That Big Moon

 

“I wish that Big Moon were warmer!” It’s Witchy Woman. Of course, she’s commenting on the moon. But I like this idea. It’s so weird.

            “Yeah, the bigger the moon, the warmer it should be!” I proclaim.

            She cackles. Then turns to the woman standing in line, 6 feet or more, behind her. Not wanting to continue the Moon Talk with me? I shrug and shiver.

            One thing she is right about. It would be nice if it were warmer, moon-related or not. It feels a bit crazy to be standing out here in the dark, in flip flops and swimsuit, thankfully covered by my new fleecy coat my sis gave me for Christmas.

            Is the Dive Tank worth it?
            Last night, I’d gotten to swim in the Big Pool. Would I get to again? Or would I be banished to the Dive Tank?

            It does sound like a banishment, doesn’t it?

            The Dive Tank. Like I’m gonna be inside some deep, dark TANK. Without any diving gear.

            The lifeguard comes out, mask and clear plastic hood over his face. The plastic scares me. It’s like I’m in a Sci Fi movie. Our world is poisoned and we all have to wear protective gear.

            Which is true. The coronavirus has poisoned our world. People are dying and getting sick with no end in sight until the vaccine becomes available. And it sounds like this isn’t gonna happen till the spring or summer. And even so, we will all still have to be vigilant. Wear our masks. Swim in our own lanes.

            I honestly can’t even envision a world where I’m back at the Y in the sauna. Hangin' out and chatting it up in Utopia.

            Utopia is gone.

            Hey, but at least there’s the Dive Tank. Actually, I’m kinda curious about it, but do ask the lifeguard if I can swim in the big pool. “If someone doesn’t show up,” he says. “We’ll let you know.”

            I try to hide my disappointment.  “The Dive Tank is that little pool over there?” I ask, nodding toward the far end of the pool deck.

            “Yup,” he says. “You’re good to go,” the woman lifeguard says after waving the blue plastic thermometer at my forehead.

            Does it really register my temperature? I’m dubious. Maybe it just shows if I’m burning up or not.

            Which I’m not. I’m freezing! I do wish that moon were warmer!

            I head over to the Dive Tank. It’s square with 3 lanes sectioning it. I finish gearing up with my cap and plugs and mask and stick my toe in. It’s warm!

            I jump in and swim 4 strokes. At the wall already. Okay, this is gonna take a lot of turning around. But again, I’m just SO happy to be in the water. I don’t even care. Hell, I could just float in here and be happy. What is it about the water that is such a necessary component for my well-being?

            Who knows? As I turn around again, I wonder if I should count my laps. Like how many would equal 80 in the big pool? 200? That would be funny. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I would go out into our backyard pool and swim back and forth back and forth, counting 10, 20, l50, 200 laps. I was a very serious swimmer even as a 10-year-old!

            As I come to the wall, the woman lifeguard has approached me, “There’s an open lane!” she hollers at me.

            “Cool!”  I grin, but thinking how goddamn cold it’s gonna be to move all my junk and walk around the big pool to the chairs on the far side.

            It is cold. Again, I wish that moon were warmer! But once I’m in the big pool, swimming, wondering how many laps I did in the Dive Tank, I’m so happy. Swimming! How did I live without it for 35 days?

            I was very cranky!

            I swim on. Decide that since it’s been about 15 minutes, I’ve probably done about 600 yards. I go with this and start in on my fins backstroke yardage. Swim for about 10 minutes when….

            “Hello!!! HELLO!!!”

            I stop, the guy lifeguard is hollering at me. “The person who had this lane reserved just showed up. We’re gonna have to ask you to move.”

            “Oh…., okay….” I glance up at the clock. It’s been 25 minutes. Shouldn’t anyone who is so late have to forfeit their lane and swim in the Dive Tank? I mean, c’mon. How long are they supposed to hold the lane for someone? When tutoring at the writing lab, we hold someone’s spot for 10 minutes. And this is what it seemed like they had done here, too, when they’d gotten me initially. It had been about 10 minutes, maybe a little more.

            So, it doesn’t make sense for me to move again, but I guess that’s the protocol here when you reserve the Dive Tank.

            I slowly glide to the other end of the pool, readying to get out again into the frigid air, even more frigid cuz I’m wet.

            The Woman Lifeguard hollers at me again, “Never mind. You don’t have to move!”

            “I don’t?”

            “No, it’s fine. You can stay in that lane.”

            I don’t know what happened. I never saw the person who was 25 minutes late for their lane. Maybe they just left. Maybe they’re over in the Dive Tank.

            All I know is that I’ve got the lane now. And I’m gonna make the most of it.

            I turn over onto my back and gaze up at the moon through the misty steam. She looks warmer now.

            Or is it just the all the swimming? Warming me up. I grin as I reach the wall and turn, following the moon with my gaze as I swim back and forth back and forth back and forth…..

The Giant Glowing Blue Cube

 

My first glimpse of it takes my breath away. The steam rising off the surface. The lights glowing under the water, illuminating the turquoise waters. There’s nothing like a pool at night. Surrounded by the darkness, the blue glow magical and surreal.

            I can’t wait to dive in!

            But first, I had to find it!

            I was so excited. I had a reservation at the King Pool in Berkeley for the Dive Tank. I had no idea what this meant, but I didn’t care. I was on a roll here. First snagging the cancellation at the El Cerrito pool the day before and now getting into the reservation system of the Berkeley Public Pools.

            I tried lap swimming. To no avail. Once again nonresidents get the short end of the stick since they’re not allowed to sign up till 48 hours after residents. Okay, sure they pay taxes to the city of Berkeley, so I guess this gives them priority. But since the City of Richmond has NO pools open, all of my taxes are going where?

            I don’t even want to think about that.

            So, when I did get into the King Pool reservation system, no lap swimming was available. But there was something called the Dive Tank. Oh! That sounded like an adventure. I booked it right away. And it was only $3! I’m a senior in Berkeley even though I’m not a resident!

            I used to swim at King Pool in another lifetime. Just graduated from UC Santa Cruz. Lived with a bunch of college friends up on Marin. I used to walk down to this pool to swim laps. I don’t remember much about it except it was close to my house and it was always really crowded.

            That’s one thing I have to say for the Pandemic. I do get my own lane. If I can get one booked!

            So, I thought I knew where this pool was. Still, I took the precaution of putting it into the Google Maps and reading the directions before I left. Sounded simple enough. Get on 80, take Gilman, turn left up Gilman, turn left on Hopkins and then it’s there!

            This sounded familiar, but I still gave myself lots of time.

            As I walked out of the house, the phone started talking to me: “Take 32^nd street south, turn left on Barrett Ave.”

            Okay, I know this. It’s when I get into the dark streets of Berkeley (and I think Berkeley is the darkest town in the world!) that I was worried about.

            In the car, the phone stopped talking to me. Damn! I pulled over on 37^th street and jabbed at the microphone icon.

            Nothing.

            Okay, well, I know where I’m going, right? I’ve been to this pool before. And as I got off the freeway and drove up Gilman, I was still confident that I knew where I was going.

            I didn’t.

            I pulled over several times on the dark bumpy street of Gilman and punched at the phone each time.

            Nothing. It wasn’t talking.

            I pulled away from the curb, a tailgater flashing his lights at me for going so slow. Well! Where was Hopkins? Santa Fe. Stanton. Gee Street. No Hopkins.

            Till Gilman ran out and there was Hopkins. Okay, this looked familiar. I turned left. Past the shuttered Monterey Market. That was familiar. Audrey Flint used to shop there for splendid dinners of fresh vegetables and pasta. Damn, that was a long time ago.

            As I drove up Hopkins, the darkness was daunting. Again, why doesn’t Berkeley believe in street lights? Or the street lights they do have are so dim that it’s like someone was shining an almost used up battery flashlight.

            I looked for the pool. I thought it was visible from the street. Or at least this was my memory. But all I saw were houses, some with cheerful Christmas lights, but most shrouded in darkness. What was everyone in Berkeley doing on a Monday night? They were probably at a séance, evoking the dead to visitations for the new year.

            That’s how spooky Berkeley is!

            I drove past a vast softball field, it too completely dark. Then up to the Alameda with the overly bright Chevron station. Still there!

            But now I knew I’d gone too far.

            Damn!

            I looked at the time. The phone did provide this. 7:23. My reservation at the Dive Tank was for 7:30.

            I had to be close as I did a U-turn on the Alameda and headed back down Hopkins. Trying not to let my panic take over. I had, after all, gone swimming yesterday, but hell. I’d gone to all the trouble of putting on my suit, my big coat, gotten in the car and found Hopkins street.

            I wanted to swim in the Dive Tank!

            As I inched back down Hopkins, I spied some figures in the night. They were dressed in big coats with flip flops.

            Swimmers!!!!!

            The pool had to be here. I pulled over and parked, watching them load their swim gear into the trunk.

            Okay, the pool must be up that driveway. I don’t remember this, obviously, but it must be there! I got out of the car, loaded up myself with all my swim gear, and headed up the driveway. A man and his kid, both sopping wet, were meandering down the drive, the kid was whining, the dad was tired.

            What’s a little kid doing swimming at 7 at night? Shouldn’t he be in bed?

            Oh, who cares. I knew I was near the pool now and as I made my way up the crest of the hill, seeing the bold blue words painted on a closed building: COME SWIM—I grinned. The pool must be behind that building.

            Sure enough. A short line of swimmers were shivering in the dark. My we’re a stubborn lot, standing out in the cold darkness of a chilly December night. One woman was chatty. Talking about her swim schedule: “I always try to swim 3 times a week but lately I’ve had a time of it.” The man ahead of her didn’t answer. She was undaunted and turned to stare at me in a friendly way. I said hello. She nodded, “Hello.” Then she cackled in a faintly dastardly way.  

            Oh dear, a witch of Berkeley was swimming at King Pool! I hope she wasn’t swimming in the Dive Tank!

The lifeguard finally came out with the requisite clipboard and COVID-19 Questions.
“Can you swim laps in the Dive Tank?” I asked him. He nodded, “Sure, but there are only 5 swimmers here tonight, so you can swim in the lap pool.”

            “Really? Cool! Any lane?” After yesterday’s lane situation, I had to make sure.

            He seemed puzzled, “Yeah, any empty lane.”

            And, so I entered the magical realm of the giant glowing blue cube. As I stuck my foot in the water, the warmth tickled me. It was a heavenly feeling to slide into the water, the steam rising in front of me, the blue glow of the lights shining at me and the moon overhead.

            Tomorrow, I have another reservation for the Dive Tank. I saw that this is a short square pool. I don’t care. I just want to swim in the magical blue glow.

            Google Maps notwithstanding.