This was the community pool of my childhood. A towering high dive, impossibly tanned lifeguards, “Don’t run on the deck” echoing through white megaphones.
I used to lie on that deck, my ear suctioning to the wet concrete, a thousand patterns swirling where water collected and dried, sky blue reflections.
I’d close my red eyes, chlorine blurry, and watch colors behind lids, listening to families and laughter, hushed reprimands and social niceties, all like clouds passing by, distant yet near.
Once-wet shorts dried, the fabric now stiff and noisy, I’d roll over to see shadows blowing through eucalyptus.
I remember stealing quick glances at the older kids; girls already becoming young women, reluctant, while boys flexed their confusion. The thought that this could be me someday thrilled and scared me, seemed remote and improbable. And yet, we all become, something.
When a client sent me a photo of The Classic spinning in her space in Miami, that floor instantly transported me back to that pool; to the hopes and fear and questions of that kid sneaking peeks at the curious world washing around him as he sunk deeper into daydream and sunshine.
If you could be transported back to one childhood “location,” where would it be?