Featured Here: "Community Pool" by Emily Solis, "Water" by Erin Sommers
Community Pool
by Emily Solis Wet feet smacked against the pavement, followed by echoes of loud laughter and giggling
shouts. A pause– and then three, short, splashes were heard, the droplets singing through the air as they landed outside the pool. A single, sharp whistle followed– high-pitched and intrusive, its abrupt melody disturbing the tide of joyful laughter that filled the area. His shout was loud. “Walk!” Snickers and gasps of breath. Desperate splashing rang through the water, followed by choking bursts of both air and laughter. The whistle blew once more, piercing the air. A car honked from the street, its tires screeching away. Then the rest of the tide of cars arrived– a cacophony of metal and rubber, air rushing through the street. The sound of traffic collided with the sound of the children, but they paid no mind, taking the noise as a challenge to laugh louder, shout harder, splash higher. The diving board vibrates and trembles as wet feet climb up, and with a swish, a soft tum-tum, the diver splashes into the water below. Swish. Tum-tum. Swish. Tum-tum. The children take turns– their skin smacking into the cold blue water. Another whistle pierces the air– ringing through the children’s ears. His voice is raised, amplified by a megaphone. Its sound is harsh, almost robotic. “No belly flops!” Two mothers laugh softly from the grass, hands rustling and crinkling the plastic wraps of chip bags and tearing away the paper coverings that hold their sandwiches. Soft music floods the space around them– pounding from a small speaker– a hypnotizing voice humming a simple and short melody, the echo like a heart-beat in the air. It pounds gently, softly, nowhere loud enough to drown out the sounds of their chortles and giggles. Their voices are breathless– like they’ve been laughing for decades– and every few seconds, there’s silence as they bite into their meals, crunching away on crackers and tearing into ham and lettuce. The crunch rings out, dull and sharp. The silver fence creaks and groans as firm hands shake against the woven webs of metal, laughter following soon after. Soft paws pitter-patter against the hard soil, desperate to hide, the bushy tail swishing in the air as the brown creature brushes against leaves and rustles the plants. The children call after it, voices high-pitched and squeaking, their jumbled laughter and shouts filling the air as their steps pound dully against the dirt. A harsh yowl echoes, the yammers and barks of a dog tailing the small furry creature. The air sings with its howls, in a perfect symphony with the shouts of the children’s mothers, drowning out the soft melodic voice on the speaker, silencing the heart-beat. Behind them, a harsh whistle cuts through the noise, barely heard above the screeching cars careening down the busy street, on the other side of the creaky silver gate. His voice rings out again. “I said walk!” With a loud and final rustle, the squirrel has disappeared into the foliage. The children cry out in loud disappointment, their mothers’ soft, comforting voices lulling their pain away. The dog howls in defiance as he’s pulled away from the center of the noise, whimpering and whining. Chairs squeak as the children tumble into them, their hands tearing away plastic from crunching chips as they turn the music louder and chew loudly through laughter. Their laughter is the epitome of everything simple and joyful– and the symphony of it drowns out the voice from the speaker, the harsh whistles, the incessant yelling, the dog’s yowling, the squirrel’s rustling, the diving board’s swishing, the wet pounding feet, the screeching traffic, and the splashing of the children, throwing themselves into the water with smacks, disregarding the stinging to enjoy the short, simple joy. Water
by Erin Sommers |
It was brutally hot. The wind refused to blow that late morning, allowing the dry air to
settle, unfortunately, making it warmer. There was a fan creaking around in a circle inside the
station’s restaurant. It wasn’t powerful enough to generate any cool breeze, but instead, pushed
around the stale air.
The restaurant was deadly quiet, except for the occasional creak from the fan, or clanking of
dishes in the kitchen. Only one other person was in the restaurant besides me that wasn’t an
employee. He sat in a corner booth near a window with the shade pulled down. For the past hour
he only drank water
I sighed into my glass of scotch as I brought it to my lips. Eleven-thirty. Too early to be drinking.
But did it matter? I had waited long enough for Cecilia to show up, and she had yet to pop her
short brown bob through the swinging wooden doors and call me to her car. She left me here,
alone.
The waitress walked past me at the bar. I nodded at my empty glass, and she nodded back. She
brought me a fresh glass of scotch, filled half-way with cool amber liquid. I figured this time that
if I took my time to suck this one dry, then real-life time would go faster. Because frankly, I
didn’t have anywhere to go. I knew she wasn’t coming, and it was too damn hot outside to hitch
a ride to town forty miles away. She was supposed to come get me, but she left me here.
A soft thud filled the silence, as the man sat on the bar stool next to me, a cup of fresh cold water
in his hand. I was fascinated by the way he looked, realizing that I didn’t see his face when he
was sitting across the room. His hair was dark gray, with light gray tufts growing from his
temples, and a light gray streak of hair ran from the right side of his forehead and back. He had
dark eyes, almost black, surrounded by deep wrinkles in the outer corner. He had high, rounded
cheekbones that stood out from his gaunt cheeks. His lips were wiry, and devoid of color. But
despite his somewhat awkward appearance, he exuded confidence.
He leaned his hand towards my untouched glass and tapped it with his pointer finger.
“How many have you had?”
“This’ll be my third.” I returned the gesture and tapped on his glass of water, “How ‘bout you?”
He chuckled and shook his head, “I haven’t had a drop to drink since I came home from the
second war.”
“No, I meant your water. How much have you had to drink?”
“I know what you meant. You a soldier?”
He caught me off guard; how could he tell? I should have walked away. But I didn’t, as if his
presence held me down.
I nodded, “Yes sir. I’m on leave from Korea. Came home to visit my family, and my girl.” My
abandoned state began to gnaw at my heart. She left me here, alone.
He tapped my glass of scotch again, and then looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow, and
understanding.
“She the reason for this scotch?” I could lie to him; after all, he didn’t know me. Instead I let out
another sigh and shook my head ‘yes.’
He shifted himself on the barstool and smiled, “Oh yes, I remember those days. Three different
girls promised to wait for me, but every time I came home, looking for comfort, I found my ‘girl’
hanging with one of the other soldier boys. It makes you want to go back to war. To lose it all.”
He stared at me, a stern expression on his face. He knew my thoughts, and it scared me. I had
known for quite some time that she was unfaithful to me, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. So I
waited and decided that if she was true, she would come for me. Yet hours had gone by, and the
only thing in sight, as far as my eye could see, was rolling golden hills of dirt and dried grass.
“It hurts, you know?” I pushed my glass around with my finger. “I mean, I go off to fight, and I
see…I see hell on earth. And this is what she does? I’m just tryin’ to be a good guy. She left me
here, alone.”
He took a long sip from his water. It looked so much more refreshing and pure than the scotch I
had poured into my body. He was mysterious. I didn’t know his name, but I wanted to. I didn’t
know anything about him, except his problems were like mine, and that scared me. He hadn’t
said anything for a while. I was tempted to bring up another topic, but he finally spoke.
“You see this water?” he held it up at eye level, “I learned when I got a regular job again that
drinking water, and having that water in your system, is healthier than drowning your sorrows in
bittersweet alcohol. It’s poison. Don’t spend your time looking for the wrong chances. It’s
unhealthy. Wait until the right one comes to you.” He stood up slowly from the barstool, patted
my back, and walked out of the bar between the swinging wooden doors.
I noticed his half-drunk cup of water sitting on the wooden bar; little rivulets of condensation
rolled down the sides, forming a small pool around the bottom of the glass.
I left money for the waitress for the scotch, and drank the water. It was pure and satisfying. I
grabbed my bags and went through the swinging doors. The man was gone. I saw tire marks on
the dirt, which meant that he had driven away, but I didn’t hear his car.
I sat behind the shade of the restaurant sign next to the road and waited for a car to drive by to
take me into town.
settle, unfortunately, making it warmer. There was a fan creaking around in a circle inside the
station’s restaurant. It wasn’t powerful enough to generate any cool breeze, but instead, pushed
around the stale air.
The restaurant was deadly quiet, except for the occasional creak from the fan, or clanking of
dishes in the kitchen. Only one other person was in the restaurant besides me that wasn’t an
employee. He sat in a corner booth near a window with the shade pulled down. For the past hour
he only drank water
I sighed into my glass of scotch as I brought it to my lips. Eleven-thirty. Too early to be drinking.
But did it matter? I had waited long enough for Cecilia to show up, and she had yet to pop her
short brown bob through the swinging wooden doors and call me to her car. She left me here,
alone.
The waitress walked past me at the bar. I nodded at my empty glass, and she nodded back. She
brought me a fresh glass of scotch, filled half-way with cool amber liquid. I figured this time that
if I took my time to suck this one dry, then real-life time would go faster. Because frankly, I
didn’t have anywhere to go. I knew she wasn’t coming, and it was too damn hot outside to hitch
a ride to town forty miles away. She was supposed to come get me, but she left me here.
A soft thud filled the silence, as the man sat on the bar stool next to me, a cup of fresh cold water
in his hand. I was fascinated by the way he looked, realizing that I didn’t see his face when he
was sitting across the room. His hair was dark gray, with light gray tufts growing from his
temples, and a light gray streak of hair ran from the right side of his forehead and back. He had
dark eyes, almost black, surrounded by deep wrinkles in the outer corner. He had high, rounded
cheekbones that stood out from his gaunt cheeks. His lips were wiry, and devoid of color. But
despite his somewhat awkward appearance, he exuded confidence.
He leaned his hand towards my untouched glass and tapped it with his pointer finger.
“How many have you had?”
“This’ll be my third.” I returned the gesture and tapped on his glass of water, “How ‘bout you?”
He chuckled and shook his head, “I haven’t had a drop to drink since I came home from the
second war.”
“No, I meant your water. How much have you had to drink?”
“I know what you meant. You a soldier?”
He caught me off guard; how could he tell? I should have walked away. But I didn’t, as if his
presence held me down.
I nodded, “Yes sir. I’m on leave from Korea. Came home to visit my family, and my girl.” My
abandoned state began to gnaw at my heart. She left me here, alone.
He tapped my glass of scotch again, and then looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow, and
understanding.
“She the reason for this scotch?” I could lie to him; after all, he didn’t know me. Instead I let out
another sigh and shook my head ‘yes.’
He shifted himself on the barstool and smiled, “Oh yes, I remember those days. Three different
girls promised to wait for me, but every time I came home, looking for comfort, I found my ‘girl’
hanging with one of the other soldier boys. It makes you want to go back to war. To lose it all.”
He stared at me, a stern expression on his face. He knew my thoughts, and it scared me. I had
known for quite some time that she was unfaithful to me, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. So I
waited and decided that if she was true, she would come for me. Yet hours had gone by, and the
only thing in sight, as far as my eye could see, was rolling golden hills of dirt and dried grass.
“It hurts, you know?” I pushed my glass around with my finger. “I mean, I go off to fight, and I
see…I see hell on earth. And this is what she does? I’m just tryin’ to be a good guy. She left me
here, alone.”
He took a long sip from his water. It looked so much more refreshing and pure than the scotch I
had poured into my body. He was mysterious. I didn’t know his name, but I wanted to. I didn’t
know anything about him, except his problems were like mine, and that scared me. He hadn’t
said anything for a while. I was tempted to bring up another topic, but he finally spoke.
“You see this water?” he held it up at eye level, “I learned when I got a regular job again that
drinking water, and having that water in your system, is healthier than drowning your sorrows in
bittersweet alcohol. It’s poison. Don’t spend your time looking for the wrong chances. It’s
unhealthy. Wait until the right one comes to you.” He stood up slowly from the barstool, patted
my back, and walked out of the bar between the swinging wooden doors.
I noticed his half-drunk cup of water sitting on the wooden bar; little rivulets of condensation
rolled down the sides, forming a small pool around the bottom of the glass.
I left money for the waitress for the scotch, and drank the water. It was pure and satisfying. I
grabbed my bags and went through the swinging doors. The man was gone. I saw tire marks on
the dirt, which meant that he had driven away, but I didn’t hear his car.
I sat behind the shade of the restaurant sign next to the road and waited for a car to drive by to
take me into town.
Header Photo Credit: Aaron Oliver