The Water Park

 Last week my family and I went to the water park. My little brothers wanted to get there early so there’d be no queues, but as often happens, we arrived late. I think it was my fault, because they were in a huff with me. That said, they’re always in a huff with me. 

  It must have been an exceptionally cold day because even in the entrance the windows were all steamed up. So much that you could barely see outside, only the blurred silhouettes of cars and people moving sluggishly beneath a milk-white winter sky. This added to the excitement as we waited in line to enter. Wealth and power are organised in such a way beyond those windows that even though we’re supposedly free, I constantly feel oppressed. 

 Not that day though, not at the waterpark. Unlike other kids in the queue I had been there before, knew what thrills awaited. I made this known to them, stating nice and loud which slides I would ride first and why. All matter-of-fact of course, shrouding my own joy in a jadedness that would surely make their overt signs of excitement seem excessive, jarring. 

 But when we finally got through the whole place had changed. I recognised nothing and it was much, much bigger than I remembered. This was strange, because things usually get smaller as you grow. I wasn’t complaining though - more slides meant more fun.

 It’s probably one of the best feelings in the world, looking out at that wide open space, not knowing which of those many possibilities you’ll first explore, fully sure you’ll do it all (you’ve got all day, after all) and knowing - as you stare, howls of joy echoing like shooting stars in a busy night sky - that this is what you’ve been waiting for your whole life.

 I ran off so quickly into that tubular jungle that I lost everyone, not even checking when we’d meet for lunch, confident that mum and dad would be there waiting anyhow. My brothers? I’d find them too, no doubt, on the slides, on the rapids, in the wave pool. They’d be out there, somewhere, when I needed them.

 Before I knew it I’d run right into the thick of the action, surrounded by tropical plants in huge planters and giant tubes hanging overhead, thudding with dark bodies. I looked back, but couldn’t for the life of me figure out where I’d come from. Nevertheless, I was there to have fun, and so I strode forth, trying to decide what to ride first. 

My brothers had been right about getting there early. The queues were ridiculous. Given this, I figured I’d get the star attractions out of the way. I chose Everest first.

 Everest’s stair tower is preceded by a long sloping path dotted with plastic cutouts of himalayan sherpas holding signs informing you of wait times. I reached the start of the queue long before I got to the stair tower, becoming thoroughly depressed by one of the sherpas, who somehow deemed it appropriate to grin, ear-to-ear, as he informed you of your three hour wait time. To top things off I spotted my two little brothers halfway up the stair tower and wondered how the hell they got there so fast. 

 After much shouting, they eventually heard me, but just shrugged when I asked them to help me jump the queue. 

I tried the other main attractions, but no joy. Amazonia and Space Odyssey both had three hour waits and even Serengeti, which is basically a kids’ ride, was two. Luckily though, the water park had replaced the paved walkways with waist-high jet-streams, so at least I could get around the whole place without ever leaving the water. 

Looking around, I really recognised nothing. Forced to lower my expectations, I eventually accepted the possibility of not going on any slides at all, just laying back, floating in the jetstream, where even if you just did nothing, the things around you kept on changing. 

 But opportunities began to present themselves: The Cave was not something I’d seen on the park-map in the entrance.

 It was actually way more fun than any slide I’d ever been on. For a start you didn’t have to climb any stairs. You just floated into its opening and suddenly the ride began, throwing you around, often submerging you for what felt like minutes at a time. It wasn’t the type of fun I’d anticipated that morning, but god was it great. When it spat you out the other end, all you had to do was turn right not left, and the underwater jets shot you straight back to its opening. I rode it for so long that my fingers started to wrinkle. I’d probably have stayed there all day had I not got hungry.

  My parents were nowhere to be seen back at the cafeteria. Luckily they’d at some point given my brothers some money though, so we got crisps and chocolate bars from the vending machines and ate them on the terrace by the wave pool. I ate mine quickly so I could get back to The Cave, but also because there were annoying little kids about who kept asking for our chocolate. My two brothers even gave them some. I almost did too, but only because I had a Snickers and one of them said they thought they might be allergic to peanuts. 

 No matter how hard I tried for the rest of the day, I just couldn’t find The Cave again. At one point I found this slide that kind of looked like it. Same stairless opening and basic idea, only less exhilarating. In fact, midway you almost invariably stopped at some stagnant pool in a dimly lit chamber. That was where I met the bully. 

 He must have been at least thirteen and had his arms around a girl’s waist, kissing her from time to time and shouting nasty things at whoever came through the entrance shoot. I stayed there a while, watching like a gator, only my eyes peeping above the water. I both detested and admired him. He was meaner than anyone I’d ever met, but with the girl he was tender, closing his eyes and stroking her hair as they exchanged saliva with their tongues. I might have stayed there longer had he not spotted me. 

‘Oi you…’ he went. 

 Then, without further inquiry, he thumped me in the eye. I choked on the lump in my throat as I tried to reproach him, holding back the tears. To him it was nothing out of the ordinary. He just continued kissing his girlfriend. Luckily, I managed to pluck up the courage to yell something provocative at him before leaving the chamber. 

‘Ha Ha! Do you love her or something?’ I yelled at him as I lunged towards the exit shoot. 

 That incident really brought me down for the rest of the day as I drifted about in the jetstream, only half keeping an eye out for The Cave. On top of that there was a very annoying little kid following me about the place, not saying anything or even looking at me, but just there, lingering. He wasn’t even smiling at all himself. 

 Eventually I found a ride. It wasn’t The Cave, or even as good as the previous ride, but there were no bullies riding it and it was better than just drifting aimlessly on the jet-stream. It was called The Circuit and it was basically just that. Holding a large float, you mounted a sort of track set up at the edge of the oval pool. This track then propelled you around the perimeter of the room at what seemed like lightspeed, only there was a catch - halfway around The Circuit the track cut off and was replaced by a water jet which, if you timed it right, you rode, crossing the gap onto the next section. But if you missed it, you were basically done for. 

 Skilled as I am I quickly got the hang of it and was soon the envy of everybody in the room. It wasn’t the funnest ride in the world - it wasn’t The Cave - and it certainly wasn’t what I expected to end up doing that day. But it was okay, and the respect I was getting off others in the room more than made up for it. Something was still bothering me though. 

 The kid. The annoying kid. He was still there. Lingering. 

  I called the kid over. He was shy. Probably only about three years old. Far too young to be on that ride, for sure, but that was what gave substance to my plan. 

  Kids older than him were every few minutes being pulled from the pool by paramedics on standby, each kid often bleeding or broken-limbed from failing at the gap. It was all about timing. 

 ‘It’s all about timing buddy…’ I told the boy as we chose him a float. Still he said nothing. Just stared at me, as if he knew me, as if his mere presence were enough to make me care about him. This made me even more certain of what I was about to do. And so I set up his float on the track and told him to hop on. 

 But just at that moment my youngest brother turned up, fully clothed and taller than I remembered him. In fact he had a beard and was dressed like a middle-aged man. But it was my brother, no doubt. 

 ‘He’s even more of a baby than I was, ey?’ goes my brother, smiling. 

 Sights and sounds land around me like birds, suddenly vivid and heavy, as if I’m waking from a dream. But I’m still here, in the water, in this room, with the track and the gap and the kids with the broken bones. 

 I try to remember seeing mum and dad today but my heart begins to ache. 

The water around me, previously lukewarm, now feels cold. 

 I take the boy into my arms and press his soft skin against my own. I am five or six times his size, but I am also seven years old, again, holding my baby brother, picking at the hairy mole on his back. The boy lets me hold him. And immediately I realise -  I don’t hate this child at all, in fact I love him more than anything. 

Tender, I overflow with love.

 Yet I am so, so, sad.

So sad that I should come with a warning. Like foods that contain nuts, only I don’t contain traces of sadness, but multitudes. Layers and layers of melancholy stacked so high they almost cushion my existence. 

 The boy’s father watches me with a tear in his eye, as if after a long absence, he finally sees me again. 

I’ve been buried, weighed down by the demands of this awful yet irresistible life, ignoring the fact I hate myself. But the boy is making me remember something long forgotten. A warmth that preceded all the misery. I was light before all this darkness. 

 I lift my nephew high above me, dunking him in and out, and in and out of the water. He looks scared so I press him to my chest again, kissing him on the forehead. In and out, and in and out of the water. He begins to giggle as trust melts his fear. This makes me giggle too and before long I am howling with joy. I turn around and both my brothers are poolside. Old, so old, and emaciated, but arm in arm and overjoyed, their eyes wet and glistening. Their other children - my nephews - tugging at their shirts for attention. 

 My little nephew is now in fits of laughter and as I duck and dive beneath the water, every time I surface I hear his voice - which is music to my ears - and I want to live.