the plunge
by Lila Allen
Pools were made for babies like me: I grew up on pink bottle sunscreen, the sting and the stink of the chlorine, the tug of blue bikinis pulled off by the dogs to expose plump, delicious cheeks like turkeys on Thanksgiving.
Bottom's up, mon cherie. On land, I'll grab mine with two hands. But in water, boy, I'm weightless and turning, a regular fish -- afloat, flopping, deboned. I've never combed the water with the grace of other girls, their long arms cutting the water like cake, their long bodies icing the surface.
I like it best below, among the turquoise legs like heavy trunks, the rafts over me like storm clouds, the squeaking rubber amplified to thunder. And when I flip, the surface: one pulsing, dazzling dream of a thing, like memory.
Today we're all tuckered out on chemicals; we're puckered and sucked dry like sticks of jerky. And now, to taste, mommies and daddies, put me in the salt -- where I'll float, held, each taste of the water also a taste of myself.
Throw a baby in water and they just know: no breathing, only the acceptance of falling. Becoming, in that moment, the water itself.
Bottom's up, mon cherie. On land, I'll grab mine with two hands. But in water, boy, I'm weightless and turning, a regular fish -- afloat, flopping, deboned. I've never combed the water with the grace of other girls, their long arms cutting the water like cake, their long bodies icing the surface.
I like it best below, among the turquoise legs like heavy trunks, the rafts over me like storm clouds, the squeaking rubber amplified to thunder. And when I flip, the surface: one pulsing, dazzling dream of a thing, like memory.
Today we're all tuckered out on chemicals; we're puckered and sucked dry like sticks of jerky. And now, to taste, mommies and daddies, put me in the salt -- where I'll float, held, each taste of the water also a taste of myself.
Throw a baby in water and they just know: no breathing, only the acceptance of falling. Becoming, in that moment, the water itself.
|
5
favs |
1083 views
10 comments |
204 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
lina says that pools aren't for hoodrats. and she's right; all my hoodrat friends do at the pool is drink and get chased out by security.
pools are for babies. rich babies, to be precise. whether or not i like it, i'm just a big white baby. and as you'll learn here, with a big white butt.
Other stories by Lila Allen
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Unique perspective, original phrasing, but I still don't know why I like this so much. Which is okay, but I like to know these things ... not as a reader, but as a writer. Either way, I liked it. A lot.
Thank you, James!
This is terrific! Great imagery, Lila. I agree with James...very unique perspective and your language is luscious. As a swimmer, this resonated with me. Last line tolls like a church bell. Fav
Like this, Lila.
"one pulsing, dazzling dream of a thing, like memory."
Nice.
Amazing tale of Waterworld. Beneath the surface was my world, my preferred world, when I was a kid. No drugs for me, but pain & pleasure of another kind. Expert use of the language, too. A wonderfully shaped and crafted story.
I loved this. I could really feel each one of those scenes.
As far as I'm concerned, there's not all that many things better in life than being in water.
*
Thank you, everybody. Still figuring out how to use this site, ha!
Very sensuous. I like how the water equalizes, transforms. Peace...
"I've never combed the water with the grace of other girls, their long arms cutting the water like cake, their long bodies icing the surface."
Very nice, Lila. *
There’s some lovely writing here. Enjoyed it!