digs into my feet

like tiny knives.

Sounds of shouting people

and lifeguard whistles

fill the hot and heavy air.

The water stretches out

in front of me,

perfectly smooth,

perfectly flat,

perfectly undisturbed.

Go, I tell myself.

My legs spring off the deck.

I soar through the air.

I hear a splash

as the water envelops me

in a cool,

refreshing shell.

All the noise disappears

and I feel weightless.

Time slows down.

It is just me

and the water.

I kick,

propelling myself

into the deep blue depths,

where only the occasional lost hair tie floats.

I reach out my hand

and brush the smooth gray cement.

I am alone.

I am peaceful.

Slowly,

I push off the bottom,

squinting at the sun

through the wobbly surface of the water.

The humidness of the air

and the sound of yelling kids

start to return.

Finally,

my face breaks the surface.

I’m back.