The Last Drop of Summer

Metal clanked against metal as Gillian slammed the latch, closing the chain-link fence. Her little brother Mikey had already peeled off his shirt and dropped it on the concrete, making a beeline for the water. The public pool pulsed with the energy of a hundred kids hell-bent on squeezing every last drop of summer out of the weekend. The first day of school lurked close by, ready to snatch them back into hot classrooms and homework assignments.

Rows of cheap plastic lounge chairs lined the sides of the in-ground pool. Some were pushed together, side-by-side like the twin beds at Grandma’s house. Others stuck out at jagged angles, shoved out of place by a long day of careless hands and feet. Most were occupied, bowing slightly under the weight of sunburned parents and wet towels.

Gillian scanned the area, hunting for the least disgusting place to sit. The first option looked soaked. Too deep within the splash zone. Another looked promising until she spotted a sticky stain smeared across the seat. She wasn't interested in finding out what had made it. A third waited in the back corner. Dry. Mostly clean. Closer to the deep end of the pool than she would have liked, but it would have to do.

She kept her head down, stepping around puddles and avoiding eye contact as she made her way to the chair. The smell of sunscreen cooking on boiled skin thickened her throat. A seagull squawked overhead, sounding an alarm that the ocean was nearby. Behind her, the unmistakable cackle of Mrs. Attersley swelled through the humid air. “Sharp as a train whistle and loud enough to wake the dead,” her dad used to say. Mrs. Attersley’s favorite topic was the wonderful world of her daughter, the amazing Ashley Attersley. A conversation only slightly less appealing than gulping down a mouthful of kid-polluted pool water.

The chair creaked and popped as Gillian sat down, threatening to collapse despite her thin frame. Tiny bits of dry rust flaked off the armrest and clung to her skin. She swept them off as she looked over the pool, spotting Mikey’s head bobbing up from under the water. He’d already made a new friend and was demonstrating the subtle art of the underwater handstand.

The rest of the kids continued their usual splishing and splashing, turning the pool into an abstract mess of child-sized body parts. An arm here. A leg there. Random heads trying violently to shake water out of their ears. Dr. Frankenstein would have a field day. As if kids needed any assistance with becoming monsters.

Gillian rested her head back in a vain attempt to find relaxation. To her left a child started screaming after falling on the wet concrete and skinning her knee. Another was in the midst of a full mental breakdown because his sister had the red ball and he needed the red ball and if he didn’t get the red ball he just couldn’t go on with his life. Each new piece of noise seemed to stick to the previous one like mud. It thickened the inside of her ears, pressing deeper with each heartbeat.

Beneath it all the ocean started rising. Waves pulsed against the back of her skull, each bigger than the last. The sea inside her head swelled, threatening to drown the world around her in its undertow. Arms slick with seaweed inched down her spine, paralyzing her. Forcing her obedience. Forcing her to remember.

More coming soon…