Grass, fresh cut. Gasoline, slight, left from the mower - it's exhaust swirls into the thick heat. Up into the blue. Asphalt twinkles. The shade finds itself inseparable from the dankness of moss and moisture-rich dirt, still damp from yesterday's afternoon thunderstorm. Damp but warm.
Chink Chink Chink Cheecheecheechee...In the distance, the sound of neighbors sprinklers overlap. Trying to keep lawns green.
Summers in Louisiana were always the same.
Most of the time we were dropped off at the Ruston Country Club pool. Left to amuse ourselves with endless games of mermaid, corn dogs from the grill inside where the fake carpet, green and wiry, smelled like mildew and chlorine, and tirelessly trying to make the lifeguard's job harder than it should've been.
Other times, particularly when we were younger, and Mom was working, Mama would take us to the pool at the Holiday Inn. Somewhat freakishly the water was always almost too cold there, but a fountain in the middle made up for it. Mama, in her sensible grandmotherly one-piece, would wade in only until the water came up to her hips.
But it was the days when we weren't scheduled to visit a pool that were the hottest. It was those days when we wanted to swim the most.
Cecile and I would try to make do by setting up the battered Slip 'n Slide with the old green water hose. We arranged it on a near vertical slope that had us crashing face first into a pit of mud when we got to the bottom.
That was always shortlived.
Plan B involved setting up the sprinkler so that it rotated back and forth across the trampoline.
Chink Chink Chink Cheecheecheechee...
Blonde ponytails flew above the crowns of our heads as we bounced higher and higher.
The higher we bounced, the better we could see the pool next door.
Our neighbors, an older couple, Mr. and Mrs. Mars - Dale and Ginny, rarely used their pool. Mr. Mars would swim laps early in the morning. The rest of the day the crystal water remained still.
We jumped up, up, wet ponys slapping against the back of our necks as we landed and flinging water out as we went back up. Jealous of that diving board - and oh, that spectacular slide.
A plan, devised.
"What are you getting that ball for?"
"You'll see."
Heave. Launch. Red plastic orb soars over water-soaked wooden planks and splashes into the sacred lagoon.
"Now, we have to go get our ball."
I traipse across the front yard, with Cecile on my tail, straight to the Mars' front door. (We've attempted mislead by changing into clothes instead of leaving on our swimsuits.)
Mr. Mars answers, takes a look at us and smiles. He knows what we are up to, but plays along.
"Hi girls, how are you today?"
"Our ball accidentally went over the fence. Can we go look for it?"
"Of course," he says, leading us to the back door.
"There it is, in the pool!" Cecile says, stifling a giggle.
We put on a good show of pretending like we have to reach and stretch far over to get to it, and then, we both "fall in."
As always, Mr. Mars suggests that since we are already wet, and it's so hot out, that we stay for a while and enjoy the pool.
My mom always got mad at me for doing this, but she also thought it was rude to
ask the Mars' if we could swim.
What was I to do?
