We were higher than thin clouds slipping past the moon lantern at the
peak of the black velvet tent of sky. The water was warm as the end of
summer. She grasped my hand with her childlike fingers and led me down
the textured cement steps into the pool’s shallow end, slow enough to
feel the water brush every hair on my legs, fast enough to feel the
weight of water resist and yield as we pushed toward the deep. She
unhooked her bra and tossed it aside with the flair of a silent movie
actress and then she sank out of sight, leaving me alone with the
shadows and bubbles. When she finally did reemerge where I was not
looking, her bare white shoulders made me feel suddenly off-kilter, or
maybe it was the moon. This was the start of my season of not drowning
but just treading water.
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