I stood outside the chain-link fence, staring at the crowded pool the next day, a scowl on my face. Coach had given us the afternoon off, and I figured it was because he’d wanted us to have a rest day before the meet, but maybe it was because he had to give up the pool. When had water polo started? That was a fall sport. Did they have a spring league I didn’t know about? I hated sharing the pool with other people. The reminder that it wasn’t just my pool was a hard one to accept.

I tromped back to my dad’s truck that I had borrowed. I could go do an ocean swim but the waves screwed up my timing. There was a lake I frequented but it was only April so it would be freezing. As I started my drive home, however, my body itched. It felt like it was on fire. I needed to swim. I could handle cold.

It was a twenty-minute drive to my favorite spot. I parked in a dirt lot and took the trail that would be my stomping ground this summer. A trail I was pretty sure I had single-handedly made the summer before. I stepped out of my shoes, taking in the trees that surrounded the lake. I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place to swim. The sky was bright blue and there was a part between the deep green trees and hills where it touched the water that made it seem like I could swim past the edge of the lake and continue into the sky forever.

I took off my sweats and stepped into the water. It was even colder than I had imagined it would be, taking my breath away. I went to click on my music but stopped myself. I could prove I was able to be alone with my own thoughts. I threw my cap and player on top of my sweats, submerged myself in the water, then floated on my back, staring at the sky. I lay there, the water slowly numbing my skin, seeping into my ears, muffling sound. I let my arms and legs drift. I had to force myself not to do a single stroke.

It had been years since I’d been in water without swimming. Not since I was a kid. The sky above felt like it was sitting on my chest. My final swim meet of the season was coming up. And then my brother’s benefit. Maybe I could set a personal record at my swim meet. That might help dampen some of the sad feelings my parents would surely feel at the benefit.

Every two seconds my arm twitched, my brain trying to make it do what it did every time it was here. After sixty more seconds I gave up and swam. As if to punish myself for the small break, I swam twice as long.