The Deep End

            Naked little girls should learn to control themselves. They run and fall, run and fall on the wet tiles, screaming and giggling like little princesses in distress while they smack their bare butts on the floor. The best part is when their pretty ponytails bounce as they hit the ground, every blonde curl taking flight and moving to the rhythm of their jingling ankle bracelets. I like to watch them jump around from behind my towel fort in the corner of the room.  I saw Ella from my class set up her towel like this when I walked past her row of lockers, except hers was made out of a zebra towel and it had some weird red stain on it. Also, I saw her top parts, so it wasn’t a very good towel fort. Being a bare butt princess is not my cup of tea; it’s gross and, well, it’s just gross. Wearing a sparkly green Ariel bathing suit is my cup of apple juice though; it’s awesome and everyone is jealous when you have it! Even Ella’s bathing suit isn’t this cool—I saw her pulling some Sleeping Beauty two-piece over her curls. My mom says that two-pieces are for girls who like exposing themselves … gross. That is definitely my cup of tea.
             “Taylor! Are you ready?” I wasn’t. I was still pulling up my bathing suit extra carefully over my top parts when Ella bounced towards me and stopped about a half a decimetre away, her curly bangs blocking my sight of the strange naked girls. We learned about decimetres in class last Friday, and this was definitely a half decimetre, which meant that Ella was for sure close enough to stare over my towel fort. “Uh, no, not yet Ella–just let me finish getting changed.” Ella’s head bobbed with a smile as she pirouetted back to her locker. Mom said making friends would make it easier to survive this week. She said, “Little girls are the easiest to make friends with, Taylor, just be yourself and you’ll survive!” I sure hope I’ll survive because I was not planning on letting day camp kill me this year. It’s my birthday next month and I want to be alive so I can have cake and a party at Ruckers! “Ella, I’m ready!”
            Her hand was really soft, almost like when you pet a cat except not hairy. I don’t like cats. Ella’s eyes grew as she pointed towards the golden letters directing us down the hallway: “POOL THIS WAY”. Alright, let’s go. Our fingers tangled tighter, my bitten nails coiling around her pink heart decals as we filed by twos with all the other naked girls who were now wearing Disney princess bathing suits. Into the creepy hallway we go … two by two, two by two. With each step closer, a new pair of girls would scream and giggle. It reminded me of a haunted house, expecting to turn the corner and find some zombie bride with laser eyes and pointy finger nails come clawing at us. The two blonde heads in front of us yelped and bolted through the door at the end of the tunnel, out of sight … and that’s when I saw them. Four big monsters, hairy and wrinkled, drooping underneath the shower heads. Naked ladies! Big, old, naked ladies! Ella’s screams cut at my ear as I felt my feet fall beneath me, grasping for some kind of dry spot on the floor to hoist myself up, away from these zombie brides. Our screams and giggles carried us out the door, and we flung ourselves onto the ground … safety, at last. My battle wounds were minimal; the grimy pool floor had left little suspicious hairs all over my legs, but Ariel was still safe on my bathing suit and Ella had only suffered one broken pink nail. More blondies piled in from behind with the echoes of their screams folding as the door shut behind us. “Good morning, ladies,” said a rehearsed voice from my right. I adjusted my neck to see the queen of all the blondes: MISS MELANIE, as her red shirt described her in bold white letters. “Good morning, Miss Melanie,” chimed the mini-me’s.
            “I’m going to call out names for the shark swimmers group. When I call your name, walk very carefully over to the deep end and wait by the pool until I get the guppies started.” Mom better have put me in the shark group. Ella was bragging last week in class that she was going into shark level. “Ella Alarie, Mina Gerard …” Ella galloped over to the deep end, taking her spot between two extra-large life jackets. She was really tiny between those things, like a little tic-tac at the Kwik Way between two extra-large packs of gum. Even still, she didn’t have chicken legs like me. She was more of a mini Barbie, about to dive into her very own deluxe dream pool. Her eyebrows winked at me as I heard “Taylor Patrick” called out by the nasally lifeguard lady. Yes! Shark group! Stealing the first lifejacket’s spot, I hopped into place beside Ella, the chlorine finally engulfing my nose as we stood in front of the ocean view. 6 more people scuttled over beside us, but all of their faces were blurry to me, almost like they were pixelated on some TV show. The pool noodles across the eerie blue water were standing on end like the hairs on my arms, except in all different rainbow colours–a pile of French fries from McDonalds, ready to be thrown into the water and turn into soggy little mashed potatoes.
            Miss Melanie was helping the guppies into the shallow end; one by one, the little red lifesavers scooted into her arms, then plopped into the warm, pee water. This was going to take a while. “We should play truth or dare!” squeaked a girl in my shark group, “me and my friends play it all the time at school.” Oh boy. I had heard of this game before, all the fifth graders played it at recess time. The lunch monitor lady, Mrs. Warnock, was always shaking her finger at them and then laughing because they did silly things, like kissing and throwing rocks at the scruffy seagulls. “Taylor, you go first!” Ella nudged me with a smile. Oh, no. “Yeah! I dare you to touch the bottom of the pool–the deep end.” What? The deep end is so … deep. Who would ever want to touch it? “Umm … don’t you think Miss Melanie would get mad?” I whispered to Ella. She chuckled violently, squeezing my arm, “She won’t see you, Taylor, just do it!” My tummy felt spinny, like it was going to punch itself for being so silly, but I had to do it. Who wants to be a chicken? My dad always called me chicken legs and even though that was funny, being an actual chicken wouldn’t be. “Alright,” I stammered, “I’ll do it.”
            I really wanted a lifesaver, that’s what I remember most of all. Not a lifejacket type of lifesaver, but a little red candy to suck on and keep me floating from the inside, out–hard, plastic candy. I gulped down a wad of spit and edged closer to the cliff of the pool, right foot forward, left foot forward, like I was skating on slimy water. Looking down, I saw Ariel’s bubble eyes gazing up at me saying “silly little girl, step back, step back.” The guppies were a red swarm, oozing over to the deep end in streams of two, Miss Melanie at their lead. I had to do it now or else she would see me, and I’d be a chicken, the worst kind of chicken who chickens out after already saying they’ll do it. I looked over the not-so-magical waterfall and took a step back, getting ready to push forward like those Olympic curlers. And then she pushed me. Her decals dug into my back like cat claws, slashing streaks of skin and forcing the hard plastic in longer. It felt like a plastic knife was trying to poke through to the other side of me. My chest got bigger as I flung through the air, trying to take a breath before plunging into the liquid cement. Deep breaths, Taylor, deep breaths. My body listened, but the air didn’t … it was gone. Bubbles made of pavement filled my throat, hardening with each gulp I took. She pushed me. I opened my mouth to scream and my eyes to see, but I couldn’t do either. How long until I hit bottom? No answer. I screamed again. No answer. The walls of the brick tsunami around me wouldn’t allow it. I wasn’t even swimming to the bottom, I was sinking. I could really use a lifesaver. It wasn’t even funny; I knew Truth or Dare was a bad idea, and so did Ariel. Even Mrs. Warnock knew, so why wasn’t she here to shake her finger and laugh at me? Maybe then I wouldn’t have said yes. I wanted to swear, even just in my head, but the fun of it wouldn’t be enough to get this scary feeling away. Why wouldn’t my legs move? What is that slippery–ew, what is that?!
            I touched it. My hand slipped on the algae-covered tiles of the bottom of the deep end, and I touched it. I tried opening my eyes again, but more cautiously this time, and I saw light dancing through the water, screaming in celebration with me. I needed to go back to tell them all, but my feet lay hopelessly on the layer of algae as I choked on another bubble, this one rock solid already, making my eyes leak. All the little muscles in my chicken legs squeezed really tight, there were bruises, I could see them, but my legs started to work. I launched towards the top of the tsunami wall, my right hand leading the way to feel for the first breeze of moist, pool air. The water above me began to stir. It got really dark, like there were clouds covering the surface of the water, blocking my exit. I was being attacked. Thousands of lifesavers rammed into me as I felt the warm air hit my finger and warm blood pour down my wrist. It snapped, I heard it, cracking in tune with my jaw. “Stop it! Get off!” I cried, begging for the guppies to hear me. They didn’t. They were chuckling and kicking and screaming with joy as I got kicked back under water. All I could see was a ceiling of ruby red feet, pruny and wrinkled, laughing in my face. Where was Miss Melanie? I wouldn’t mind if she found me now, just get me out of here! What kind of a lifeguard are you?! The ceiling broke and I saw a clearing of light amongst the feet, a crack for me to escape through. My tingling wrist led the way, reaching for another blast of air to finally hit my finger, its dryness bandaging the damage. Longing for a breath, I exploded through the cement, and they all scurried. Left and right, left and right they went, dodging the radioactive waste that just emerged to the surface.  The soggy noodles surrounded me like sad, abandoned ships, sinking in the red sea.
            “She’s dead! I think she’s dead!” I was floating, like a lifesaver. “Oh my god, what is that?” I squinted and saw her, Ella, filed beside the other blonde girls and the new red-haired guppies. What an ugly, pretty face she had. Bitch. There, I said it, now I can laugh. Red-haired, decal-ridden, cat-like bitch … and she just stood are stared at me. Silly, old me! Floating, dying, and laughing in the red sea. I made friends, mom. I survived.

Jordyn Fitzgerald is a first year AEO student studying political science at the University of Western Ontario. Jordyn has always had great interest in writing and finds time to write whenever she can, whether it's on her frequent drives from Sudbury to London or when she should be doing her political science readings. In Kathryn Mockler's Writer's Studio class this past semester, Jordyn had the opportunity to expand her writing skills and explore topics she hadn't even considered before: "The Deep End" is what came of it.