playfully, and she feigned anger.
My family was beautiful.
There must have been thirty people in the pool that day, but soon they started to fade.
Blink.
There were twenty-five.
The raucous noise grew quieter.
Blink.
There were twenty.
How did they move so fast?
Blink. There were fifteen.
And with each blink, fewer still, until only my wife and son remained. I rose to my feet, forcing my eyes open wide, afraid to blink them out of existence. If only they had been so lucky. A terrible rumble rose from beneath my feet, and the pool floor lowered while the water level remained the same.
On the verge of panic, I turned to the lifeguard stand. It was empty. I shouted for help, but my words only echoed off the concrete and into deep space.
My son, now on his tippy toes, shouted, “Daddy, help us?”
It was only me. I didn’t think. Didn’t remove my shoes or shirt. I reacted. I rushed toward that deathtrap of a pool. Three feet from the water’s edge, something unseen stopped me in my tracks, launching me backward.
“Daddy,” my son called to me. Dazed, I couldn’t respond.
I shook the stars out of my eyes and stood again. My wife pulled my son toward the stairs. The rumble returned as the stairs slid into the pool wall. They had no way out. My heart beat so erratically I thought I might pass out. Again, I wasn’t so lucky.
I walked toward the edge of the pool, but the same clear wall stopped me. Using my hands as guides, I moved around the pool, pressing against the clear barrier.
“Daddy, where are you going?” My son’s voice was distant and fading.
“Hold on, I’m trying to find a way in,” I yelled back.
The wall was solid physically, even if it was invisible. I pushed. I jumped. I crawled. There was no way in. My wife held my son, struggling to keep both their faces just above the water; she looked pleadingly at me.
My son called out, “Daddy! Daddy!”
I threw my body against the wall. My weight was not enough. It didn’t budge. I threw myself again. And again. I don’t know how long I slammed myself into that barrier before my body gave out, refusing any more abuse; it collapsed. My heart beat wildly in my stomach; I panted for air.
I lay on the ground, too beaten to move.
My son and wife slowly sank beneath the cool water. That was when something lifted me off the concrete. This new force carried me through the clear wall and held me above my family. It kept me suspended there until the flailing stopped and the last bubble broke the surface.
It tossed me back onto the concrete.
I had failed.
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