by Meg Pokrass
The pool was four feet deep, and we bought it at Target half off. You could float on your back and think, “fun times are here,” because at least you weren't burning hot.
Mom and I watched it fill up with hose water. She looked around at the back yard, the neglected fruit trees, and said, “I've got to call those idiots and make sure they get a gardener.” It stunk from rotting fruit and dog poop.
I wasn't going to worry about anything. I would just float on my back in my bikini. I would be weightless. There was an annoying flea bite in the crook of my arm, which I sucked on.
The pool was going to be my way of making more friends. I was sick of the two friends I had from last year. Lila and Blythe were both considered to be strange. Lila wasn't ugly when she washed and brushed her long hair—about once a week. She memorized animal facts. Blythe looked like Pinocchio. She was a violin prodigy. She had a European hair cut—short, black, severe. She was proud of her breasts, which were large, adult size. I didn't have any breasts yet, but the doctor said not to worry.
I wanted to know if late development meant small breasts. Mom said it didn't, that she had been the same way. “Worth the wait,” she'd say with an exaggerated wink. Now that dad had his own place and his bi-polar disorder, she had all kinds of new expressions.
In my new pool, I would float on my back when it was dark, looking at the stars. Nighttime swimming had been my dream.
Since there was no one else, I invited Lila and Blythe for a nighttime dip on Saturday. Lila couldn't come because her family needed to drive to Oxnard. Blythe said she sure as heck would be able to make it. She was all about nighttime and pools and stargazing.
“Show me the big dipper,” Blythe said. “I want to make sure you know which one it is.”
Blythe was wearing her bikini bottoms, but she left her top on the side of the pool. The pool seemed much smaller with her beside me. I was glad it was cheap.
Terribly absent were Lila's cigarettes.
I pointed to the area of the sky where I saw the Big Dipper.
“Uh huh,” she said. “A long bent ladle, right?”
Blythe looked wet and slick—her womanly breasts gleaming. I felt angry at her for taking her top off.
“It looks like a crooked dick,” I said. The pool was a bee cemetery. I scooped two up and threw them out.
“I don't even really know what a ladle looks like,” I added.
I could hear all the neighborhood dogs talking to each other. A bee might have been marching down my arm. Something tickled.
“You know what a crooked dick looks like?” Blythe said. Her face was large, or maybe it was the moon.
“Not exactly,” I said, trying not to let my eyes get caught on her nipples, “but I've seen them, and they all have different shapes.”
True. I had a subscription to Playgirl. My mother had given it to me for Christmas instead of a new bike. Once she'd found a beat-up copy of The Happy Hooker under my pillow. I'd stolen it from a garage sale. When I came home from school, I found it laid out on my dresser next to my hair brush and retainer case. Nothing seemed to freak her, as long as she had two martinis.
“So, like… whose?” Blythe asked.
“I haven't seen that many dicks, I just have…” If I told her I had a subscription to Playgirl she'd tell Lila, and then God knew what would happen when I stopped being their friend. The water in the pool was getting cooler, the smell of new plastic making things worse. I hoped she hadn't peed in the pool, though I would not put it past her.
“I have a lot of cousins,” I said.
She smiled at me so brightly then, she almost looked pretty. She squealed, half laugh, half death cry. She said she was getting cold—hey, what a great idea, let's bake oatmeal cookies.
Suddenly she said, “Could you imagine sucking one of those?”
“God, no,” I said, fast and soft. Her eyes looked back at me big, full of thought. She moved in.
“What do you imagine they taste like?”
I knew better than to speak.
“Corn on the cob,” she whispered into my ear, spitting, “with a bit of salt.”
This was not happy news. I knew that violin prodigies lived exotic lives, they were much older than other teenagers. They traveled to Europe.
I imagined Blythe kneeling in front of an audience, her mouth open like a baby bird.
“I'm not ever going to do that,” I said. It sounded fake, as if I were acting in a play.
Blythe moved to the far side of the pool. The moving water sounded smooth. She kept still, cupping her chin in her hands. I wondered if our friendship was done.
Her nose was cartoonishly off-kilter, as if a person had sculpted the middle of her face blindfolded. She practiced three hours a day after school, was going to be on CD covers wearing velvet dresses. She was going to be rich. She already knew everything that was going to happen.
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from Anallema Magazine
And in my collection "Damn Sure Right"
nominated for Dzanc's Best of the Web and the Pushcart Prize.
This story has no tags.
this is the biz. this is the biz-bomb. the bid-ness. this is awesome.
Everything's hitting just the right mark with this. Just introduced it to my Fav-ville residents.
Thank you, Mel! The biz-bomb? you made me laugh!
Hi, Sheldon. Thank you!
you know i love this one
thanks for posting it
the "new" fictionaut can thrive with stories like this posted
hey, thank you David. i appreciate it. Yeah, i DID know! and thanks.
Oh man, I didn't recognize the title, but I read this at Annalemma. There's a fearless honesty in writing a story about a bunch of girls talking about genitalia.
And the narrator and Blythe—now that's an example of a fully explored relationship in a short short.
This is wonderful. Word choices are perfect. A great sweep. I just might be happy all day.
Great story, Meg.
Hey, Ben.. thanks! You made me laugh! And, i appreciate your words so much.
John- i'm glad! how cool about being happy today! Uh.. i just hope a woman writer likes this piece too... eeek!
Ravi - thanks!!
Oh I've told you before, this is one of my very favorite Meg Pokrass stories...
You have told me! Thank you for favoriting it!
i like this story a lot, meg. love the ending and the effortless way the story goes about keeping my attention. "She smiled at me so brightly then, she almost looked pretty." somehow this moment really came alive for me. there's a really nice, quiet tension and authority to the piece. reading it i feel like i'm in good hands.
Terrific work, one of my favorites.
James, thank you!
Yeah for stories with penises in them, especially crooked ones. I knew a crooked man and he had a crooked house.
Jamey, you've been to MY crooked house, and yeah, off-kilter really seems to be my fate!
so lively and engaging.
thanks, Joe!
wow, meg. this is spectacular! i especially like the dynamic between daughter and mother -- it seems to explain your narrator's awkward and needy interactions with others (blythe and her would-be new friends) and her sad lack of self-awareness. you really nailed that last line.
wow, thank you very much, Lauren.
Nothing would bother me after two martinis either. I marked it a fav.
Ha!! Thanks, Didi!
would have loved it more if i hadn't had corn for supper...still love it nonetheless.
Thanks Frank. Sorry about the coincidence, the corn for supper thing. That would be really difficult! Yep.
Last paragraph is almost a stanza. Very rich. Thanks.
I'll jump into the praise. This gets richer and more dangerous as the night goes on. How dearly I love this line: Terribly absent were Lila's cigarettes. And the funny, restrained "This was not happy news." The blow up pool's a tender playground for these two. Nice work, Meg.
Thank you so much, Zack.
Pia- how kind, and very great coming from you! I'm hugely appreciative.
The whole story's great but that tension between the narrator and Blythe is sublime.
I love this because you had to use your emotions (not just that delicious brain) to write it. Bravo, sister.
thank you so much, Peter!
I'm faving it! Loved this line, among many others: "Now that dad had his own place and his bi-polar disorder, she had all kinds of new expressions."
Thank you very much Richard!
Real.
Fantastic! I loved it - the dead bees, the mother. Lovely work!
Stunning. This piece has so much personality.
Thank you so much Siolo. Yeah, dead bees can really take the luster out of things.
Thanks, Katrina. What a nice thing to say about the piece. Appreciated greatly.
Meg, another brilliant work. The language and imagery you use gives this piece an immediacy--for the moment, I am right there in the pool with them. There is also a subtlety at work here that rewards multiple reads.
Cynthia - thank you so much!
Meg, this is great. I could read this girl forever. I love how you slip in her world in bites--the bipolar father, the mother's changed expressions, two martinis--etc.
Great stuff. Thanks for showing it
Thank you, Debbie! Wish my real mother felt like this! She's read it, and now she's calling herself the two martini mom. oy.
meg, you are a delicious storyteller indeed. i dig i dig.
you are too! Thank you so much for this.
A direct hit. Great story, Meg.
The story is wonderful, but this phrase just made it for me: "Her nose was cartoonishly off-kilter, as if a person had sculpted the middle of her face blindfolded."
Love the two-martini mom- and the Playgirls! Sounds like something Betty would do! Also the concern for when the girls would stop being friends- that's very realistic and shows the savvy of the N. Great one, Megster!
Yes, the "when I stopped being their friend," not "if," catches so nicely this sharp girl's eye on the future beyond her blithely topless competition, and you frame this duo's world so gracefully with the two-martini bi-polar parent duo and penises hovering. Shining work!
A Meg story has "flow" and this one moves. What a mother! Playgirl instead of a new bike -- HaHaHaHa . . .
Wonderful stuff...I love this one... The last line is killer.
I've been sitting here reading your shorts - short after short - and this one is my favorite, so far.
Fine work, great images. I love the image of The Happy Hooker laid on your dresser.
This is a good one. I love the insecurity of the narrator in the tenuous world of adolescence--how she wonders if their friendship is over. Good stuff.
I really enjoyed this. She seems ever the more vulnerable for her attempts at being alll grown up. That she starts off thinking she's about to ditch Lila and Blythe and make new friends really highlights her awareness of Blythe moving away from her. "I wondered if our friendship was done." So Blythe's not just leaving her behind as a late bloomer but ditching her first. Lovely, funny, sad.
"Corn on the cob"...the whole story hangs on this beautifully.
You have sent us into the heart of teeage backyard America, and I enjoyed my visit there very much, thank you. Fav-orite.
This is very powerful. Lots of subtext. There is lots to point out throughout on every line, but I especially loved the beginning. It just launched it all:
You could float on your back and think, “fun times are here,” because at least you weren't burning hot.
Love the tone. Love the "fun times here" and that little "at least." Perfect. -- Q
meggie - I took down the others, but I'm sorry, this IS my favorite. I remember the pool too. So well, and how proud you were of it. xoxo-Sian
You have this wonderful ability to touch reality lightly, poignantly. "If I told her I had a subscription to Playgirl she'd tell Lila, and then God knew what would happen when I stopped being their friend." Very nice.
I found this both funny and heartbreaking and very, very good. I love these characters.
I just saw all these nice comments here and at the time when this went up.. I was going through a thing where I thought I should send direct messages to thank people instead of commenting on the page but tonight I will thank everyone here. Thanks so much Liz.
I love this. I love its spare prose. Funny, I always seem to love short stories that mention Target. There was one somewhere - Freight Stories? - recently. We don't even have Target in the UK, but next time I'm in the US I'm going to go to one and see if I can find some inspiration.
Yes. *
My favourite bits were about the mum having new expressions and the bee cemetery line - absolutely lovely.
oh, bueno, bueno meg!
“Corn on the cob,” she whispered into my ear, spitting, “with a bit of salt.”
PERFECT
I love this.