"28, 29, 30, 31, breathe... McKinley! Get your chest out of the water, Arms higher, McKinley!" I can still hear Mark standing at the pool, screaming at me to go harder, faster...
Agghghgghghg! Change your thoughts, Andrew...okay, okay.
"32, 33, 34, 35, breathe..."
"So, Eric...is today the big day?" I asked hopefully, over a glass of juice. "I mean, it's your Mom's birthday - I can't think of a better gift than to tell her the most important thing in your life -- that you're a screaming homosexual and PROUD of it!"
"...uh, well, Drew, yeah, maybe, maybe, if she's up to it..."
"If she's up to it? How 'bout if you're up to it, Eric Lewis?!?"
"You don't understand Mom, Drew. She's -- "
"No, how could I understand your Mom? I've never met her. Any time they come for a visit, you send me off to a spa for the weekend while you play the straight boy!"
"I'm sorry. If you don't want to move in...," he stuttered.
"Of course, I want to move in, but dammit, Eric. Don't you think it's about time? You said youâd tell her by Christmas and baby, itâs here! The goose is getting fat.... You gotta cook it!"
"36, 37, 38, 39, breathe....40, 41, 42, 43, breathe..."
Who is that staring at me?
"Come on, McKinley -- get your chest higher!"
Oh, my God...it's Mark Fitzgerald? I miss my stroke and get a mouthful of water. How in the hell...
"Just like the old days, Andrew. But I'm still the better swimmer," he says as he dives into the far end and courses through the chlorine towards me. I'm frozen...feeling guilty already!
"But look, I've perfected the Dog Paddle!" I demonstrate.
That gets him. He's laughing hard, takes in some water and he's choking with laughter...good.
He looks exactly the same as our first year in college, his Speedos filled out like no other man I know. He's stopped shaving his body so the water doesn't slide off him like it used to. It clings, like rain.
"What are you doing here?" I ask him, as we towel off. I keep my distance.
"My gym was closed and I have a friend who works here. I can't believe how great it is to see you!"
All of a sudden, I'm standing on that damn basketball court and Mark Fitzgerald, varsity swim captain, Olympic star-to-be, is dumping me. The dizziness, the anger, the grief...
"Lovely to see you," I say politely. "I have to go,"
"What is it?" he asks.
ÎYou know damn well what, doll, â I say to myself, bitterly. To him, I say, "Iâm late for a meeting." And I leave him standing alone at the pool.
