Fast Friends

PP wishes she could write elegant purrfect stories like Jhumpa Lahiri, whose stories she’s been savoring for the last few days, but alas, she’s sadly lacking in such classy craft. Of course, Lahiri may not write pool stories as well as PP, but then again, what the hell good are pool stories if they don’t pay the rent? (Granted, Lahiri may also have gone thro dry spells with her writing, who knows? And now that she’s got the movie out about her novel, The Namesake, she’s in the money. Hell she could probably buy her own island with pools all around, but then, again, why would she care and….)

Oh damn!

PP has no idea what she’s writing about.

Shall we start over?

What happened at the YMCA today? Nothing of note. PP thinks this is a good thing, esp. since too much happens all the time everywhere. Bridges burning up. (An oil tanker crashed and infernoed the Macarthur Maze over the weekend. PP was afraid to take the freeway home from the Y for fear that the traffic would be horrific, but the drive up Broadway was horrific in its own way. Lanes blocked by loading and unloading mighty truck carriers—Broadway Auto Row has lots of loading and unloading to do. So much in fact that as PP was driving past the Nissan dealership and had to stop in the middle of traffic to allow a Yahoo to back a new Z down the truck ramp landing almost smack dab on top the Geo that PP caught her breath and swerved into the next lane, narrowly missing a silver BMW convertible with Mr. Suave Shaved Headed African American Wheeler Dealer yaking on his cell.

So….PP had to consider just how much the rest and relaxation from her uneventful day at the Y was worth.

Was it worth almost crashing into Mr. Suave?
NO.
Was it worth the heart racing sweaty palms following the above near miss?
NO.
Was it worth the hilarious hot tub with the two crazed Chinese swimmers?
Hell yeah!

Swimmer #1 PP had spied in the pool during her swim. Her blue flowered suit woefully see through, but of course, #1 didn’t give a shit even if she had noticed. She did have on the most delightful shower/swim cap with a giant hot pink Doggie and yellow rubber duckies lining the border. She had her pale blue jogging belt that was completely unnecessary since the pool is only 3.4 feet deep. But what the hell, the jogging belt helped with the workout. PP had no clue how, but was sure that there was some complicated reason for it.
Or not.
Maybe the belt was just lying on the deck and #1 had picked it up, tried it on, and given it a go.

PP had noticed, or correction, couldn’t help but notice, #1 last week. She’d been in the Hot Tub, soaking before her swim, and then had gone to use the toilet. Remember the toilets at the Y are right there in the hot tub room. There’s a stall, but really that’s all. So, when #1 came out of the toilet and looked in the mirror, she noticed that she had little bits of toilet paper stuck all up and down her bare wet legs. Shrugging, she’d stood there, picking the wet tissue off in nonchalant methodicism.

PP hadn’t wanted to stare. But she had.
And thought. Damn. Too much intimacy with strangers here at the Y!

Today, though, #1 had either gotten all the TP off already, or hadn’t followed the same routine but instead had come in the Hot Tub after her swim. PP was soaking in her Post Swim Space Out Euphoria, when #1 entered the tub. Naked except for her string of white pearls (were they real, PP wondered?) overlaid with a yellow rope necklace for her locker key, and still donning her hot pink doggie with the duckies shower/swim cap. She gave PP a snaggled toothed grin as she entered, planting herself at the opposite side of the tub and proceeding to do some sort of kicking exercises.
The Hot Tub was no place to slough off for #1!

Then enter her friend, #2, in her black suit and constant laugh. As soon as she splashed down into the tub, a loud and friendly gossip session started up as #2 started to jump up and down spastically in the center of the tub creating little waves that washed over PP’s chin.

They were very busy in the Hot Tub, PP thought. Both with the exercise and the talking. PP wondered what they were saying, but not knowing Chinese, just felt like she was back in China. The lone white woman privy to nothing as all the women yak yak yakked!

Maybe they were talking about their workouts?
PP had to smile to herself.
Yeah, right.
They were probably complaining about their husbands and kids. But then, they seemed so happy. #2 just kept laughing and laughing. Something was very funny and PP so wished she knew what it was, but….

Then again, maybe it was better to not know. To just guess. To let herself relish the anonymity that was the Y for her. So different from Mills where everyone knew her, if not by name, at least by sight, so that in the hot tub there, she was always chatting to someone.

PP missed this sometimes. But not today. Today she was just happy to be in the tub, with these two friends, for it was very clear that they were fast friends, and not be responsible for reacting or listening or participating in the conversation at all.

Not even eavesdropping. Which granted, was one of PP’s favorite pastimes, but sometimes even this seemingly passive activity was exhausting.

And so, PP knew that while she was never gonna write stories like Jhumpa Lahiri, she was gonna keep writing stories about swimming and tubbing and eavesdropping and driving and hell…..

Why not?
No one else could write a Pool Story, like PP.
At least she liked to tell herself this as she climbed outta the tub and headed off for the shower.