Learning to Swim(4)

But I did not say or insinuate any of the above. Instead I said: “No thanks.”

No thanks?

Say what?

How could I have said ‘no thanks’? Oh yeah, Barbie. It always came back to Barbie…

He nodded, walked back toward the door, and stopped. “It's not safe,” he said. “You live on an island, you work by a pool. You should at least know how to stay afloat.” Then he turned back toward me and said, “What are you afraid of?”

Well, if that wasn't the most loaded question of the century. Love lunacy runs in my family. I had lusted after him for the last forty-two days, knowing full well he had a girlfriend and was therefore off-limits. I was already tempted to give in to the symptoms of Barbie's full-blown condition, and that was when he and I had barely had any contact at all. Even if I could explain everything to him, he still wouldn't understand what we'd be up against.

I stood still for a moment, trying to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

“Think about it,” he said softly. And then he left, politely shutting the door behind him.





2


The next day, Alice and I gabbed away about Keith's swimming lessons offer as we scrubbed the floors in the Tippecanoe dining room. Even though we'd only met six weeks ago, I was very comfortable about telling her everything. When we talked, the time went a lot faster, and to be honest, I just liked how she carried herself. She was confident and funny. I looked at her and saw what I'd be like fifty years from now.

In fact, Alice had this spirit that was just so alive and energetic, sometimes she didn't seem any older than the rest of us. I oftentimes forgot that she had visible wrinkles, wore Poise pads, and took five calcium supplements with every meal. She was that good at being young.

“So let me get this straight,” Alice said as she kneeled down on the hardwood and dipped her scrub brush into a pail of soapy water. “Your mom won't let you learn how to swim because she's afraid of the water? That doesn't make any sense.”

Alice was the oldest member of the cleaning staff, but not the weakest. She was barely five feet tall, and very slender, which made her appear fragile. Still, that didn't mean she wouldn't get down on all fours and scrub until her arms fell off. Not that she didn't have pride. Actually, Alice dyed her hair ink black every week to cover the gray, and man, did she look glamorous, as much as an aging maid could, of course.

I stopped staring at her and wiped off an area of the floor with a dry mop. “Welcome to my world.”

“Well, why is she afraid? Did she almost drown or something?” she asked.

“She didn't almost drown,” I replied. “My grandparents actually did.”

Alice placed a wet hand on her chest and sighed. “Oh my. That's terrible.”

Truer words couldn't have been spoken. I heard the full story only once when I was about six, and after that it had been referred to as TCI (the Catamaran Incident). Apparently, when Barbie was fourteen, her parents had gone on this second honeymoon to Costa Rica. They booked this private catamaran, and somehow her mom fell into the ocean, her dad jumped in to save her, and they both drowned. (Yes, I had considered the similarities between that event and my close call with Keith, but seriously, Tippecanoe was anything but a second honeymoon.) Then Barbie was shipped off to live with her aunt Rita for a few years and developed this water phobia before going away to college and meeting my dad, who would eventually die on her, six months before my birth.

Obviously my mother had endured a lot, and it probably was one of the reasons she had developed love lunacy and her obsession with unavailable men in the first place. But regardless, her rationale for keeping me landlocked somehow didn't seem fair.

“Just the mere suggestion of me being submerged in water for any educational or recreational purpose really freaks her out,” I explained. “I'm surprised she held it somewhat together yesterday.”

“Now, Steffie, mothers worry. It's part of the job description, just like wiping crap off the floor is in ours.”

Hearing Alice say “crap” in her trademark grandma voice made me laugh out loud. “I know, I know. But still, this phobia of hers is a real pain.”

Alice stood up and took a bottle of Murphy Oil Soap from our cleaning cart. “I'm sure it is, considering how it's getting in the way of you and Keith.”

“Me?” I asked nervously. “And Keith McKnight?”

“No, Keith Richards,” she said sharply.

“Who?”

Alice groaned in frustration. “Look, it's all right to like him even though he is Mora's boyfriend. And it's all right to spend time with him too. It's not like they're married.”

“Whatever. He doesn't even like me like that,” I said, matter-of-factly. “He probably just wants another merit badge or something.”

“Regardless, the fact is that you have a crush on him and he offered you swimming lessons. Why are you transferring your feelings about your mom onto him?”

Since when had Alice become Dr. Phil? “Where are you going with this?” I asked, annoyed.

“You should accept the lessons.”

I squeezed out my damp mop into the bucket and frowned.

“You're going to have to learn to swim sooner or later,” Alice continued. “You might as well learn from someone you really like.”