Finding an Ally

It’s a long walk from our front steps through the ball fields, to the city pool in the park. I cross the baseball field of dirt and sand, and slip around the chain link fence that keeps the fly balls out of the parking lot. I try to walk on the white lines painted on the asphalt, as the black asphalt feels hot through the bottom of my thin flip flops. Looking up, to gauge the distance to the road that is the border between the pool park, and the Little League fields, I step in sticky black tar at one of the repaired seams. I nearly fall, as my shoe sticks to the pavement. Hopping, on one foot, and retrieving the stained coral flip flop, I look around, hoping that no one has seen me stumble. But, no one is near.

Crossing the side street into the park, I look down to step carefully on the grass mixed with white flowering clover. The springy mass of flowers fills the park. Bees buzz everywhere. The smell is heavy and sweet, in the heat. I watch my feet carefully, as a misstep will get me stung.

I can tell that I’m getting closer to the pool building and enclosure by the sound of the crowd of kids and parents. I stop and look up and am shocked to a standstill, by the size of the crowd. Dozens of kids of all ages, in a wild array of bathing suit colors, are laughing, shouting, running and gripping their beach towels. The parents stand by, in small groups, chatting with each other. I hadn’t expected this. I don’t know any of these kids, and I am the only kid that I see, here, without a grown up. I am more terrified of these people than I am of stepping on a bee.

As I stand, in the grass, frozen in place, a bee lands on my big toe. Looking down, I lift my foot and shake my leg, and the bee flies off. I look up, again, at the crowd. Too afraid to go forward, I turn back towards home, and make my way back, slowly, across the grass.

Crying as I walk, I realize that I am ashamed of my fear, and disappointed in myself for not being able to go to the swimming lessons that I enjoy, so much. The town pool is a small man-made lake with a sand beach, floating docks, and a high dive. The pool rules, for zones, and diving, are strictly enforced by swimming level. I will lose the opportunity to level up, this summer, if I don’t attend the lessons. I cry harder, as I walk.

By the time I can see the brown front door of our house, I can barely breathe, for the sobbing. I stop to dry my face with my scratchy beach towel. I cannot go into my house, crying. As I stand trying to compose myself, I think about the long summer without swimming lessons. There is nothing else to look forward to. Television, books, and chores is all that there is for me, for the next couple of months. And, every day of regret will remind me that it was my own fear that kept me from the lessons, and from the use of the diving platforms.

Breathing deeply, I stare down at my feet and watch the bees, on the nearby flowers. They are ignoring my feet, and I am ignoring that they’re so close. I need to ignore those people and go back. I still have time.

Turning back towards the pool, I move a little more quickly across the lawn. Approaching the white painted concrete blocks of the entrance, I try not to hear the crowd sounds, and focus on my steps. I pause to dig my pool pass out of my flimsy bag, and am slapped across the back of my legs, with a running child’s beach towel. Startled, I look up and around. The kid is long gone, but his mother is looking at me. I realize that other parents are looking at me, too. They’re curious, I’m sure, about why my mother isn’t here with me. I’m grateful that no one speaks to me.

Once again, I feel like I am too seen here, alone, and I turn and head for home. But, this time I only make it to the middle of the green expanse of lawn before I stop, wipe my tear stained face with my towel, and head back to the pool. It dawns on me that I fear regret and humiliation for failing to make it to the pool, more than I fear these strangers.

This trip to the pool is a success. I show my pass at the entrance, and am directed to the line for my swim level. After the skill test, I am placed in the correct, and hoped for, group.

Heading home, after the session, I am tired, a little hungry and delighted that I get to come back tomorrow. If I pass this swim level, this summer, next year I can take the lifeguard training class. And, more importantly, as I already have a pool pass, I can swim every day this summer, as long as it doesn’t rain.

As I enter our house, mother calls, “hang up your suit and towel on the line,”, from the back bedroom. I hold my breath, in fear, that she would have witnessed my trips back and forth across the fields, before the swim lessons began. She would have no sympathy for my fear and would mock my cowardice.

After changing clothes, hanging up my suit and towel, and making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, for lunch, I realize that she is still doing something in her room. She had never seen me going back and forth across the same fields. She hadn’t watched out the window to see that I made it to the pool. I feel relieved and sad at the same time.

Later that day, I rode my bike around the neighborhood and watched a couple of TV shows. During dinner, I realized that mother never asked about the swimming lessons.

“I got into the pre-lifeguard class level, at the swimming lessons, today,” I said.

Looking up from her plate, Mother said, “Good, then I didn’t buy that pool pass for nothing.”

After we ate, I cleared the table, and washed the dishes. As I was drying them, and putting them away, I wondered about the kids that I had seen at the pool. Would their mothers have watched them walk through the park? Would their mothers have let them go by themselves, or were their parents only there because they had to drive them? Did they watch their kids in the lessons, or sit at the nearby tables and talk to the other grown-ups?

I worked on a giant puzzle that I had laid out on a card table, in the living room, for a while until it was nearly time for bed. Mother was still in her room, and I could hear her little TV playing the theme song to a game show.

After washing up, changing into my pajamas, and brushing my teeth, I crawled under the cool blue top sheet, of my bed. Picking up the library book from my nightstand, I opened it to the page where I had left off, the night before. It was a story about an odd girl, named Vicky who gets stranded in a strange place, all alone. As I was reading the book, I felt sorry for her. I was saddened that the few grown-ups in Vicky’s life didn’t help her. I admired her for doing the best that she could. It was hard to know, as I read the book, if her actions were the right ones, or leading to danger. I enjoyed the surprises in the plot, even when it seemed to get harder for Vicky. Was she smart enough, lucky enough, or courageous enough, to navigate through her scary situations? Of course, I was rooting for her, with every turn of the page.

“Turn out that light,” my mother shouted from her room.

I stopped reading, replaced the book mark in the book, and reached for the lamp with the porpoise lampshade, next to my bed. In the dark, I said my nighttime prayer. Lying flat, I thought about my day and how grateful I was, to get to go to the swimming lessons, again, tomorrow. I thought about the shame, I had felt, because of my fear of the crowd at the pool. I was proud of myself, even if no one else was. With a sudden insight I realized that my fear had won, after all. I had traded my fear of facing the strange people, for the fear of regret. The fear of regretting my decision to go home, was bigger than my fear of the crowd at the pool. Like Vicky, I had to face my fears, alone. Sometimes, Vicky and I had to face more than one fear at a time and choose. I smiled in the dark, as I realized, that if Vicki knew me, she’d be rooting for me, too.