Reunion
Reunion
by Kurt Reichenbaugh
“Is someone going to say when to go?” I asked. “How will we know when to go?”
I stood nude on the block, shivering. The pool in front of me was a sheet of black mirror; twenty five yards in length, twelve and a half in width. The only light came from a slit of moon above and the nearby streetlamps. My clothes were folded in a haphazard stack over my shoes on the pitted cement deck behind me. The tie they put me in, a gaudy mix of red and maroon back when I bought it, lay draped over the white shirt and dress slacks. I would not have chosen to go under in that tie. Someone must have thought it went nicely with my pallor.
“This isn’t fair. How am I supposed to see the wall at the other end without the lights on?”
No one said anything. My muscles began to cramp in the cold.
“Isn’t someone going to say something?”
“Sure,” Coach answered as he stepped up onto the pool’s edge. “Like how about you shutting the hell up.”
“I’m ready.” Kenny got up on the block next to mine, loosening his arms, shaking out his legs. “Lane four, just like always. Remember?”
“Look,” I said. “I’m not sure about this anymore. I’m out of shape. I haven’t been in a pool in years. I don’t think I could even do a hundred yards now.”
I sensed someone behind me. A lane judge, maybe? I couldn’t tell who and had just turned my head to see when I heard the leathery whickering sound coming at me. I tried dodging it when the cold sting of the belt whipped across my back. Its buckle snapped against my shoulder blade, a white slash of pain. I jolted upright and lost my balance. As I fell into the cold water my right elbow barked against the dry grit of the starting block.
I flailed to the surface of the water. No danger of drowning, of course, we were all beyond that. But feeling pain, being broken, maimed, that was different.
“Pull him out of there,” Coach ordered. I was grabbed by the arm and hoisted out of the water onto the ledge. I rubbed my elbow, bending it slowly.
“Get up,” Coach ordered. “You’re not hurt. Besides, we’re all here because of you. Remember that. This is your big night.”
I climbed back up on to the starter’s block. The night air bit into me and my legs started shaking. I fought against a shameful loss of bladder control; something that surprised me.
Coach stepped up onto the ledge of the pool. “You think we can continue now?”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust my voice not to break in front of them.
“And don’t worry. We ain’t gonna count that as a false start,” Kenny said. “You were pushed.”
Coach held up a stop watch in one of his spidery hands. In the dark I could see the white of his shirt, split by his dark tie, supporting his clay-colored head. He’d shrunken terribly in the years since I’d seen him last. I’d heard that cancer had taken him.
“This will be 100 yards butterfly, gentlemen. That’s four lengths of the pool. Start at my signal. Swimmers ready?” He leaned forward. I nodded.
“Judges ready?” He raised a starter’s gun.
“Swimmers, take your mark.”
Kenny and I both assumed diving stances. My right arm felt stiff, my legs now visibly shaking. My belly hung in loose folds from years of rich food and a sedentary life. The water below lapped at the wall below me.
I tried to keep my balance on the tilting block.