The Pool

The day was sunny and the sky was an exhilarating blue that seemed to go on forever. Like a flower that turns its face toward the sun, I felt inspired to worship the sun with my buddy at the local pool. I wore a white pair of swimming trunks that made my skin several shades darker than it really is. My skin reveled in the crisp coldness of the sparkling water followed by the baking rays of the sun. Sun baked bodies were everywhere - draped on wooden loungers, laid out on towels, bobbing about in the water, and splashing off the high dive. I chose to bask on the hot cement, toasting on both sides. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the mingled scents of coconut, lime, and pineapple soda. Suntan lotions wafting from the teaming mass of contented humanity. The lulling susurration of nearby murmured conversation was punctuated by the short excited shrieks of children playing in the distance and the occasional scree of the sea gulls overhead. The day was so lazy and idyllic that time itself seemed to linger and stand still. I felt as if some strange portal had opened onto a distant shoreline, on a faraway world. If I opened my eyes would I see glistening, sandy beaches awash with palm trees and tropical seabirds gliding overhead? Maybe, a view of the gulf from a soaring yacht. But sadly, I was brought back to this mundane reality that it’s me and my friend Jonathan just trying to find a set of pretty women to notice us at the local pool. When I thought I made eye-contact with a keeper, I get up and try to show off like a typical testosterone boosted eighteen year-old, and it is then followed by a smirk and a kiss on her man friend’s left cheek. Of course my first thoughts are, “I could take him…” although that was not the case. He noticed the show I put forth and strolled away with my girl, while my best friend seems to marry his way into a birthday party conga line. Clearly my blood is boiling from the scenario that just took place, so I immediately try to make my way out of the complex. While I strut out to the parking lot, Jonathan finds two vibrant eighteen year olds who reek of chlorine, mascara, and fading Victoria’s Secret perfume. Not that I don’t find myself in total awe for these two angels that plummeted to earth, it’s just an everlasting thought as to why women would fancy up to jump in a pool filled with strangers, sweat, and pizza crumbs. Not that I would tell them that, I’m having a conversation with two babes that’s nearly lasts a solid three minutes. When Sam and Adriana come to the conclusion that my friend and I don’t drive a gas guzzling Porsche that shines like a treasured diamond, they crawl back to the poolside for another round of gossip and tanning. So close to victory and I was shot down. Now I can find my way into the conga line Jonathan is already in the center of, waving me over like a child asking his mother for a Tonka Truck.