45 comments

Bedtime Drama Contemporary

Swim practice ends behind schedule nowadays, to the point of where the stars are young and frantically zigzag through the air. We also note the tiny dots could be satellites, orbiting at a snail’s pace. We never know. And to be honest, it doesn’t matter to me whether the kids leaning out their windows wish on a hot ball of galactic plasma or a hunk of metal and antenna. In fact, I couldn’t care less. 

My swim kids aren’t stupid like that and they wear nothing but Speedos and one-pieces. They all look the same in the end, shivering and hugging themselves with legs that have droplets racing down them. The stench of chlorine is sickening, but I hold my breath and tell them they did good. My clipboard is professionally tucked into the crook of my elbow. 

But it’s already late and they want to go home. 

I stay awhile with the lingerers who use the diving board or the hot tub. They take free apples and pretzel packets from the bowl by the check-in desk. I pretend to evaluate their performance but who gives a damn, it’s not like we’re competing anymore. Instead I’m filling out divorce papers, positioned uncomfortably on a toilet seat in the men’s locker room. You see, who gives a damn? 

The eighteen-year-olds are assistants. They stay around only to see if I’ll hand out their paychecks early. Some say their parents make them pay for gas so I’ll fold a few bucks into their palms. And when I’m not looking they steal from the vending machines. 

I remember what it was like to be eighteen. 

No, that’s a lie. I’m forty-nine. My son is seven but I’ll never see him again. When I was eighteen I would’ve never foreseen my issues as an old man. I never would’ve seen myself crying into a sink clogged with salty hair or commanding children to swim until their skin shrivels like a lemon left too long on the tree. They swim after the sun goes down. They swim under the stars that have been out since four pm and blink under the fluorescent lights of the locker room afterwards. 

It should be called child abuse, but it isn’t. 

After everyone leaves I go home. I drive my Toyota minivan through the dark streets. There are some people out, their ears protected by thick headphones, walking their Goldendoodles. I used to hate that breed of hounds, with fur sticking out all over the place and eyes like cloudy puddles after a rainy night. 

When I approach my house I see my now-ex wife has parked her Honda Pilot in the driveway so I’m forced to parallel park. I knock over a trash can in the process but my neighbors are so naive these days, they’ll blame it on a raccoon. 

The door is unlocked. Inside, my ex wife Leah sits at a recliner chair, her nose caught in a book. I know she wears her reading glasses when she’s pissed off, not because the lyrics of her memoir are seeping into a gray thunderstorm on the page. Today, those glasses seem glued to her face like a cliche librarian. 

“Hey.” I’m holding my clipboard but all that’s attached is the divorce papers and swim practice attendance. “How was your day?” 

Leah glances over her shoulder to where the clock on the windowsill drums a bedtime rhythm. I think she’s examining the thin horizon and stars behind a fingerprinted glass but it’s actually a gesture to portray how uncomfortable she is. 

“It was fine. How was practice?” 

I sigh, “They’re getting better by the day. But we’ll never be ready for a competition in time.” The first part is a lie but Leah doesn’t need to know. It’s not like she’s my wife anymore. “So is Ben asleep yet?” I turn on my heel and shuffle my feet in the direction of my son’s room. 

She stands hastily and pinches my arm in her hand. “Don’t wake him,” she commands. And for the first time in three weeks we’ve physically touched. Leah drops my arm as quickly as she had picked it up. 

I smile tightly. “So another night on the couch for me?” 

“About that . . .” Leah bites her lip. “I booked you a room at the motel by the Pharmacy. I’ve just been going through a lot, lately, you know. It’s a little too much for me to wake up in the same house as you. I don’t mean to be offensive or rude . . .” 

My clipboard digs into my ribcage because I’m grasping it so hard. “Not at all. I understand . . . Good night, Leah.” I begin walking back in the direction of the door. 

“Wait,” she holds up a palm, “one more thing.” I spin eagerly on my heels, expecting a Thank you or something of the sort. She motions lazily to my clipboard, “Have you received the divorce papers?” 

My heart is a shipwreck. Those damn stars and satellites. 

“Almost done. I’ll send over when I’m finished.” 

“Thanks, I know you’re busy.” And she’s back to reading. 

And I’m out the door. Back into the beat-up Toyota minivan and back down the dark streets. I dislike retracing my steps because it’s like looking into a mirror and watching my past self. It’s almost ten o’clock when I pass the Pharmacy. There are neon signs and rows of happy pills. I’m only an insomniac when there’s a blackout sky. 

The motel is completely lifeless except for one door to a room that’s propped open by a man’s booted foot. He’s having a smoke in the chilly night air with his eyes closed. In the “No Vacancy” sign, the “o” is burnt out and so is the “Vac”. Leaving this decayed piece of property with “Nancy”. All good times, I try to remind myself. 

There’s a teen at the front desk. She’s thin with violet hair that barely sweeps her shoulders. The gum in her mouth is watermelon and she’s smacking it so hard, like trying to fade my problems into the background. Also, she’s trying to defeat Sudoku with half a #2 pencil. 

“Um, hi,” I mutter, and she looks up. “Reservation under Leah Calvin, maybe?” 

She blows a bubble but the pink size doesn’t grow to over the width of a bouncy-ball. “Maybe sure. Room three. Your room buddy is already there.” She slides the key over the wood of the desk and it screeches. 

I offer a quarter of a confused smile, “Room buddy?” 

“I know,” she yawns, “I thought calling them your roommate was a little weird.” 

“I didn’t ask for a roommate.” I take a step back without picking up the keys. 

The teen plasters a grin onto her face. “You didn’t need to. It came with the Presidential Suite Bargain, Leah. Pay half price and share the room.” 

My teeth grit together. I’d thought some alone time would be nice but with Leah it’s always a trick. “What kind of deal is that?” I mumble under my breath, grab the keys, and continue out of the room. 

Outside is cold like a million darts into my skin. My minivan stays parked with a slightly cracked windshield, mirroring the few specks of yellow in the sky. I don’t belong to a religion but sometimes I pray to the stars. Or satellites. Which is a never-ending explanation for my bad luck in life. 

Room three is just around the corner. Now that I’m close to the curtained window, I can see a pinch of light shining through. My key is sticky in the keyhole but the brass is cool against my fingers. The door clicks open when I put my weight against it. 

On the other side, there are two beds. I have no idea which idiot decided to call this the Presidential Suite because there’s a table that rocks like a mental pirate with a peg leg on a sinking ship and a bathroom with a cracked bathtub. All the lamps are flicked on so it glows with a rusted, timeworn yellow. 

The blankets are torn off the farthest bed. A man in a discolored robe sits cross-legged, his long hair running smoothly down his shoulders and blocking my view of his face. He’s bent over and reading Becoming by Michelle Obama. His copy is shiny, right off the presses. 

I step carefully inside and shut the door, noticing that he doesn’t flinch. “Hey room buddy.” 

Finally, the guy glances up, sweeping his auburn hair out of his eyes. He licks the tip of his index finger and dog-ears the page he’s on. “Are you a serial killer?” he asks. I want to laugh but his gaze is unmoving and so I think he’s serious. 

“Uh—um, no. No, I’m not.” 

“Great!” the man grins and slaps his book closed. Michelle Obama smiles from the cover and it reminds of a memory where Leah sat in her chair, reading the same book. Her reading glasses weren’t in the scene. 

He signals towards the unoccupied bed and I slowly make my way across the room and sit on it. The mattress feels like granite underneath my bottom. 

“So, were you delightfully surprised about the deal too?” he asks, chuckling to himself and scratching at his stubble. It looks like an army of ants on his chin. 

I peel my socks off my feet. They are almost green and stink of sweat and chlorine. Those naughty swim kids. “I was. My wife actually made this reservation so I had no idea.” 

He flips off the lamp beside him. There’s no answer except for, “That’s why I don’t have a wife.” The lamp beside me still sputters and coughs cold rays of light into the room. “Do you mind turning your light off? I like it dark when I sleep.” I reach over and twist the motel room view into darkness. “Good night.” 

“’Night,” I whisper. 

But I’m not ready to tumble into dreamland yet. The man begins snoring, his breaths uneven and hiccuping. I realize I didn’t even catch his name but by the time I’ll need to return to the pool where too many toddlers have peed, he’ll be gone. 

Before I fall asleep, I slip my wallet out of my pocket and examine a silly photo of my son. His tongue is fully exposed and his eyes sparkle like polished marbles. He’s sucking on a vanilla ice cream cone and some has caught on the tip of his nose. If only my swim kids could see this photo, this moment. Maybe then I’d be worthy enough for him, for Leah. 

Tonight, I don’t see the stars or the satellites. There’s a thick ceiling between us but I can sense the fields of them like connect-the-dot worksheets, except for lost forty-nine-year-olds like me. Swim practice ended late like it always does. The swimmers don’t wish on stars or satellites because they aren’t stupid. It’s just me, their tired coach, wishing on astronomical spheroids of plasma and statues of trackers and solar panels. Good to know, good to know. 


March 04, 2021 14:35

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45 comments

Zilla Babbitt
00:04 Mar 07, 2021

Ahhh, I am a swim girl. I liked my coaches but this really digs deep into who they are. I appreciate that. They are humans as well. I loved this: "My heart is a shipwreck. Those damn stars and satellites." And this: "Tonight, I don’t see the stars or the satellites. There’s a thick ceiling between us..." So poignant. This seems different than your others, somehow. This is very, very real-life. It's sad but beautiful. No critiques. Excellently done.

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Scout Tahoe
15:11 Mar 07, 2021

Thank you so much, Zilla.

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Scout Tahoe
14:36 Mar 04, 2021

I don't know what is with me and my title children movie references. Thanks for reading.

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Rexiho Fleur
21:09 Mar 10, 2021

Wow! I wanted to write something but...

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Scout Tahoe
14:22 Mar 11, 2021

...but you should still write! Thank you. :)

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N. N.
09:52 Mar 06, 2021

From the title to the swim team, to his love for his son, I love how you characterised the MC, with the tinge of uniqueness you embed in every one of your stories. The way you ended the story by resonating a forty-nine-year-old's tired dreams and desires, was just perfect. Let's hope that the poor coach gets his wishes fulfilled by those winking stars and satellites. I'm curious, though: Leah speaks almost disgustedly about sleeping under the same roof as him. And while he doesn't object to her hostility, he doesn't seem guilty of anything...

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Scout Tahoe
15:45 Mar 06, 2021

Thank you, Neha. The divorce was actually something I didn’t think about. But I just assumed whatever it was, both people blamed it on the other.

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Keya M.
20:30 Mar 05, 2021

The title was the ultimate hook! This story was so charming and well written! Awesome job!

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Scout Tahoe
21:06 Mar 05, 2021

Thank you, Keya.

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Keya M.
21:14 Mar 05, 2021

Would you consider checking out some of my stories and giving a few critiques? I'd really appreciate it.

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15:20 Mar 04, 2021

Who the hell called that the presidential suite? I like the way this story is written: amusing and sad at the same time. We get to see the point of view of a man who seems to want so much out of life and yet can't get it. We see the wife and we feel that tension that builds itself in their conversations. I like it. Swimming revolves around this piece. My idea is crazy but it's how I want to remember this. I imagine being underwater, wanting to come out but liking the peace beneath the cold. Like being faced in such a situation that only feel...

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Scout Tahoe
16:14 Mar 04, 2021

Thank you so much, Abi. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

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Batool Hussain
18:13 Mar 19, 2021

Hello! I missed you. This story is as usual beautiful. How is it going?

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Scout Tahoe
18:31 Mar 19, 2021

<3 Old friend. I’m good! Pushing through. How are you?

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Batool Hussain
17:51 Apr 05, 2021

I'm good too. Circumstances at my side, however, are no good:/

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Scout Tahoe
18:11 Apr 05, 2021

What circumstances? I’m sorry to hear.

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Michele Duess
16:21 Mar 10, 2021

Great story. It had me caught in from beginning to end. And it's a great realistic character. Good job!

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Scout Tahoe
17:33 Mar 10, 2021

Thank you!

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Sia S
04:46 Mar 09, 2021

New bio ;) Ps, new one out :)

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Scout Tahoe
14:19 Mar 09, 2021

Aww, thanks! I read all of it (I think I'm cross-eyed now, haha) but you say such nice things about your friends and they compliment you the same way. ...what do you look like, though? Actually. Clearing up the confusion in the bio. :)

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Sia S
14:50 Mar 09, 2021

:) <33 aww thanks! Well, it's actually what Em guessed, minis the blue eyes and streaks in my hair (I wish I had those) that's me!

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Scout Tahoe
14:57 Mar 09, 2021

Cool -- pretty!

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Sia S
15:06 Mar 09, 2021

Thanks! Aw, I'm sure you are too :)

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Holly Fister
17:33 Mar 06, 2021

“If only my swim kids could see this photo, this moment.” This line gave me a little confusion because at the beginning he says he could care less what they do. And how could their approbation help with this situation with his son and wife? But perhaps that just shows his emotions clouding his thought process and demonstrates how hopeless his situation is at the moment. Not saying you should change anything, just thinking through it! This was well written, and I enjoyed reading it. I loved your line “those naughty swim kids” haha

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Holly Fister
18:01 Mar 06, 2021

Or maybe he keeps referencing the swim kids because he really does care what they think and is subconsciously embracing them as his future family. 😂 Sorry, I realize I’m over analyzing the psyche of a fictional character, but that means you did a great job, Scout!

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Scout Tahoe
18:14 Mar 06, 2021

Actually, you’re right. I was thinking because his wife and son rejected him, this pool was his home and the kids were his family. He’s just lonely. Thank you for your analysis!

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Saurabh Singh
04:02 Mar 25, 2021

Ya, I had the same doubt but now clarified. Thank you for narrating in a sad but hopeful for a good way!

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Mia S
02:01 Mar 05, 2021

Wow, I really like this. The first-person POV gives it an intimate sorta feeling; being inside the mc's head the whole time is super powerful. You captured the troubles of middle-aged men surprisingly well for someone who is (I hope) not a middle-aged man ;D One edit: at this part— "'So, were you delightfully surprised about the deal too?” he asked, chuckling to himself and scratching at his stubble. It looked like an army of ants on his chin. I peeled my socks off my feet. They were almost green and stunk of sweat and chlorine. Those naug...

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Scout Tahoe
02:42 Mar 05, 2021

Thank you so much! Never would've caught that.

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Ru .
16:23 Mar 04, 2021

Sometimes children's movie references are what we need. And those big balls of galactic plasma to wish upon of course. I love snapshots into peoples lives rather than starting at the beginning, because we have the character's traits trickle out from within and learn about them as we go. I'm rooting for the protagonist, he'll get through. He's just got to keep swimming.

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Scout Tahoe
16:52 Mar 04, 2021

Thank you, Siren Queen. ;)

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. .
15:57 Mar 04, 2021

This was great!!! I would like the interactions to be a little more pointed, have more subtext behind them, especially with a wife he's divorcing. She should seem cautious or wary around him, at least that's what would make sense to me. Subtext is key in a story like this. Other than that, great job!! Your stories are always great!

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Scout Tahoe
16:17 Mar 04, 2021

Thank you, Luke. So you’re saying I should add more caution with Leah? I was trying to portray that she was sick of him. And sorry I haven’t replied to your other comments. I see them and tell myself to respond later but I forget. :)

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. .
16:18 Mar 04, 2021

Yeah, I don't think that was strongly enough implied, but yeah I would say add some more obvious markers of her feelings against him. :))

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Scout Tahoe
16:53 Mar 04, 2021

Okay.

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. .
16:55 Mar 04, 2021

Its just my opinion, I mean I'm not as reliable of a source as you can find...

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15:56 Mar 04, 2021

Haha, you had me from the title! This story was so beautiful and cute. I loved it :)

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Scout Tahoe
16:15 Mar 04, 2021

Thank you.

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17:47 Mar 04, 2021

No problem! This story is amazing

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The Cold Ice
08:53 May 03, 2021

Great story. I loved it. Keep writing. Well written. Amazing job. Would you mind reading my new story. “The book reader”

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Elle Orthan
16:13 Mar 18, 2021

wow ur a rlly good writer scout keep writing ur rlly inspiring me!!!

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Scout Tahoe
21:00 Mar 22, 2021

thanks!

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Elle Orthan
13:11 Mar 25, 2021

ofc!!!!

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Julie Ward
20:13 Mar 13, 2021

I really like the tone of this story, Scout - more real, less ethereal, but with a lot of the beautiful descriptions you're so good at. I especially love that last line of the first paragraph. I was a swimmer in high school and you really captured the feeling of the meets that run late, the early morning practices, shivering as the water drips down your legs, living in a one-piece. I remember doing backstroke under the stars at dawn. And the poor coach, just sliding into the invisibility of middle age. We don't even know his name. Heartbr...

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Scout Tahoe
13:14 Mar 17, 2021

I love you little retell. So nice. I have yet to read yours but I've been swamped lately--I'll get over when I can. Thank you

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