Saving Ruth (14 page)

“I guess.”

“The thing you need to be thinkin' about is that you saved a little girl from drowning. Ruthie. That's a big fucking deal. Excuse my language.”

I drained the bottom of my cup with my straw. “It is a big fucking deal, you're right.” He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him.

We gazed at each other for a moment. “Do you think it's weird to be out on a date together?” I asked.

“I do. But not bad weird.”

“No, definitely not bad weird. Good weird, even.” I both wanted and didn't want him to kiss me. “The band!” I announced, a little too loudly, removing myself from his side.

“Yes, ma'am. I'll get us two more drinks and we'll move closer, okay?”

“Okay.” Why did I have to be such a spaz? Tony had always made fun of me.
Damn girl, you are jumpy as hell
, he would say, and pass me a joint.

Chris held up our drinks in victory and handed me mine before helping me off my stool. He moved ahead of me slightly, extending his hand backwards to lead me through the crowd.

“D
id you like 'em?” asked Chris after a full set, encore, and three Jack and Cokes.

“I really did!” I swayed slightly.

“Whoa there, lady!” He put his arm around my waist to steady me. “You all right?”

“Yeah, maybe just a little drunk, though.” He made the
I want to kiss you
face—his eyes almost misty and then, as he got closer to my lips, slightly crossed.

“You can kiss me if you want, Chris,” I whispered.

He kissed my forehead instead. “You killed the moment. Can't do it now. Let's get out of here. I don't want your pops to skin me alive.”

Later, as he pulled into my driveway, I popped my third mint. I was sure my dad would smell me coming from a mile away. Chris turned off the engine.

“I had a nice time with you tonight, Ruth.”

“Me too. Can I ask you something, though?” I was emboldened by the whiskey coursing through my veins.

“Shoot.”

“Did you ever want to ask me out before this summer?”

“Sure, I thought about it. But this town is so small. I didn't feel like dealing with the gossip. Or David.”

“C'mon, you can tell the truth, Chris.”

“What?”

“I wasn't pretty before.”

He furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“I wasn't pretty before,” I said, slower this time. “I was fat.”

“Ruth, you were always pretty. The skinny thing is new, yeah, but that's not why I asked you out.”

“Not even a little?”

He was flustered. “I mean, you look great, yeah, but I don't think I consciously registered the skinny thing.” He shook his head. “You're being rude, I think.”

“I'm sorry, Chris. I just wanted to know, I guess. I've always been attracted to you, but never would have thought you'd be attracted to me. I was just curious.”

“That's messed up that you would even ask me that.”

“I know, I'm sorry. I'm drunk.”

“You were always attracted to me?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Didn't you know that?”

“Nope.” He moved toward me, but this time I kept my mouth shut. His lips on mine felt nice. Like warm, spearmint pillows. I had imagined kissing him a thousand times but had never really taken into account the physicality of it. I was kissing him, yes, but it was more like I was watching him kiss me instead of actually engaging. He put his hand on my waist, and I jumped.

“Whoa, you okay?”

“I better get inside.” I had felt my stomach folding over my waistband where he had touched me. “Give me a call.”

“I will.” He smoothed my hair back from my face. “ 'Night, Ruth.”

“G'night.” I got out, stumbling a little, and made my way carefully to the back door.

15

O
ut on the road today, I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac. . . . A little voice inside my hea—

“Everybody out!” Dana's raspy voice over the loudspeaker jackhammered my Don Henley moment to bits. Jason was a huge fan of classic rock, so 104.5 FM was our summer soundtrack. It didn't matter where I was the rest of the year, if a Led Zeppelin or Genesis song came on, I was instantly transported back to heat, the smell of Doritos, and the sound of splashing water.

“Awww, man!” yelled a couple of kids in the shallow end who were engaged in a heated match of water basketball. I blew my whistle, and they looked up at me in anger.

“Move it or lose it, boys.” I hopped off the stand as they swam to the steps. It had been a long day of sun, and now we had our first swim meet. Usually, meets were held on Thursdays, but in light of the accident, we had closed the pool the day before and moved the meet to today, Friday. The other team had graciously complied, for which we were incredibly grateful. Getting thirty to forty kids and their parents to rearrange their schedules on twenty-four hours' notice was no small miracle.

It had been a strange day at work—quiet even. No one had really spoken about Tanisha, but the accident hung in the air. I mean, what had I expected to happen—a surprise party thrown in my honor?
Congratulations, Ruth! She's alive!
scribbled on a sheet cake? The truth was that I had been secretly looking forward to some sort of fuss being made over me. Maybe a parent or two commending me on my valor or asking for a photo. Alas, nothing. Now, if David had done the saving, that would have been a different story. There would have been a parade, balloons, a band—the works.

We had canceled practice that morning because of the meet, and David and I hadn't talked about our approach—hadn't spoken at all, actually, since he had run into Chris in our kitchen. The thought of seeing him now added a layer of anxiety on top of the nervousness I felt about unleashing my timid little guppies into the world of competition.

As I made my way into the snack bar area, my stomach screeched like a cat in heat. I had overslept and missed my run that morning, so I had skipped lunch.
Tit for tat.
Now I was starving. The smart thing to do would have been to call home and ask my mom to make me a salad and run it down to me. I decided to do the stupid thing and eat my weight in Skittles. Easy energy. I ripped open a bag and emptied a handful into my mouth.

“Y'all gonna use the flags tonight?” asked Dana. She turned the radio dial to pop, and Peter Gabriel was replaced by Ke$ha.

“I love her!” she howled.

“Really?” I swallowed a giant glob of rainbow-colored sugar. “I think she's trashy. And not talented.”

“You're such a tight-ass, Wasserman. This isn't Pop 101. Just enjoy the song, girl!” She shook her tan hips, which peeked out over the very low waistband of her hot pink athletic shorts.

I took a swig of water from my bottle. “We are using the flags. Jason and David should be here any minute, but let's go ahead and string those across now.”

I looked at the clock. We had an hour and a half to transform the place from unassuming neighborhood pool into official competition zone.

Making this happen involved pulling the heat board and timers out of the storage closet, unfurling the lanes, rigging the sound system so that the race announcer would replace the music, turning our normal snack bar into Snack Bar 2.0, and setting up two tents for the teams to sit, eat, nap, and play cards under. I remembered those tents from my own days as a swim team kid. We'd lay our towels out underneath according to our social caste and then settle our backpacks, goggles, and swim caps all around us just so. I was always on the fringe of the cool kids—not disliked but not exactly liked either. David, on the other hand, was a god. I would sit on my towel in between heats, hungrily eyeing another kid's Little Debbie snacks and self-consciously adjusting my suit over my round tummy while David held court in the very center of The Cool Kingdom, calmly listening to his Walkman as everyone around him clamored for his approval.

The next hour was a whirlwind of preparation. Before I knew it, we had a half-hour left before go-time. Most of my little ones had already arrived. I looked up from putting the final touches on the heat board to find them encircling Tyler and whispering to each other excitedly. I realized that they were talking about the accident, as Tyler was the only one who had actually witnessed the fabled event. He pointed to the deep end for reference as he spoke. I wondered how tangled the story had become in less than forty-eight hours. It was like that game “Telephone” we used to play at slumber parties. You'd start with something like
Monkeys like bananas
and end up with
Kerry is a slut.
The older kids trudged in one by one, reeking of McDonald's, J Lo perfume, and hormones.

“I was thinking we should have a little team meeting. You know, talk about the accident real quick and get it out of the way,” said David, appearing rather suddenly at my side. He was soaked with sweat from the tent setup, his white T-shirt smudged with rust and dirt.

“Sure, that sounds good.”

“All right, come on.” He blew his whistle, and all of the kids came to attention.
David Wasserman: Swim Team Whisperer.
He motioned to them to follow us to the tent.

“Hey, guys,” he said. They had settled their towels and gazed at us expectantly. “We wanted to talk to you about the accident.”

“Just to get it out of the way,” I added.

“Yeah, I'm sure you've probably heard all sorts of rumors,” said David.

“Did a kid drown?” asked Derrick, his voice cracking.

“Nobody drowned. Ruth saved her.”

“Good job, Coach Ruth!” exclaimed Julie, standing up from the picnic table. She began to clap, and everyone followed along. The little ones jumped up and wiggled around in excitement, elated by the energy.

Embarrassed that the recognition I had been hoping for was coming from six-year-olds, I motioned with my hands for them to stop. “Thanks, guys. That's really sweet of you. I'm just glad she's okay.”

“Was it scary?” asked Tabitha.

“You know, I'm sure it was, but I had to move so quickly that I don't even really remember. I saw her go under, and then that was it. I dove in and swam over as quickly as I could.”

“It was a black girl, right?” asked Julie.

“It was,” I answered.

“Figures,” mumbled Derrick.

“What the hell does that mean?” snapped David angrily. The little ones gasped at his language.

“Uh, it means whatever.”

“And what does ‘whatever' mean?”

“Nothin'. Forget it.”

“I'd like to know what it means, Derrick,” I added. “I really would.”

“It means that black people can't swim,” he answered finally. Tyler snickered beside him.

“Oh, is that so?” I asked. “Is that the way it is? No black people can swim? It's just a rule?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Derrick, you are so dumb,” said Julie. “Seriously. That is so rude.”

“Derrick, why would you say something like that?” asked David.

“I dunno.” He picked at his towel. The pimples on his face glowed as his face reddened.

“What do you mean, you don't know?” I asked.

“It's just what I think, okay? I can have an opinion.”

“Yes, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but ignorant talk like that won't be tolerated here. You got that?”

“And anyway, if black people can't swim, how do you explain the black families who belong to the pool, dumb-ass?” asked Julie.

“They shouldn't be here, anyway. That's what my dad says.”

“What is this, 1955? Everybody is welcome here, Derrick. Your dad is wrong.” My voice shook.

“Don't talk about my dad!”

“All right, everybody take it easy,” interjected David. “Derrick, you need to keep your opinions to yourself. Period. Especially if they have no basis in fact whatsoever.”

“Ooooooooooh,” murmured the older kids. “He told you.” A few of the little ones giggled, but most of them kept their eyes locked on me, confused about how to react properly to the tension.

“The fact is, a lot of kids can't swim, and Tanisha just happened to be one of them. She was here with the Kiddy Kare group and somehow wandered away from them,” explained David. “She didn't almost drown because she was black, she almost drowned because she broke the rules and left her teachers.”

Derrick looked bored. I wanted to knock that pathetic mustache right off of his pimply face. If all black people couldn't swim, what was it that all Jews did? Drink the blood of children at their Passover seders? Once, in elementary school, my father had visited my class to speak about the holiday, and my teacher had asked him that very question. I would always remember the look of horror on my dad's face as he attempted to explain that
no, no, Mrs. Moron, that is not the case at all.

“Is she okay? The little girl?” asked Ali.

“We saw her yesterday at the hospital, and she was fine,” answered David. “We just wanted to clear the air in case you had any questions or anything. We're all okay.” I nodded. How come David and I weren't taking Derrick aside right now and arguing the racism out of him? Were we lazy or just realistic? “Everybody stretch out and get ready. We have a swim meet to win!” The kids grinned halfheartedly. Our odds of winning were slim to none.

David and I walked away, and I punched his arm softly. “Nice work back there.”

“How come we're the ones responsible for talking some sense into these kids? What does that say about their parents and their prejudices? I felt like I was talking out of my ass.”

“Nah, your mouth.”

He grinned at me. “Very funny.”

H
ours later, after we had been soundly trounced by the Fairhope Flounders and the last chlorine-soaked kid and bedraggled parent had driven away, David, Jason, and I surveyed the damage. Everything had to be put back the way it was. I guzzled a Diet Coke and gnawed on a hotdog bun for energy.

“Shit,” said Jason.

“Tell me about it,” answered David. “Well, the sooner we get this over with the better. Ruth, as soon as you finish that nutritious meal packed with essential vitamins and minerals, why don't you start on the flags and stuff? Jason and I will get the tents.” I opened up my mouth to reveal a glob of white dough.

“Nice. Very nice.”

I made my way through my various chores, thinking about my college friends. What was Meg doing right now? And Tony? A million bucks said that they were not hosing pizza barf off of a pool deck. I had emailed and texted a bit with Meg since we had left, but that was it. She had threatened to come visit, but I had pushed her off. I liked my life to exist in separate compartments, like a TV dinner tray.

“Man, I am tired,” announced Jason as we all sat slumped on the picnic benches.

“Me too,” mumbled David. I sat with my head on my right forearm, staring through a crack in the table at a family of ants crawling along the wet sidewalk below.

Jason grabbed change from the cash box and walked over to the drink machine. “Listen, the board wants to have a meeting about what went down with Tanisha,” he said with his back to us. David and I looked at each other. The board consisted of a few parents and the family of the pool's original founders.

“Shit, man, why?” asked David.

“Dude, why do you think? A kid almost drowned here. They want to hear about what happened and figure out this whole Kiddy Kare mess.”

“Are Tanisha's parents thinking about suing?” I asked.

“I dunno, Ruthie. I guess there have been some rumblings about that.” My stomach churned. “Anyway, it's at five next Wednesday night at Miss Carol's house. I see from your schedules that both of y'all can make it, so that's that.”

“Why can't we just call her Carol, for God's sake?” I asked, annoyed.

“Oh, cool Yankee girl with her Yankee ways,” teased Jason.

“How is that a Yankee thing? I mean, it's ridiculous. ‘Miss Carol.' Seriously?” Jason burped loudly in response.

“Hey, Jason, I got a question for you,” said David.

“Shoot.”

“That wall over there, between the bathrooms. It's so blah, man.” Jason and I redirected our gazes to the aqua wall.

“Yeah. And . . . ?” said Jason.

“Well, I was thinkin' about painting a mural there, if that was okay with you. And with the board and stuff.”

“A mural?” Jason laughed. “That's some Da Vinci shit! Wheredya get that idea?”

“I dunno, I just thought of it. I've always messed around with drawing and painting and stuff, you know that.” I watched him curiously, surprised by his request. He had been very into drawing and painting growing up—taking some classes at the community college on the weekends when he wasn't playing soccer and, of course, since there was nothing he did that he didn't excel at, winning a few contests in the process—but I thought he had since moved on. Our parents hadn't exactly encouraged a fine arts major. He gnawed on the cuticle of his right thumb.

“Hmmm.” Jason stood up. “Well, what would you paint? Some kids in the pool? A giant portrait of me?” He looked at me. “Ruth's ass?”

“You're a regular comedian. David's good. I swear. I think it's a cool idea,” I said. David gave me a smile as thanks.

“I'm sure he's good, Ruthie—it's not that. I just wonder what the board will say. And when would you work on it anyway, David? After work?”

“Yeah, sure, whenever I can fit it in. And you know, I'd paint stuff that has to do with the pool. I wouldn't do anything weird.”

“All right, I'll just tell the board. Screw asking. They've got enough on their plate right now with this Tanisha business. You're right, it would spruce up the joint.”