That Day at the Pool

I don’t think I ever faulted my cousins that day. That day when the air was so thick and the heat was so vain it showed little mercy on anyone who dared to taunt its ways. That day when every kid on the block felt a little constrained, a little conflicted as to whether a dip in the local pool was worth the three-minute sprint from porch-to-concrete, driveway-to-STOP sign, and finally a mad dash across oncoming traffic to blissful relief from our notorious 1990s Chicago summers. We were all far too naïve to think our [pre]teen minds perceived anything beyond what was bluntly in our faces. A subtle foreshadowing of sorts, I suppose.

It’d been a couple of years living in my new home after growing up in a snug South Side Chicago apartment. Nevertheless, I still hadn’t managed to adjust. Everything was so…free now, so spacious. No neighbors to be weary of in the odd hours of the night. No winding flights of stairs to lug Aldi bags up, praying with each breath the next trip would be far less taxing for my stubby little legs. Although they’d stretched out a bit over the years and gave way to new kinds of curves I’d never really cared to notice before. Being one of very few girls my age in a family riddled with boys, those “girly” things held no weight in my mind. I was just a kid on a mission caught in this weird body that I felt I had no real control over. Of course, there were always those monthly reminders that “things” were happening but never would it stop me from the dirt that needed digging, the bikes that needed riding, the many secrets of the city that needed exploring. That is, until that day.

Despite my early resistance to learning how to swim, I lived for water. I lived for days so hot that the locals took to the streets to crack fire hydrants open and watch as kids and adults alike played in what looked like ghetto rainbows. My Happy Place would always be along Lake Michigan watching the waves recede into themselves, forever wondering if there truly was an end. Finding that there was a community pool right down the street from my new home definitely put a smile on my face. Not that I planned on doing much more than wading along the side, holding on for dear life as I challenged myself to go a bit further each time. The sudden loss of weightlessness, the world rapidly escaping underneath me forever sent my body into a state of panic. Five feet was my breaking point.

My southern cousins would oftentimes spend their summers in Chicago, and I would switch off and do the same. Although I was never too fond of it as the humidity in the deepest parts was practically unbearable. They’d explored my city in ways I could never. Perhaps growing teen boys could get away with much more but it never stopped me from wanting to be where they were, see what they saw. I was just a girl on a mission caught in this weird body I felt I had no real control over. That hot summer day we all decided that we’d go check out the pool. While they rushed off to grab trunks, I stood in my mother’s room pondering over what to wear. For so long I had been a slave to my navy blue one-piece but this time I thought I’d try something different. Something a bit more “mature,” if you will. I didn’t want to acknowledge that “things” were happening, but my childish swimsuit could no longer bear witness to how those “things” were happening and where. I knew I needed something else.

And there it was.

My mom had this beautiful, vintage black polka dot one-piece that looked more like a 50s pinup dress than a swimsuit. It had cups to hold the budding girls down in the event of a wardrobe malfunction and flared out at the bottom. It cinched the waist at the right spot but wasn’t anything too revealing. Of course, I had asked for permission to wear it so without so much as a second thought, I threw it on underneath shorts and an oversized T-shirt and proceeded to meet my cousins downstairs. With a heart full of joy, we made our way through the heat and to the pool. It was littered with people of all ages, teens, and little kids alike. There was, also, the occasional adult watching their children from the sidelines and those who chose to dip their toes in the water from time-to-time.

Then there was Him.

Standing a little over six feet tall, that which seemed like a giant to me, was a man known throughout the neighborhood as ‘Debo’. It wasn’t uncommon for the people I know to give nicknames to any and everyone they crossed paths with. Some given unwillingly at random and others earned through mere reputation. He was a dark-skinned man in about his 30s with a menacing yet, somehow not off-putting, look about him. I noticed him when I first arrived at the pool but didn’t think much of it. He seemed to get a kick out of swimming up to the older girls and dunking them unexpectedly. They’d squeal with fake disapproval and immediately ask to be dunked again. It was an awkward song and dance that I personally wanted no part of. Touching wasn’t exactly my thing. Years of being forced to hug people I hardly knew, receiving unwanted, oftentimes wet, kisses on the cheek from relatives far and wide made my skin crawl. But I was just a kid in this weird body that I felt I had no real control over.

About 45 minutes passed of me wading in the area of the pool where my feet happily touched ground while my cousins did whatever teen boys do. No amount of heat could stop hormones from flaring in which and every direction, especially when there were beautiful girls involved. Two-piece bikinis I’d never dare to wear, soaking wet in a mix of sweat and chlorine. It was so hot that day. Everyone just wanted to beat the heat and enjoy what was left of summer before the cool air of autumn brought in the harsh reality of winter. It was a day worth remembering even before I knew why.

I decided to center myself in the middle of the pool, keeping enough leverage in case my feet ever left the ground, but not so far that I’d lose my balance and go sinking under. I was in my Happy Place knowing that soon Open Swim would be over, and we’d be leaving to get to whatever delicious food my mom had brewing back home. As I drifted off into my own little world, I noticed from the corner of my eye a dark figure approaching. Thinking nothing of it, I kept my distance and continued with my play. But the figure continued creeping closer and closer. My natural instinct was to let them go by because clearly I hadn’t invited anyone into my space and there was much more pool to go around. That’s when I noticed it was the local menace, ‘Debo’. Having seen him in action with the older girls not too long before, I signaled to him that I wasn’t interested in those kinds of water games. Making a clear motion with my hands, I let out “No thank you”. But even with verbal confirmation that I did not want whatever interaction he was trying to have, he persisted. In an attempt to not lose my balance and go directly into the deeper part of the pool, I started making my way past him. Without missing a beat, he proceeded to forcefully lift me into the air, holding my waist from behind, and slam me into the water. My feet went limp as I lost my footing. My arms flared and my eyes stung with the feel of chlorine and god knows what else leeching into them.

I arose from the water not knowing what had happened aside from being dunked when I had clearly indicated that I didn’t want to be. I figured he didn’t get the message and a one-off dunk couldn’t hurt anybody. The other girls seemed to be into it so maybe, just maybe, it was my turn to get in line and see what the hype was about. However, as I tried to wipe my face and make my way back to the “safe” end of the pool I could feel my body being led in the opposite direction. Inch by inch I felt my feet getting further and further away from me. The feeling of sheer panic that I’d felt moments before somehow quadrupled. To my surprise there he was, again, but this time closer than before and with one hand pulling my arm and the other at my waist, pulling me closer and closer to the deeper end of the pool. At a little beyond the five feet marker, I watched as the numbers on the side grew and with each passing breath, I felt myself getting further and further away from what seemed like a pool suddenly devoid of people. This man, this stranger was taking me out of my safe Happy Place and bringing me into his wet, twisted world of darkness and domination. We finally stopped moving and while I knew we weren’t quite in the deepest part of the pool it was more than enough to send chills down my spine. I knew without someone there to latch on to I would immediately sink. He grabbed my waist tighter, brought me in closer, and proceeded to somehow prop me up on his leg. I was now face-to-face staring into a pair of soulless, beady black eyes.

“What is your name?”

“Please. I don’t know how to swim.” Those were the only words I could manage to get out.

In one fell swoop, he dropped his leg, and I went barreling down with it. My nose filled with water. My chest tightened with fear. He propped me up once again and in a deep, terrifying voice, he bellowed,

“What. Is. Your. Name?”

“Please, please leave me alone. I can’t sw— “Immediately he dropped his leg, and I went under like a charity dunk booth volunteer. However, there was no end. There was no resolution. There was no money raised, job well done, get out of the tank and call it a day. I came up flailing but this time with tears in my eyes and spitting up water that had trapped itself in my lungs as I screamed for dear life underneath. I was succumbing to the very thing that I loved, the thing that brought me so much peace on those hot, humid Chicago summer days. Perhaps seeing that I was not willing to engage in his sadistic water play, or the fact that I was quite literally being drowned, he finally gave way and pulled me from the deeper end of the pool and back along the wall where I was able to regain my footing. From there he disappeared into the water almost as quickly as he’d emerged.

Without hesitation I hopped out of the pool and grabbed my towel to wipe away a mix of tears, pool water, snot, and whatever else managed to come up during those five or so minutes of Hell. I saw my cousins still doing whatever teen boys do and ran to them.

“He…I…he tried to drown me!” I pointed out into the water toward where everything had taken place not knowing whether 'Debo' was in sight. Not that it even mattered.

“What? Who? Debo?”

“He pulled me to the deep end and tried to—“

“Oh, girl, he was probably just playing with you. He does that to everybody.”

My heart sank a bit as I stood there in my mom’s vintage black polka dot one-piece that once made me feel beautiful but now made my stomach turn. I watched as my cousins went back to doing whatever it was that teen boys do but not long before hearing the horn that signaled that Open Swim was over. It was officially time for us to leave and head home for the day.

As the pool emptied, I grabbed my clothes and wrapped myself in my towel, tilting my head toward the ground trying to understand all that had occurred. Nothing about it really made sense. From a day of pure joy and excitement to an afternoon that left me filled with more questions than answers, I lagged behind my cousins knowing I would never return to the pool, at least not the same as I had entered. With the distrust of my growing body solidified, the parts of myself that I once took for granted, in retrospect, seemed so trivial. Somehow in a space full of people, one singular person, one brief yet life-altering moment, managed to cage my pre-teen heart. I’d go on to rarely, if ever, set foot in another public pool let alone allow myself to be coerced into deeper ends, where I once felt helpless, frozen in time by this weird body that I [still] feel like I have no real control over.

But I don’t think I ever faulted my cousins that day. That day when the air was so thick, and the heat was so vain it showed little mercy on anyone who dared to taunt its ways. We were all far too naïve to think our [pre]teen minds perceived anything beyond what was bluntly in our faces. A subtle foreshadowing of sorts, I suppose.