Pooltime Serenade

Her feet are at the poolside, placed on the very edge, toes primed for the plunge. Her body is a stiff, unwieldy skeletal structure. Her bikini feels like bondage and the unforgiving sun roasts her exposed back. Sara is stuck in limbo – one that exists between the solid and watery worlds. Everyone around her is laughing and squealing, as if they’re mocking her fear as she inches forwards. She tries to drown out the sounds, but it is impossible. Everyone is in full-fledged holiday mode, except for her. This is her moment: the one she worried about all year, since she booked the holiday; one week in Palma but one moment by the pool that stretched out interminably. Her sunglasses laze by her side, their legs bowed, the dark lenses doing no service to her eyes. Her vision needs to be crisp and clear, like a hunter’s. She needs to see to the bottom of the pool, to outsmart her fear.

Sara is alone. She wants it to be that way. She has friends that jumped at the chance to accompany her to Palma, but she needs to do this alone, to prove to herself that she can. Often, the thought of a dreaded decision is worse than the decision itself, but this is different. Now she is positioned, ready to slip into the shimmering sunlit water, she feels like terror is going to eat her whole. Her legs are treasures. She never takes them for granted for a second. With one hand missing, she knows the true value of her limbs.

Everyone else is jumping in and out of the water without care. Kids are doing cannonballs and screaming as they go. Fun-filled screams and terror-filled ones can be hard to tell apart. They trigger you either way when you’ve screamed with real terror yourself. Sara knows she looks strange sitting there, lengthily planning her entry into the water. Maybe to others, she just looks like she’s relaxing, but she knows that others are watching her out of interest, waiting to see what she’ll do. She pictures herself jumping into the water. It’s like stepping off a ledge. The net might be there, but you can only when find out if it works when you leap.

The water glistens in the sunshine. The day is perfect, in theory. She knows there has been some extreme weather there, but it has passed now. It is that picture perfect, postcard type of scene: the sun, the beach, the smiling sun worshippers. The heat is oppressive: the dry kind of heat that only the undulations of cool water can relieve. She knows her body wants to feel that relief, so why is it so hard to make the move?

She knows some moves are fatal, and she is lucky her last one wasn’t. But do people get to escape twice? Logically, she knows this is a different scenario, but whenever overpowering emotion take hold, logic sinks straight to the bottom of the pool.

A man comes and sits beside her. “Typical,” she thinks. How do strangers sense whenever someone needs to be alone and select that particular moment to move in for the kill? She doesn’t need friends there; she needs space to think. She needs to get over this by herself.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, beaming at her.

He is looking at the place where her hand used to be. He is likely thinking of the beauty she could have been without this disfiguration of hers. When he approached her, she might have been a figure of desire, but now, she feels diminished to a figure of pity.

“No, thanks,” she says, through gritted teeth. “I’m just having a rest.”

“Ok,” he says, frowning. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

She nods. At least he isn’t slow on the uptake. She doesn’t bother watching him walking away. She can picture it in her head: the drooped head, the look of defeat, but she can’t deal with that right now. She needs to stay focused, or her holiday has all been for nothing.

She made a bet with her brother before she left: fifty for her if she got in the water, fifty for him if she didn’t. She could have lied. He wasn’t there to witness it, so how would he ever know? But her self-respect would know. It would remind her of her perceived failure every day. She has to conquer this demon of hers.

The water does its best to look inviting, and it obviously is to all the other guests. It is that photographic kind of enticing that inspires envy in those that aren’t there. It has cost her entire savings to get there, to create the perfect stage for her moment of glory. But she can’t jump. She can’t slide in either, nor make a gentler approach to the water. Her body cries out for the pool’s cooling touch, but her mind isn’t to be mastered. She’s been there long enough to acquire obvious sunburn, and she knows it is the moment of truth. She moves one single toe forwards and dangles it above the pool water. One more movement and it would be submerged, and it would be over, and she’d be proud of herself. But what if? Her mind can’t stop dredging up the “what ifs.” She puts her good hand on her ankle to steady her shaking toes, but she can’t stop them. They have come into a life of their own. They are like friends that give you a shake when they see you about to destroy your life. They are the kind you trust and listen to because they’ve always been there for you.

Sara stands up on the hot brickwork. Her feet burn and she knows she needs to get back to her sandals. She tiptoes across the ground, absorbing painful heat with every step. She gathers her towel and her shoes, heading back in the direction of the hotel. She walks around the perimeter of the pool, and then, she pauses at the baby pool. She looks down at the aquamarine blue – a foot of water with visible ground at the bottom, and she thinks, “what if I started here?”