when I lifeguard
When I lifeguard, I dream about drownings. I always see the victims from above; they're completely still, lying at the bottom of the pool.
Adam, another counselor, the hipster of Camp Pathway with long, curly brown hair, bandanas, skinny jeans, and the kind of band junkie who, when you get close enough, you can hear humming a fast, drum beat, was life guarding. I wasn't in the pool room; I was standing out in the hallway that runs parallel to the pool. People began running past me, paramedics and policemen and other counselors. And then I saw the body from the bird's-eye-view that always accompanies these dreams. The body was long, lean, and tan, a young teenage boy, a volunteer for the week, I think; his name was Cullen. He was pronounced dead.
And then, I was at the pool again; this time I must have been guarding. Normally, Isaac, my older brother, wouldn't be swimming at the camp pool, but he was there, wearing exactly what I saw him in last; a white t-shirt and shorts. He was lying completely still against the white tile of the pool's bottom, covered by the green salt water. I knew he was drowning and I knew I could save him. Just reach down, grab his shirt and pull, I thought. I reached down, miscalculated the distance to him, and his shirt slipped through my hand. Try again, I thought with complete confidence that I could reach him. This time I got a good hold on his t-shirt and pulled him free of the binding water.
I continued life-guarding. But moments later, I saw another still body at the bottom of the pool, just lying there, immobile and limbs spread limp. I can do this again, I thought. I can save her. It was one of my campers, Jillian, the little drama queen who stole people's hearts despite her frequent ploys for attention. She was wearing her two-piece bathing suit in white, black, and teal. Her body was resting next to the side of the pool, directly by the steel ladder that led out of the pool. This time I jumped into the pool and then plunged my hand below the water, reaching out to grab her. And then I don't remember what happened. I think I grabbed her and pulled her out, but I'm not sure.
The scariest part of these dreams of drownings is that even though I see the person, reach in, and even succeed in pulling them out; I don't have any memory of them talking or moving when I finally get them out, and while they are in the water, they are always completely still. There is no distressed swimmer, no flailing, no screaming. Am I too late? Are the figures at the bottom of the pool already dead? Has the water that holds them filled their lungs, cutting off their sight, hearing, movement, lifeblood? When I pull them from the water, am I no longer guarding a life? am I simply guarding a body?
Adam, another counselor, the hipster of Camp Pathway with long, curly brown hair, bandanas, skinny jeans, and the kind of band junkie who, when you get close enough, you can hear humming a fast, drum beat, was life guarding. I wasn't in the pool room; I was standing out in the hallway that runs parallel to the pool. People began running past me, paramedics and policemen and other counselors. And then I saw the body from the bird's-eye-view that always accompanies these dreams. The body was long, lean, and tan, a young teenage boy, a volunteer for the week, I think; his name was Cullen. He was pronounced dead.
And then, I was at the pool again; this time I must have been guarding. Normally, Isaac, my older brother, wouldn't be swimming at the camp pool, but he was there, wearing exactly what I saw him in last; a white t-shirt and shorts. He was lying completely still against the white tile of the pool's bottom, covered by the green salt water. I knew he was drowning and I knew I could save him. Just reach down, grab his shirt and pull, I thought. I reached down, miscalculated the distance to him, and his shirt slipped through my hand. Try again, I thought with complete confidence that I could reach him. This time I got a good hold on his t-shirt and pulled him free of the binding water.
I continued life-guarding. But moments later, I saw another still body at the bottom of the pool, just lying there, immobile and limbs spread limp. I can do this again, I thought. I can save her. It was one of my campers, Jillian, the little drama queen who stole people's hearts despite her frequent ploys for attention. She was wearing her two-piece bathing suit in white, black, and teal. Her body was resting next to the side of the pool, directly by the steel ladder that led out of the pool. This time I jumped into the pool and then plunged my hand below the water, reaching out to grab her. And then I don't remember what happened. I think I grabbed her and pulled her out, but I'm not sure.
The scariest part of these dreams of drownings is that even though I see the person, reach in, and even succeed in pulling them out; I don't have any memory of them talking or moving when I finally get them out, and while they are in the water, they are always completely still. There is no distressed swimmer, no flailing, no screaming. Am I too late? Are the figures at the bottom of the pool already dead? Has the water that holds them filled their lungs, cutting off their sight, hearing, movement, lifeblood? When I pull them from the water, am I no longer guarding a life? am I simply guarding a body?
Comments
Post a Comment