The Palmer Pool

19 | Electrified

Before stepping into the eerie flickering fluorescence of the streetlight, I stood with my back to the locker rooms at the pool. Everything was taken care of and I was ready to go back and be with Pete for the last time.

I told my parents I received a last-minute invitation to join Sophie and her family on their vacation, making sure to inform them that they may not hear from me until I was back home due to the crappy service in the middle of nowhere. Steve the harbormaster reluctantly cleared me from the schedule at work and my car was parked at Sophie's house. Last time I'd left my purse with the bare essentials in my locker, except for the incriminating driver's license, which I had tucked in my swimsuit and brought back home with me. Under my swimsuit I'd duct taped a few zippered plastic bags to myself containing a toothbrush, spare underwear, a few pre-1953 coins from my childhood coin collection, and one new dress.

The dress was not another thrift store find. I'd bought it new and it was marine blue, with a criss-cross sweetheart neckline, capped sleeves, a flared skirt, and a little bit of stretch. Unlike my cotton vintage dresses, I could take it out of a small bag wrinkle-free. Learning from my driver's license mistake, I tried to avoid bringing anything suspicious: I cut the tags out of the dress and bought the simplest drug store brand toothbrush I could find.

I twisted the ring on my finger, tugged at the edges of my bathing cap, and thought of red roses and synchronized swimmers as I broke the still surface of the illuminated pool water.  I wasn't sure how to avoid disrupting the show if I happened to appear during the actual performance, and because it was the last time I was going back, I decided not to care.

Near the center of the pool at least ten girls were gliding through the water to a piece of classical music playing on crackling speakers. It was late in the evening; the sky was darkening and the air on my face was cooler than the water.

There were murmurs from the bleachers as I climbed up the ladder and darted to the locker room. Rose stood at the entrance with her back to me, studying her clipboard. I squeezed past her, and faced a small army of girls in black tanks, their noses pinched by flesh-toned nose clips and hair shining with gelatin, anxiously awaiting their performance times. Most of them didn't budge as I pushed through to my locker. I grabbed the flowered dress and changed in a stall, ripped the plastic bags off and threw them in the bigger purse. I stopped at the mirror to apply some lipstick and went straight to Pete's house.

I focused all my strength into pressing the doorbell until I heard a muffled chime.

"Oh, hello!" Sylvia chirped upon opening the door. She was wearing a belted pink satin dressing gown, but her hair was still perfectly coiffed and her makeup in place. I couldn't believe she had a nineteen year-old son; she looked so young.

"Hi Mrs. Harrison, is Pete home?"

"No, he's out," she pulled the door shut behind her as she delicately stepped onto the porch.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I don't. But I'll let him know you stopped by," she offered.

"Do you have any idea where he might be?" I asked as I shifted back and forth, biting my lip, not hiding my agitation.

She sighed. "I don't know where he goes most nights. He could be at Jack's," she suggested. I began to thank her and she interrupted me. "Try not to make yourself too available, dear. Men like a little mystery." She gave my arm a squeeze and said goodnight, leaving me speechless and embarrassed, but what she said still didn't make me think twice about finding him that night. I didn't have time to waste for the sake of being mysterious.

The jukebox was turned up and not a single table was empty at Jack's. The restaurant smelled like sautéed onions, frying oil and freezer burn. I followed someone in and stood right inside the door, scanning the tables for Pete until I heard someone say my name above the noise.