Like the fly on the wall with the secret eyes.
It's seaside-paradise hot this Saturday, the pool deck awash with children. At three in the afternoon sunlight reflects off the white tile and onto a rainbow of vivid swimsuits, kids in bright oranges and yellows running across the deck. Shrill screams of joy echo off the compound walls.
I'm crossing the grass to an open lane and dodging fast-moving little bodies, nalgene bottle in one hand and swimming goggles in the other. A young asian couple in the lane next to me are taking . She's already in, slender fingers gripping the lip of the pool as he sits over the edge with his ankles submerged.
"It feels cold!" he says, his voice sounding sounding whiny, shoulders rising as his legs make egg-beater patterns in the water.
I go in feet first, knees bending as the balls of my feet strike the four-foot-deep pool floor. Laughing malevolently on the inside at the scaredy-cat in the lane next to me, push off the wall and begin a horrible attempt at a fool's depiction of freestyle. It's my fourth week of swimming and for all ends I am still a newbie.
Well I guess what you say is true, I could never be the right kind of girl for you slams loudly into my ears as soon as my head's underwater. It's enough to make me break my hideous form and start treading water, head swiveling back and forth like a looking for the source of music. At the other end of the pool at the foot of a lifeguard tower, White Town whispering its way over the surface of the water. The noise amplifies a thousandfold as soon as I duck my head back in.
Swimming to pop tunes is a lot of fun - I'll take that for now, until someone invents a waterproof player and a set of tubes that don't fizzle out every time they get immersed.
I'm crossing the grass to an open lane and dodging fast-moving little bodies, nalgene bottle in one hand and swimming goggles in the other. A young asian couple in the lane next to me are taking . She's already in, slender fingers gripping the lip of the pool as he sits over the edge with his ankles submerged.
"It feels cold!" he says, his voice sounding sounding whiny, shoulders rising as his legs make egg-beater patterns in the water.
I go in feet first, knees bending as the balls of my feet strike the four-foot-deep pool floor. Laughing malevolently on the inside at the scaredy-cat in the lane next to me, push off the wall and begin a horrible attempt at a fool's depiction of freestyle. It's my fourth week of swimming and for all ends I am still a newbie.
Well I guess what you say is true, I could never be the right kind of girl for you slams loudly into my ears as soon as my head's underwater. It's enough to make me break my hideous form and start treading water, head swiveling back and forth like a looking for the source of music. At the other end of the pool at the foot of a lifeguard tower, White Town whispering its way over the surface of the water. The noise amplifies a thousandfold as soon as I duck my head back in.
Swimming to pop tunes is a lot of fun - I'll take that for now, until someone invents a waterproof player and a set of tubes that don't fizzle out every time they get immersed.