by Zoe Fishman
“Hey, Julie,” I said as I arrived at the table. She looked at me sideways with a blank stare for a second or two. Then it registered.
“Holy sh—— cow, Coach Ruth!” She stared, dumbfounded. “You lost like a million pounds!”
“Um, wow. Thanks. I didn’t realize I had a million pounds to lose.”
“Oh no, no. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re like, way skinny now.”
“Yeah, sure that’s what you meant,” I teased.
“No, really! I swear—”
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” David interjected. “Ruth, you’re late.”
“Am not!” I looked at the clock atop the concession stand. “It’s one minute past three.” Julie took a seat with the rest of the parents and kids. Everyone stared at us expectantly.
“So, hi, everybody. Welcome back,” David began.
“Hiiiiiii.”
“There’s really not a whole lot to say, except that I . . . ,” he paused and looked at me, “I mean, we, hope you had a nice year. We’re excited for a new swim team season and hope you’re all serious about this commitment.
“As you all know, the pool opens this weekend.” Everyone clapped and cheered in response. Derrick, perhaps the goofiest of the older bunch, let out a cat call. Stray mustache hairs marched haphazardly across his upper lip.
I decided it was my turn to say something. “We’ll start practice on Monday. The guppies will be with me, at eight, and the big kids will be with David at nine. We’re expecting the meet schedule this week, so we’ll give it to you at our first practice.”
“Meets are on Thursdays for you new guys joining us,” said David. “They usually begin at five and last until around eight or nine.” He paused and looked at me, as if to say, Are we done?
“I think we should break into two groups now,” I said. “All of the six- to ten-year-olds come with me. The rest of you can talk to David.”
I walked over to a picnic table in the back, and the little ones approached with their parents in tow. My favorite, Ali, hung back with her mom. Ali was like a miniature Audrey Hepburn, slight and sweet with a dark bob and bangs that marched across her forehead in a determined line.
“Ali!” I called as she ran shyly into my open arms. She smelled like bubble gum.
“Hi, Coach Ruth!” she replied excitedly.
“Did you have a nice year at school?” I asked. “How was kindergarten?”
“Fun. There was a boy who liked me, but I told him that I was too young to have a boyfriend.”
“Very smart of you, Ali.”
I continued greeting them until the last guppy/escort duo had flip-flopped away. David was holding court at his picnic table, speaking to his subjects in hushed tones about strategy. Somehow, he got them to take the season as seriously as he did, which was no small feat, especially considering our track record. We were lucky if we won one meet per summer.
“Hey there, sexy,” Jason greeted me, sneaking up from behind.
“Hey there, yourself,” I said. “You better have brought me a good schedule.” David and I had lifeguarded every summer since we were sixteen. There were two shifts per day, and two guards on per shift.
“Only the best,” he replied. “Is Kevin here yet?” Kevin was another member of our lifeguarding team. I liked him all right—he was cute in a kind of good ole boy, southern way with his shaggy brown hair and impossibly long eyelashes. He had gone to our rival high school and seemed to come from a relatively loaded family, as far as car and neighborhood went. The rumor was that his lifeguarding money was strictly for beer and weed purposes only. We never really spoke aside from the polite head-nod hello or heat commiseration. He seemed like the kind of guy who was into cheerleaders, deer hunting, and chewing tobacco.
“Haven’t seen him,” I replied. “Is Dana coming back this year?”
“She is indeed. That whole Vegas thing didn’t work out, I guess.” Dana had been the captain of the dance team at our high school back in the day. And by back in the day, I mean when I was a freshman. She was all hairspray, boobs, and French manicured nails. I had asked her once, on the stand, why she had taken the lifeguarding class, since it seemed so out of character for her, and she answered me like I was an idiot. “Um, hello, the tan?” She had moved out to Vegas last fall—visions of showgirl fame dancing in her head—but I guess that hadn’t panned out like she had hoped.
As if on cue, she entered in a sea of perfume. “Hey, girl!” She hugged me. “You look good, Ruthie! Like a model!”
Kevin shuffled in behind her, offering Jason a complicated bro-handshake that involved a forearm bump and a hand clasp.
“So, losers, welcome back,” said Jason. “A summer of bratty kids, poops in the pool, and absent parents awaits you. The good news is, we’re all getting a twenty-five-cent raise on the hour. The bad news is . . . well, look around you. That’s the bad news.”
It was sort of a sad little spot, as far as neighborhood pools went. Weeds poked their heads through the cracks in the concrete deck, and half of the picnic tables in the snack bar area wobbled precariously. The blue carpeting on the starting blocks was worn thin, the white plastic deck chairs were all in various stages of disrepair, and the lifeguard stand’s coat of electric blue paint was peeling off in ribbons. There was a basketball court behind the pool, but the blacktop was more like a graytop, and the hoops had no nets.
The pool wasn’t completely devoid of charm, though. The surrounding yard was lush and green, and noble oak trees lined the fence. It was a very basic place, but it really belonged to its members in a sweet, kind of old-fashioned way. The no-frills element gave it character that a lot of the flashier pool clubs lacked. At least that’s what I thought.
“C’mon, Jay, you love this place,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah.” He pulled some papers out of his backpack. “Okay, here’s the schedule. I think I’ve worked it out pretty fairly.” I quickly scanned the page. I wasn’t working with David at all. Not a single shift. I wondered if he had asked Jason to draft it that way.
“All right?” We all nodded. “Tomorrow we open this puppy. I’ve loaded up the concession stand, and the price list is in the back. No fireballs this year.”
“Good,” said Dana. A kid had almost choked on one the summer before.
“All right, see y’all,” said Jason. I looked over at David, wondering if he would head out with me or stay behind. He made no moves to get up.
Dana and I walked out together. “You want a ride, babe?” she asked.
I pointed to my bike.
“You’re still ridin’ that thing? When are you gonna get a car?”
“Dana, I live down the street.”
“Fine, fine. See ya later, hippie.”
I wheeled it up the hill. The five o’clock summer twilight felt like honey on my shoulders. I hopped on and took off.
5
“Hey, Mom.”
She was lying on the hammock in the backyard, a book splayed open across her chest. She was wearing her favorite paint-splattered gray T-shirt and a pair of purple sweatpants that had been cut off into shorts.
“It’s too hot to read, Ruthie,” she whimpered.
“Scoot over.”
She opened her eyes in surprise. “Okay.”
She clutched the rope tightly and attempted to swing her ample bottom to the left. Although her body made no progress, the hammock flailed like a hooked fish. She began to laugh hysterically.
“Ruth!” she wailed. “This is not happening. You’re going to have to ease on in.”
I eyed her warily. “Never mind.”
“Oh no, you’re not backing out now! We’re getting in this hammock together come hell or high water, missy. Let’s go!”
I sighed deeply. “Fine.” Sliding over the edge, I felt my mother roll toward
me—her warm, soft stomach pressing against my back. She began to laugh again.
“Mom!” Her laughter was contagious, despite my best efforts to be too cool for the absurdity of our predicament, and I started laughing too. I pushed her away as best I could and eased myself onto my back. She pulled me with her as we both attempted to scoot toward the middle. Finally, we were there.
“That was exhausting,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Like a bear and a parakeet on a seesaw.” She paused, then added:
“I don’t know what’s going on with me, Ruthie. I can’t stop eating.”
“That’s not like you, Mom.”
“I know it.” She sighed. “You guys went to college and my waistline went to hell.”
“How come?”
“Boredom, I guess.” The hammock rocked us as it settled down. “It’s almost as if I gained the weight that you lost.”
“Mom, c’mon. You didn’t gain that much weight.”
“I’m serious. Post-umbilical weight gain. I’m going to look it up. I bet it’s a real thing.” She grabbed my hand. “Ruthie, I really missed you this year.”
“I missed you too, Mom.” All I had wanted with every molecule of my being was to get away from my parents, and away from the South. Imagine my surprise when I found myself hanging on to my mother’s legs in the Detroit airport, begging her not to leave me there.
“Yeah, but just for a month or two. Then you moved on.”
“What was it like for you when I made that crazy scene in the airport? You must have been so embarrassed.”
“Ruth, I was not embarrassed! If I could look at you right now,” she said as she attempted to prop herself up on an elbow to face me, “I would. Alas. Honey, my heart was completely broken. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to just bring you home with me, right then and there, but I also didn’t want you to give up before you even began to try. Plus, I knew you’d grow into it.”
“And you were right,” I assured her.
“You met some friends and got used to a schedule—”
“Yeah, but I was a basket case for a while.”
“Is that why you lost so much weight?” she asked. “Nerves?”
“Maybe.” That and a constant monitoring of every calorie and fat gram in a ten-mile radius.
“I’m proud of you. You didn’t give up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” We swayed in silence, looking up into the pine tree branches that reached far into the sky. The crickets hummed around us.
“Are you going out tonight?” she asked.
“Yeah, with Jill and M.K. to some party.”
“Be careful. Nothing stupid.” As my parents well knew from my high school partying career, stupid was very much a possibility.
“Okay,” I agreed. “How are we going to get off this thing?”
“You roll first and then help me.”
“Good idea.”
I rolled off, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet. She adjusted her glasses and smiled up at me as she cupped my chin in her hand.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Ruth.” Her eyes welled up. “I swear to God, this menopause is driving me crazy! One minute I’m laughing like a hyena, and the next I’ve collapsed in tears.” She hugged me. “Oh, my skinny girl. Listen, you need to eat dinner before you go. I’ll fix you a salad, okay?”
My breath returned. “Okay.”
“And I have this delicious fat-free dressing that you’ll like.” My heart beat normally again. “Maybe having you here this summer will get me back on track. Salads and fruit twenty-four-seven.” I followed her inside. A very small part of me wanted my mother to scream at me, to call me out on my issues, to force-feed me French fries. Instead, she was looking to me for diet tips.
I was just being careful about what I ate was all—it wasn’t anything serious. Some people could eat whatever they wanted and not gain an ounce. I couldn’t. Simple as that. This was the argument I used all the time when I was questioned about my eating. As the words came out of my mouth, they sounded perfectly rational, but I knew I was kayaking through a sea of denial every time I spoke them. I guess my mom was trying to help me keep the boat afloat.
“It’s just us tonight,” she said, walking ahead of me. “The boys are going to services.” She turned back and rolled her eyes at me. I rolled mine back.
The doorbell rang as I zipped my purse closed. Perfect timing. I felt nervous to be going out. I’d be seeing most of these people for the first time since I had left for college, and I knew that there would be a ton of shit talking.
I heard Jill’s voice first as I walked down the hall. She had the exact face of a doll I had when I was little—straight honey brown hair, a dusting of freckles across the smallest nose ever created, and giant brown eyes. No one would ever have guessed that she could smoke Snoop Dogg under the table. I turned the corner with a smile.
“Ruth!” Jill rushed toward me and scooped me into a warm hug that smelled of Big Red gum and beer.
“Hey, Jilly,” I said, pulling back so we could size each other up. I waved to M.K., who hung back. We had already had our welcome home moment.
“Ruthie!” squealed Jill. “I heard you were skinny, but damn.” She turned to my mother, stricken. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Wasserman! I am cursing like a sailor. My mother would kill me.” My mom gestured as if to say, No biggie.
“What size are those shorts? Triple zero?”
“Take it easy, Jill,” I said. “You’re making me feel weird.”
“I’m sorry, Ruthie. You look great. Really. I’m just sort of shocked is all.” I noticed that Jill’s trademark cutoffs were straining at the seams. The curse of the freshman fifteen. Shocked and maybe just a wee bit jealous.
“Well,” interrupted my mom. “Have a great night, girls, and please be careful.”
“Nothing stupid,” I promised as we all filed out of the back door in a chorus of good-byes. M.K. was driving. We piled into her silver Accord, and she backed out of the driveway.
“Ever think about maybe cleaning this thing out once in a while?” I struggled to find a space for my feet between the Diet Coke cans, Subway wrappers, and empty cigarette packs.
“Oh c’mon, neat freak, it’s not so bad.” I pulled out a cigarette.
“Are y’all ready?” asked Jill from the front. She passed a lit joint back to me. I took it with my free hand.
“What do you mean?” asked M.K.
“This party.”
“How is old Bootsie?” I asked. Every time I said her name aloud was like the first time.
“Fine, I guess,” answered Jill. “Still going out with Scott Shayers.”
“Oh, the guy whose brother overdosed?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. One speedball too many,” she answered as I exhaled a giant cloud of smoke.
“Wow, Cheech, could you maybe aim out the window? I’m trying to drive here.”
“My bad.”
“This is supposed to be a huge party,” Jill continued. “Her parents are in Guatemala on some church mission.”
“Church mission?” I asked.
“Yeah, they’re missionaries. They go to poor places to spread Jesus’s love.”
“I know what missionaries are, jackass,” I answered.
“Sorry, geez. Do Jews have missionaries?”
“I don’t think so.” Did we? As far as I knew, Jews kept it close to the vest with summer camps and political fund-raisers. “David would know. I’ll ask him.”
“How is that fine-ass brother of yours?”
I rolled my eyes. “Gross, Jill.”
“Well, how is he? Still dating Hillary?”
“Actually, no. He said they broke up in January.”
“No shit? Wow. The Homecoming King and Queen break up? That’s front-
page news. Is he upset?”
“I don’t really know.” Was he? Maybe that was why he attacked me with the boyfriend comment. I wondered if I would see him at the party. Services were over, so maybe.
Jill passed me her Visine. “Oh man, thanks.” I leaned my head back and dropped it into each eye, relishing the lubrication. Between the cigarettes and the weed, my eyeballs felt like two dimes covered in wool.
“Here we are,” M.K. announced. Cars lined the street for blocks, and in the distance you could hear the faint throb of music.
“Is Dwight coming?” I asked.
“I think so. He was being a dick about it, but I’m sure he’ll show up at some point. He can’t deal with me being out alone.”
“You’re not alone, you’re with us,” said Jill.
“I am indeed.” M.K. checked her makeup one last time in her visor mirror. “Let’s roll.” We all got out of the car and headed toward the music.
“You ready for up-downs?” asked M.K. That’s what we called the classic southern girl greeting—a sugary Hey, girl! followed by a top-to-toe surveillance for shit-talking purposes the second you moved out of earshot.
“Bring it,” I answered. My stomach growled. How fitting.
There we were, the three of us standing on a perfectly manicured lawn facing Bootsie Compton’s huge house with its brick facade and navy blue shutters. Jill put her cigarette out in the monkey grass lining the walkway to the front door, and we walked in.
6
We opened the door into a mass of people holding red plastic cups. Boys with beat-up baseball caps, Polo shirts with the collars popped, khaki shorts and sneakers with athletic socks pulled up to midcalf, and girls with orange tans, straightened blond hair, perky summer dresses, and bright pink lips. I looked down at my cutoffs and tank top and felt second-rate. There was something about the uniform formality here that always made me feel clumsy.
