Dead People

“Hey!” I hold the shampoo and conditioner bottles aloft, waving them in the air to get their attention. “Did you guys leave your stuff in the shower?”

            They’re on their way out. Three teenage girls, long dark hair dripping down lacy tank tops, tight cutoffs that proclaim, “I’m available”. They barely glance at me, an old lady ready to take a shower, faded flower suit, tangled hair dripping, navy City of Richmond face mask muffling her holler.

            “No,” one of them answers. They turn, prancing and giggling out of the locker room.

            I shrug, think how I could just take these pricy toiletries. All milky and floral. But, I’m so honest, right?

            I set the bottles down outside the shower area, head into the concrete square, where 6 shower heads all point toward the concrete floor. Picking my favorite one next to the far wall, I turn on the shower, sighing at the water’s soothing heat.

            Rubbing shampoo into my wet hair, I work up a lather to expel the chlorine. Then, rinse, grabbing my conditioner.

            One of the lifeguards has entered the shower arena, dressed in her red shorts and black Lifeguard T, her long pale legs blinding me with their beauty. She’s standing at the entry to the shower, peering around, checking out the corners of the shower. I wonder what she’s looking for. Maybe the left shampoo and conditioner I had found earlier?

            “What are you looking for?” I ask her.

            She pauses in her search, then without making eye contact, but still peeking around the blank corners of the shower, she says softly, “To be honest…Dead People.”

            “What???” I exclaim.  Her soft voice is muffled behind the ubiquitous masks that everyone still has to wear. Did I hear her right?  Did she say Dead People? Maybe she said Red People? Or Lead People? Or Dread People?

            None of these possibilities make sense. But neither does Dead People. How could Dead People be lying about in the corners of the shower? I mean, I wouldn’t have gotten in the shower if there’d been a dead person in the corner!

            I shake my head, trying to go along with what I think she said. “Well, I’d hope that if there were a Dead Person in the locker room, that someone would report it.”

            “If they knew about it,” she says, still scanning the floor of the shower. How could they not know about it? I wonder.  And what kind of dead person would be in the easily seen corners of the shower? They would have to be the size of an ant for her to be scanning this closely. Miniature Dead People?

            “Sometimes, there might be a Dead Person in the bathroom stall and no one would know,” she continues.

            “Really?” I can’t keep my incredulity out of my tone. I mean, c’mon, a dead person in the bathroom stall?

            “Has this ever happened?” I have to ask.

            “Well, no…” she admits. “But it’s something we have to check for at closing.”

            Part of the lifeguard’s job is to check for Dead People in the locker room at the end of their shifts? I mean, I suppose this is a possibility. There are a lot of old ladies at the pool, doing their water walking and noodle floating. I suppose one of them could come into the locker room, go the bathroom and then drop dead from all that aqua activity!

            “Well, I’m glad you’ve never found anyone dead,” I offer, wondering how she would cope if she did find a body. She’s like 12 (aka 17). If she found a Dead Person, wouldn’t that damage her young mind for life? The trauma of finding a body at the Richmond Swim Center would be something she’d never recover from, right?

            Though I suppose Lifeguards have the training to deal with bodies. After all, they might be called upon to pull a body out of the pool in the line of duty.

            But discovering a Dead Person in the shower?

            I dunno. It seems above her paygrade, frankly. Though when you’re 17, you don’t think about such things. They tell you this is your job and then you do it. Or at least most people do. I mean, I wouldn’t. If I were a lifeguard and they told me I had to go check the locker room for Dead People at the end of my shift, I’d say, “Hell NO!”

            She finishes her scan, satisfied that no Dead People are in the shower with me.

            Turning, she heads over to the bathroom stalls. I hear her opening and closing each stall door. Is she looking in the toilet for dead People? Tiny Floating ladies who’ve fallen to their demise in the most unseemly of ways?

            “We close in 5 minutes,” she announces on her way out.

            “Yeah, I know.” I shove my suit in the spinner thingee and press down. The loud whirring fills the concrete room.

            She floats out, leaving me alone in the locker room. An unusual circumstance. Usually, the place is teeming with women and girls and babies, chatting, screaming, and hopping around the room.

            I dress hurriedly, trying not to think about Dead People.

            But before I leave, I can’t help myself. I bend down to take a look under the bathroom stalls. Is that the shadow of someone in the far stall? No….it couldn’t be….

            I back up, grab my stuff, and hurry out into the bright Saturday light. It’s not my job to find Dead People, I think, as I shiver in the breeze. I hear an invisible bird tweeting in one of the Fuzz Trees, see a lone gull circle over the top of the Swim Center Roof. I plop into the car, slamming the door shut, and watch as a family loads all their gear into the minivan, the laughter of one of the kids floating up through the air.