Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.
This week's words are:
"What are you drinking?"
Skip was sitting on the steps in the shallow end of the pool. He finished his current sip before answering, "Doctor Thunder."
"Where'd you get that?" Zach inquired from the opposite end of the pool, anchoring himself there with one arm holding onto the diving board.
"There's a machine out there," Skip said as he nodded towards the building which housed the restrooms and dressing rooms.
"Go get me one," Zach responded.
It was Zach's momentary stroke of genius that had led us here. We had been standing around his truck in the Wal-Mart parking lot, trying to think of something to do, someway to prolong the night. He suggested we could sneak into the city pool.
I'm not exactly sure at what point in the evening certain ideas stop sounding completely insane and begin to seem entirely reasonable and normal, but it does exist. And we had passed that point. So after a token objection by Brian, always the voice of timidity, here we were.
I cannot speak for anyone else present that evening, but it was my first and, to this point, only time skinny-dipping. Looking back now, it seems quite odd. But at the time, it was either swim in my faded maroon briefs or become one with the chlorinated water.
We all opted for the latter. It was dark. We were young. So we swam, talked about anything and mostly nothing at all, and just hung out.
As Skip climbed out of the water to go to the drink machine, the catcalls and the barbs flew.
"My eyes! Make it stop!"
"Cover yourself with something. Good heavens!"
"The water's not that cold!"
Skip disappeared around the side of the building. Brian, who appeared to be taking full advantage of our illegal activity to work vigorously on his backstroke, called from across the pool, "Hey, J, do you think I should shave my legs for swim team?"
"Dude, I don't know," I replied. I was by the rope separating the shallow end from the deep end, my arms up on the side of the pool. Zach was in the deep end to my left. Brian had been swimming laps across from me. He stopped.
"Well, Coach Bishop says I should."
"Then do it," I encouraged, hoping to end the conversation.
"Would you shave yours?"
"Um, no." No way, no how, not ever.
"Then why are you telling me to?"
"I don't know, man. I'm really not comfortable talking about this right now."
Brian opted for a second opinion and began swimming towards the diving board.
"Zach, do you think I should shave my legs?"
As Brian invaded his personal space, Zach leaned back trying to avoid any accidental contact and waved his hands as if shooing a fly.
"Dude, get back!" Zach chided.
"Swim away, tiny stroker, swim away!" I added.
Our antics were interrupted by a car slowing down and then turning into the parking lot.
"Get down!" I yelled.
The good thing about the city pool is that it's located on a little traveled road, with no houses or apartments nearby. The bad thing about it is that it's surrounded by only a chain link fence.
I saw Skip start around the corner of the building. He stopped and retreated when he saw the headlights. The rest of us hid against the side of the pool nearest the road, keeping our heads just above the water, but below the edge of the wall.
The headlights shone across the pool, reflecting brightly off the slide and the fence on the other side. All I could picture was the four of us being led single-file to a police car, covering ourselves with our hands.
There is some undefined amazing something about a summer night. Something intoxicating. Something that causes you to leave your inhibitions behind, and do something stupid.
"Hold me closer tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway..."