65% of drowning incidents occur in pools owned by the child's
family.
I could see the blurry multi-colored figures dancing in slow motion.
It was strange how cool the water felt on my eyes, until they started
burning. The water rushed over my tongue as I attempted to breathe.
The coughing and crying were not nearly as important as the sheer
terror in my heart as my father pulled me from the pool. His coarse
laugh and his banging on my back added to the horror. Both arms
were wrapped tightly around his neck, while water sprayed down his
back. Even after the water was out, I continued to cry in fear of
being thrown back into the pool.
I guess I look back at my first time "swimming" as
a common experience for most children. And like other children,
I got back in the pool. My father suspected that with such a traumatic
first experience I would probably become an Olympic swimmer. That
was hardly a likely scenario. Oh, I took swimming lessons and I
was given the opportunity to join the swim team when I reached the
required age. It just never interested me. Besides, I was never
really that good a swimmer because of my size. I'm positive
there would have been an unbearable amount of ridicule focused on
me in a Speedo. So, I avoided the situation altogether.
Maybe that first traumatic experience had an adverse effect, maybe
it didn't. Maybe, it was the stories. My neighborhood had
its fair share of storytellers. I think the best one I ever heard
was when I was eight. I think it was Nick Francis, or maybe Jerry
Nichols, that told me about the Stevenson's.
The Stevenson's were the old couple that lived at the turn
in 84th and Tremont. Most of the kids in the neighborhood stayed
away from their house, not because we thought old people were creepy,
but because we didn't really have much in common with a pair
of ninety year-olds. They kept to themselves, and we kept to ourselves.
That is with the exception of the story.
The Stevenson's had two children, Eric and Stephanie. When
they were eight and five, respectively, Mr. Stevenson had decided
to buy a pool. The very next summer, they say, Eric and Stephanie
started telling Mrs. Stevenson that they had a new friend that liked
to come over and swim with them every once in awhile. Mrs. Stevenson
thought nothing of it, and shooed the kids out the door to play.
After a time, Mrs. Stevenson started to wonder why the kids were
so quiet. She ran to the front door to see if they were in the yard
playing. They were nowhere to be seen. Immediately her mind started
to race. She had dismissed the children's story about their
new friend, but what if it was true? What if someone was playing
and swimming with the kids while she wasn't looking? Thoughts
of kidnapping, molestation, and mutilation filled her mind. She
raced through the house crying hysterically snatching the phone
from its cradle frantically dialing. She ran to the backdoor. Right
next to one another, Eric and Stephanie floated face down in the
family pool. After that, Mr. Stevenson filled in the pool and turned
it into a garden for Mrs. Stevenson where she spent the vast majority
of her afternoons talking to her plants... her children.
* * *
77% of the children are seen within five minutes of being discovered
in the pool.
It was a heated debate that inevitably took place between Dave
and Chris.
"Really, they couldn't hold a candle to Ratt. The melodic
riffs and sweeps of Warren De Martini coupled with the screeching
vocals of Stephen Pearcy were the epitome of eighties hair metal."
Chris would always go to the Dokken defense at this point. "You've
got to be kidding." Lucky for Chris, "In My Dreams"
came pounding out of the radio. "Listen to that. De Martini
needed the back-up guitar of Robbin Crosby. George Lynch needed
no second guitarist. And, you can't possibly be saying that
Stephen Pearcy should even be allowed to hold Don Dokken's
jock. Sure, Ratt had more commercial success. I say it's management
and marketing that made all the difference. When it comes to musical
talent, it's like comparing Tiffany to Mozart. They're
two different ballparks, leagues, and games."
Dave hoped that at this point I would intervene. "Have either
of you two even heard of Quiet Riot? Maybe, Def Leppard? And surely,
you're leaving Van Halen out of this discussion," I
said in my most uninterested voice.
Dave squeezed out his most weasely, "Yeah, what about Kiss?
Ever heard of them?" We all busted out laughing.
Dave and Chris had spent most of that summer at my house by the
pool. We each had crappy, part-time jobs to learn "the value
of a dollar," as my father put it. Of course, that lesson
was wasted until I was out of college. Dave and I always had the
same days off, and Chris usually managed to be "sick"
whenever his boss wouldn't give him one of the same days.
So, there we sat for an entire summer.
Angie, Kristen, and Shannon were my neighbor and her best friends
who managed to find their way over to my family's pool as
soon as school let out for the year. I guess they thought that fooling
around with us was a small price to pay for a great tan and access
to a private pool all summer. I'm sure they got as much out
of it as we did. Plus, they got the bragging rights to, "we
hung out with Seniors all summer."
My parents worked, which afforded us a certain amount of freedom
that seventeen year-old boys probably shouldn't have. I think
Dave learned to smoke that summer, there was the day we all got
drunk and went to the mall, the day we caught Chris and Shannon
screwing by the pool, and the day I saved Angie's life.
The day started out cold and rainy. I'd decided the day was
a wash, and planted myself on the couch. Angie was the first to
come banging on the back door.
"Hey, what are you gonna do today?"
I knew I looked like shit. "I don't think the rain's
gonna let up."
"I don't care. You wanna hang out?"
I had known for some time that Angie had a crush on me, and I'd
led her on. We'd kissed and fooled around. I don't think
I was as interested as she was. I think she knew it too, because
she wouldn't let me fuck her.
"Sure, c'mon in," I said reluctantly.
The phone rang. It was Dave.
"Hey, I don't think this rain's gonna fucking
let up. What are you gonna do today?" I could hear Chris in
the background.
"I don't know. Angie's over."
Dave yelled to Chris in the background, "He's not doin'
anything except Angie." Chris let out a long, sarcastic set
of moans. "So, you think she's gonna let you fuck her?
Or, should we come on over?" Chris continued to moan in the
background.
"I don't care. Just a second." I pulled the phone
away from my ear. "Are Kristen and Shannon coming?"
"I doubt it."
I could tell she didn't want Dave and Chris to be coming
over either.
"Dave, why don't you guys wait to see if the rain clears."
Dave laughed. "You fuckin' dog."
Angie smiled as I hung up the phone.
"I'm gonna grab a shower."
She put on her best porno face. "Want some company, stud?"
"You mean..."
"I'll come up and talk dirty to you, and I might wash
your back if you're good."
I acted disappointed. She laughed and followed me up the stairs.
I guess it all seemed harmless. We flirted, we screwed around,
and we stayed friends. Maybe, all that bullshit that they feed girls
about sex ruining a friendship is true. And, so what if it was.
At that moment, I was more than happy to lose a friend to lose my
virginity. I wasn't uncomfortable being naked in front of
Angie. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen my dick. The
water was cold when I first got in. Angie sat on the toilet threatening
to flush if I got out of line. This was almost an invitation for
the conversation to turn to why she wouldn't fuck me.
"Ang, when are you going to have your way with me?"
"Why do we always have to discuss why I won't fuck
you?"
I loved it when she said the word "fuck." I started
to heat up. "Well, now that you mention it."
"You can't be serious. You know why."
"Angie, there's something I've always wanted
to say to you. I love you." A slight smile gave me away.
"Fuck you. Just because I like you almost as much as you
like yourself, doesn't mean you can shit all over me."
She stood up from the toilet.
"C'mon, Ang, I love you." The smile got bigger.
She flushed, flipped me off, and with another "fuck you"
left the bathroom.
"Fuck."
When I pulled my semi-scorched body out of the shower and walked
downstairs, I noticed the rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking
up. I screamed Angie's name as I walked through the house
soaking all the carpets with my refusal to dry off. I went downstairs
to the living room only to find it empty. As I walked past the kitchen
window, I saw something red in the pool out of the corner of my
eye.
"Fuck."
I was in the pool dragging Angie out before I remembered I was
naked. I didn't care. I started CPR as if it were second nature.
The swimming and lifeguard lessons my dad insisted on were actually
paying off. Three breaths, chest compressions, and up came the water.
I felt bad as I watched her convulse and vomit. I ran inside to
call an ambulance and grab a towel for Angie, and myself. She was
still spitting out water and coughing by the time I got back.
It didn't take long before the ambulance arrived, and I became
the hero of the summer. Angie spent the rest of the summer sneaking
over early in the morning or late at night to fuck. So, I guess
in the end, I got what I wanted in the first place.
* * *
46% are last seen in the house, 23% in the yard, making 69% that
were last seen somewhere other than the pool area.
Now, I sell peace of mind. It amazes me that people will childproof
everything they can think of, but a big hole in the backyard with
water in it is the last thing they see as dangerous. But, I can't
complain. It makes my job easier, that's for sure. I started
working for this pool fence company straight out of college. Really
they're just normal fences with some modifications to make
them childproof. For instance, the latch on the gate has a dual-release
system. And instead of using chain-link, we designed a more modern
wrought iron fence. The individual bars are spaced just far enough
apart to look nice, but not let little bodies through. It really
is a life saver.
It kept me busy most summers. I drove around the new subdivisions,
looking for a house with a pool and kids, I showed the mom a few
stats, and made another sale. It was almost embarrassing how easy
it was. Don't get me wrong, we had tough times. All it took
was one kid falling into a pool, a story on the morning news, and
business immediately picked back up.
This summer's been less than lackluster. Yesterday, I drove
for two hours to find a new subdivision to cruise. It was quiet.
Most of the houses were still being built, but I found an area where
a couple of families had already moved in. Only one had a pool,
though.
I parked at the top of the street and walked down four houses to
the house with the pool. As I walked by, I checked to see if the
other neighbor was home. A quick look in their garage window confirmed
they were out. As I walked up the driveway, I could hear kids in
the backyard playing. I quickly changed direction and headed for
the backyard. I looked through the fence. A boy stood with his finger-guns
blasting away at his sister as she ran around singing and dancing.
I stood by the fence until the little boy noticed me. His sister
immediately stopped having fun when she saw me.
"Is your mommy home?"
"She's inside."
The children were rightly apprehensive about opening the gate for
me.
"Could you get her for me?"
The little girl nodded, and headed for the backdoor.
As soon as the door latched, I pounced on the boy dropping him
into the pool and forcing his head under the water. He kicked, and
squirmed, and nearly got away. I looked back and forth from him
to the backdoor praying that his mother wouldn't come running
out. I dug my fingers into his head and forced it deeper into the
pool. Water splashed everywhere as he struggled. I knew his mother
would be coming out the door any second. He started to weaken. Finally,
he went limp. I ran. As I jumped in my car and fired up the engine,
I heard the blood-curdling wail of the mother.
It won't be long until business picks up, I can feel it. |
