*Tamper Resistant*

I woke up early today. Tiptoed downstairs. Rattled scoops of dry food into pet bowls. Slurped yogurt and crunched toast. After that I headed for the calendar, knowing I shouldn't. I couldn't help it though. The days and weeks seem to possess some crazy gravitational power. In my defense, I did white-knuckle-grip the kitchen table but in the end, the calendar won. I counted the squares—27. Collapsed onto a kitchen chair. Pressed a cloth handkerchief to my nose. Lately I've made sure there's one in every room.
            In 27 days you, my oldest daughter, will make like John Denver and leave on a jet plane. Fly halfway around the world. For three whole months. To do good things. You'll come back for 30 or 40 days then off you'll go again. For another long, long time.
            I feel as if I've been diagnosed with something awful.
            "It's bad," the doctor in my mind says. "We're going to have to cut out a third of your heart. The other two thirds are fine. For now. They won't have to come out for, let's see . . . three years and seven, respectively."

After lunch I climbed the stairs. Squinted when I passed your little brother's room. He was flopped on his bed, dressed, a pillow over his face. I went to him, laid my hand on his shin. He peeked out, his eyes small and red.
            "What's up, bud?"
            "They wouldn't let me play Capture the Flag," he said.
            I sat beside him and twirled one of his silver-blonde curls around my finger.
            "I'm sorry."
            He rubbed his nose with his palm. "It's not so much they wouldn't let me play," he said. "It's more that— She'll be leaving soon and . . ."  His voice trailed off.
            "It's what's supposed to happen," I told him (and me) as I stroked his lightly furred, 10-year old limbs. "Kids grow up. They start hanging out more with friends than family. Then they go away."
            He buried his face in my side. I scrunched his hair with my berry-colored fingernails.
            "It's normal but that doesn't make it easier, does it?"
            I felt his no against my ribs. We lingered there for a minute. Silent. He pillowed his face again. I patted his leg and stood.
            Out in the hall my nose burned, then my eyes. It didn't take long for them to give up the tears that seem always ready these days. I know I hurt, but my little guy does too?  That feels somehow heavier. My sadness plus his grief equal more.
           

"When you left for college, your dad got depressed."
            I'd smiled when Mom told me that a few years back. "Really?"
            That is so sweet. I'd put my hand over my heart. Imagined his light blue eyes. The way they almost disappeared into the nearby crowsfeet when he smiled. He loved me that much?  Awww.
            Now it’s happening to me. I suppose it's that whole what-goes-around-comes-around thing. I thought about it as I made my latte after lunch. I pressed hard on the tamper. "Apply approximately 30 pounds of pressure," the espresso machine directions said.
            “I'd have to apply way more pressure than 30 pounds to tamp down all the stuff inside me right now,” I told the kitchen. “I'd need to practically put my whole weight to it. To hide it.”

            See, I don't want you to notice how close to the surface my tears are. My fears are. Thing is, this is your time. This is the biggest, best thing you've ever done. Going south of the equator? To teach English to golden children with glossy, no moon night hair? You're looking as forward to your adventure as I am dreading it. I don't want you to worry about me. To feel guilty that I'm such a wreck.
            Sometimes I step into the dining room. Gaze into the mirror over the mantle and smile. Well, I try.

            "I toured Europe for a summer when I was 22," I say. "Now it's your turn." 
            I stand there, mouth hitched up on one side until I think of something else.

            "And your cousin, Rachel?  She's been a nanny in England and Spain. Spent a year in Buenos Aires too. If she can do it, so can you." 
            I came up with another one yesterday. "In eight months all your travelling will be done and you'll be home for good." I cupped both sides of my face and grinned. A minute later I had another thought and my shoulders sagged.
            "But then you'll be off to college," I said. "At least there you'll only be four hours away instead of half a world."
            Half a world away. Where I can't fix you supper, pet your Pantene-scented curls, take care of you if you get sick. What if you get sick, baby?
             Then there were tears. Again. I'd dug my fingertips into my wet eyelids and hissed.

            "I'm not going to drink any more water. Ever. Then you'll go away. Dry up. Right?"

Tonight after supper, I phoned my best friend from high school. She has a grown up girl of her own. I hadn’t planned on sobbing but I did.

            “She'll be fine," my friend said. "She’s a good girl. Super smart. She’ll do fine.”

            I sniffed, nodded, hung up. So she wouldn’t hear my crying hiccups. I decided weeping’s like Advil when I have the flu. It helps for about four hours then the symptoms—tears, runny nose, urge to clutch at my heart—return. When I’m heartsick, the tears are always there, simmering, just below the surface. Threatening to uncurl my eyelashes and wend little creeks through my blush.
            Oh, heaven’s. Look at the time. It's after midnight now. You know what that means, don't you?  Just 26 more days.

The Swimming Hole

We knew the swimming hole was nearby, but where? We passed the Esso station and that's when we spotted the boys. Lounging in the shade. Suzy whipped her Volkswagen into the driveway. Laura Jane ducked between the split rails and sashayed over to them. In her white bikini and short shorts. 

            "Well, now,” the biggest boy said. “What have we here?  I seen that same sorta swing on a back porch once."
            Laura fiddled with her long, almost black hair.

            "You boys familiar with the secret swimming hole?"
            "You mean the filled-up strip mine?" the smallest one said. He was cute. Kinda resembled John Denver.
            The older guys all squinted and I sensed a crackle in the air. Little John Denver grinned up at Laura Jane and pointed toward the woods.
            "See that rusty oil drum over yonder?  When y'all get to it, keep your eyes peeled 'cause the turn's soon after."
            The biggest boy shoved Little John. "Aw, man!  Why'd you do that?  We don't want no girls up there."
            "Says who?" John said. He turned back to Laura. "I’ll take y'all up, if you want."
            His name was actually Danny.
            "Why's it called the strip mine?" I said from the back.
            "'Cause that's what it used to be,” Danny said. "When the coal ran out, they flooded it." He turned around. "Wait 'til you see it. The water's the coolest color ever."
            Danny led us up the peanut butter fudge path. Held back brambly branches so we wouldn't scratch our shaved that morning legs. All of a sudden we stood at the edge of a sandstone cliff, twenty some feet over opaque, Mountain Dew-looking water.
            I gulped. "How do you—”
            And then I was hurtling through the air.

            “Dang it, Danny!”

            I backstroked over and over. Tried to . . . I don't know . . . Make it back to the cliff's edge?
            When I hit the water my mouth slammed shut. When I opened my eyes I spied white through the neon murk. I aimed my efforts at the light. The air. Moments later I broke through the surface like a baby being born. Spun around trying to locate the three of them. They waved from way up there.

            I cupped my hand and circled it over and over toward me. "Come on! Jump! What are y’all? Chicken?"
           

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This post is a shortened version of "The Best Part Is Jumping In" which ran last year on my blog.

Today's post is for a linked in party over at http://writeonedge.com/.

*The Best Part Is Jumping In*

They say it's gonna be a scorcher today.  Wanna go swimming?  I know the perfect place.  The water is so beautiful, it looks toxic.  Like a cocktail of Midori and Blue Curacao.  Sort of like if you mixed a blue raspberry and a lime Slush Puppy. 

            The water temperature's always just right.  Not so cold your heart stops when you get in, but not warm as a summer puddle either.

            The best part is jumping in, but first you have to climb the rocky, dry path.  Watch out for the pull tabs though.  They'll slice your foot right open.  Make you bleed like nuts.  Take turns watching where you're going and glancing down.  A tetanus shot might be a good idea too.  In case you get cut.  Or bit.

For starters, you gotta know the way.  Keep your eye out for a big ole farmhouse, white with dark green shutters, on the left. The property looks like a farm. Has a split rail fence around the front yard and a barn in the back. 

            My girlfriends and I always stopped to see the guys who hung out there.  They were wild.  Cute too.  In that I'm-bad-and-I-might-just-ask-you-to-be-bad kinda way.  They lived life more outdoors than in.  Up at the swimming hole.  Out in the woods.  Down on the river bank.
            They took us in the barn once and I saw one of the scariest things ever.  Saddest too.  They had a pit bull in there.  Back before it was cool.  Before Michael Vick got caught.  They couldn't let it out 'cause it was crazy vicious.  It'd kill anything with four legs. 
            It was the guys' fault.  They made the dog that way.  Taught it to hate all animals.  They'd take a rag and use it to pick up something dead.  Then they'd beat the tar out of the dog with it.  They started small and worked their way up.  Squirrels to possums to groundhogs.
            The dog got out once.  Took down a goat.  After that, they put one of those super mean collars on him with big spikes that dug into his neck if he made a wrong move.  Chained him inside the barn.  I never understood why the dog hated the animals the boys beat him with.  Why didn't the dog hate them?  Heck, why didn't we?

The wild boys were the ones who showed us the swimming hole.  We'd heard about it but we weren't sure where it was.  All we knew was to cross the bridge from West Virginia to Ohio and turn right.  After that, the gravel road up the mountain would be somewhere near a gas station. 
            We passed the Esso station and that's when we spotted the boys.  Sitting at a picnic table out in the yard, in the shade.  Suzy pulled her car into the driveway.  We sent Laura Jane over to ask for directions.  Boys'll tell her anything.             

            Laura ducked between the top and middle split rail and sashayed over to the boys in her white bikini and blue jean short shorts. 

            The biggest guy whistled.  "Well, well, well," he said. "What have we here?  I seen that same sorta swing on a back porch once."
            From the car, we watched Laura flash her Ultra-Brite smile.  The windows were down so we could hear her too. She flipped her almost black, bra strap-length hair and said, "You boys know where the secret swimming hole is?"
            "You mean the filled-up strip mine?" the youngest one said.  I thought he was good looking.  Kinda reminded me of John Denver, only smaller.
            The other boys seemed to tense up.  Their eyes got all squinty.  Like they were miffed.  Little John Denver ignored them.  He grinned up at Laura Jane, stretched out his arm, and pointed.
            "Go back the way you came but drive real slow," he said.  "In between here and the Esso,  you'll see a rusty oil drum.  When y'all get to it, keep your eyes peeled 'cause the turn's right beyond it."
            The biggest boy shoved Little John.  "Aw, man!  Why'd you do that?  We don't want no girls up there."

            "Says who?" Little John said.  He turned back to Laura.  "I can take y'all up, if you want."

Our new friend's name was actually Danny.
            "Why's it called the strip mine?" I said from the back seat.
            "'Cause that's what it used to be," Danny said.  "When there was no more coal, they flooded it."
            He turned to look at me.  "Wait 'til you see it.  The water's the coolest color ever."
            He led us up the steep, granola-looking trail.  Held back brambly branches so we wouldn't scratch our shaved that morning legs.  All of a sudden, the path ended.  We stood at the edge of a sandstone cliff, twenty or more feet over the opaque and aqua water.  The Mountain Dew in my stomach simmered.
            I peeked over the edge.  "How do you get down to the water?" 
            I can't believe I asked that.  I slapped my hands over my ears 'cause I didn't wanna know the answer. Heard him anyway.
           "You jump, silly."
            I pursed my lips and swallowed the jawbreaker-feeling lump in my throat. Danny took a step toward me.  I blinked.  Before I knew it, I was hurtling through the air.  Beside Danny.  I backstroked, over and over.  Trying to . . . I don't know.  Save myself?  Make it back to the cliff's edge?
            When I hit the water, my eyes and mouth slammed shut.  I felt my hair float over my head as I sank.  I opened my eyes and saw the light through the teal murk above me.  I pushed water down to get up.  To the light.  To the air.
            I broke through the water's surface like a baby being born.  Whipped my head around. Tried to locate Suzy and Laura Jane.  They waved from way up there.  My legs fluttered beneath me like beaters on a mixer.  I cupped my hand and circled it over and over, toward me.
            "Come on!  Jump in!  The water's awesome!"
            I spotted Danny.  He was floating on his back about ten feet away.  Eyes squeezed shut, mouth in a goofy grin.  I stretched out and did the same.  Pulled little puffs of air into my lungs so I could stay on top of the water.
            "I love this place, Danny," I said, even though I wasn't sure he could hear me. "It's perfect."