"I swear to the Sea, I ain't gonna make the same mistakes. Because I have learned to be better from those past mistakes. So I am going to make some even better brand new mistakes!" ~Sydney "The Squid" Hauser
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When I get back to the Old Folks Home, Aces merely nods at the news of my big promotion to the Annex. I have a pretty good feeling that his good buddy Buzzy has already called Aces already. Probably to let him know that their gambling debt was paid in full. Also what a totally blazing disappointment I am to "getting along". Because I know for a fact that Buzzy just sacrificed me for his almighty paycheck. Then probably lied to Aces about the whole thing with Tommy in the Toilet.
If I cared at all, I might even waste my breath justifying my correct actions to Aces. But I don't bother...at all. After all, why should Aces take my side over that of his good war buddy Buzzard's? Who am I to him in the grand scheme of things San Fall? Just some poor orphan that got dropped off on his doorstep for the summer. A leftover brat from his dead sons' dalliance with a first marriage.
So without saying a word, Aces rolls out the ol' Impala two miles over the next rolling hill to the Annex, for my next big job interview. The silent ride over to the old National Guard park is a nice change from our first time going to the pool this summer. Long gone are all the unnecessary questions regarding my qualifications. Because it's pretty clear to everyone now that I was way underqualified at "getting along" with blazing Buzzy and the Plunger boys. Who knows maybe I can make an even better bad impression at this next spot, as well?
"Well, there ya go, The Old Annex." He pulls up right in front of the large grey granite block mausoleum looking building.
From the outside, the place looks like the Postwar Russian bathhouse. It has that kind of old-world charm that only needs a cast-iron monument to Stalin in a trench coat, glaring angrily outwards towards the future to complete the oppressive ambiance.
Where the Plunge is an Olympic pool water park complex par none. Complete with a wading pool, kiddy pool, and a professional dive tower. The Annex pool is a different kind of strange spot altogether. The Annex sits squarely on the grounds of what was formerly the National Guard depot and parade grounds. As I will, unfortunately, come to learn, the old-style indoor Olympic pool was built back in the nineteen-thirties when FDR was getting America back to work after the Great Depressing. Then subsequently turned over to the county after the last Big War victory to serve as a park, slash community center, slash whatever.
"So good luck in there. I'll just wait here and listen to the game, if it's all the same." Aces waves me away. Thankfully this time he opts to stay put in the car, instead of escorting me around like the promising young orphan I am obviously not.
"No worries." I shrug off the wishful thinking, not bothering to explain that I don't need his luck. That I have all the hate I need now. And that hate works so much better for me than luck ever did.
So I leave Aces in the Impala listening to the game on the radio, while I wander through the old green glass doors and into the Annex pool proper. One step thru the front door of this place and I can already feel the old world charm fading away as the chlorine miasma hits me. With only one old-style Olympic pool, and a standard high & low dive board combo are all this place has to offer. I walk around water on the ancient slip and slide break neck tiles. Seems that someone has thoughtfully put down grip tape strips, all evenly spaced down the walkway in search of Ol Joe Black.
The door to the small cubbyhole office is one of those old-world top and bottom split door things, that allows the residents to keep children and midgets at bay. I knock on the waist-high ledge and the old dark dude in speedos sitting behind the desk stares at me over the half an open door with his watery eyes.
"Can I help you with something, son?" He starts without even bothering to let me in.
"Yeah, I got sent down her from the Plunge." I eye him back evenly. "They said to show up here and ask for Joe Black?"
"It's Blake, actually." He corrects me and slowly leans back in his ancient wood chair and eyes me suspiciously. "They who?"
"Buzzy and the Plunger boys?" I meet his suspicions.
"Ah...right, the new lifeguard transfer to the Annex." He nods slowly looking me up and down.
"My certs?" I start to hand him over the big red binder of awesome, that proves I am qualified to babysit brats.
"First things first." He waves me off towards the churning pool just outside his hobbit hole. "Before we have a chat, I want to see you in the water. Two laps back and forth on time. First one fast freestyle forward, on the turn one-handed backstroke backwards. You have less than one minute each way. This is pass or fail, and non-negotiable."
Two seconds with Mr. Blake, who also happens to be black, and I can already tell this guy's mentality is way different than Buzzards. So I easily pass Mr. Blake's water test with time to spare, and then the real interview starts.
So if my interview at the Plunge with Buzzy was short and sweet, a debt owed a debt paid. My interview with Mr. Blake is anything but short or sweet. Whereas ol Buddy Buzzy flipped through my certifications like a picture book he had zero interest in. Mr. Blake is slow, methodical, and meticulous.
He puts on his little raisin reading glasses and slowly reads every word, every date, every signature on every cert in my red binder of awesomeness. I know this because he mouths the words as he reads them. Not because he has any trouble reading whatsoever? On the contrary, because he is probably looking for misspelled words and grammatical errors. Because that's exactly the kind of man Joe Blake is ...mean, meticulous and exacting. Of himself, and everyone under his command. So basically everyone who walks through those glass doors and into his watery kingdom.
When I think of Joe Blake in my mind's eye, I always picture a kindly old Morgan Freemanesque man. But not the nice one from driving Miss Daisy. More like the world-weary grizzled detective from Seven Deadly Sins. The old wise one, that knows everything about everything and is stuck dealing with stupid people. All of whom should just shut up and listen to him, and stop chasing serial killers down dark alleyways because it's a seriously stupid idea. And tragedy only strikes because the stupid people never listened to those who know better, namely him. Yeah, that Morgan Freeman guy, but in a faded red speedo that's bordering on pink. That and he also smells really old to me, like an old stale cinnamon muffin.
When Mr. Blake is finally done parsing through my tome of heroic feats and CPR certs, he closes the binder slowly. Taps twice on the red plastic cover thoughtfully, before deeming me worthy to speak to once more.
"Not that I doubt your word son?" Which he very clearly does doubt. "But that's a lot of pretty paper on a kid who doesn't even old enough to drive yet. So you're telling me if I call this State Junior Lifeguard program down in Sunset Beach? That they're gonna verify that all this pretty paper is true, accurate and current?"
"Yeah." I nod.
"What about this so-called Shark Save certificate of yours?" His watery eyes gaze in askance. "You expect me to believe you jumped in the ocean and what? Fought off Jaws to save a girl in a polka dot bikini?"
Just the way he says "Polka Dot", tells me that he already knows all about the incident in the toilet with Tommy and his dumb drunk mother.
"It's not for anything even close to fighting Jaws. That cert is for spotting a shark?" I tap my cheek under my eye to make the point. "With binoculars, off the end of the pier. Then calling it into the tower, so they could alert the other towers to pull the swimmers out of the water just in case. And it wasn't a Great White, either. Probably a just a big sand shark that got lost in the shallows and came up for directions back out to the big water. They don't even bite that much?"
"I see." He nods along with a slow gin grin. "So by your presence with us, I gather then that you willingly gave up a summer of fun in the sun at The Plunge? With Ol Buzz and all the rest of your buddies, to work here at the Annex?"
"I don't have any buddies in San Fallcon, let alone at the Plunge." I snort in the local custom, to let him know the disdain I hold the Plungers in. "And ol' Buzzard made it pretty clear that it's was come here or clear out."
"So you had some trouble with Buzz, did you?" He nods along like this is news. "So he banished you down to me?"
"Yeah, you could say that." No sense in arguing the obvious.
"So what else would Buzzy say about 'that'?" He raises his wised eyebrow over his reading glasses. "When I call over and ask my good friend Buzzy? So as to inquire as to just how was that the Annex got so lucky as to inherit you from the kind folks over at The Plunge?"
"For starters, Buzz'll tell you that he and I have a vast difference of opinion. Especially as to the application of the pool rules towards the children of the kind folks who apparently sign his paycheck. That as such, he found me to be...what was the word he used..."surly" I think? Or maybe it was snotty, whatever?"
"I honestly can't remember the exact word, but it was something like that." I shrug off the stupid. "After I took saving a kids life a lot more seriously, than the opinion of the kid's sloshy mother. Who was far too busy drunking off her hangover to notice her kid drowning. Twice."
"Explain that tale in detail please." I can see that he is suddenly interested in my epic plunge from the heavenly pool into a new hell. So I do, just as concisely as I did with Buzzy and the Plunger Boys back at the office, albeit with an added disdain for all things Plunger.
"...so when Buzzy called me on that noise? He found the hard way that, not only did I not feel up to a fake apology. That I'd rather hit the bricks than even pretend otherwise."
"So between you and me and the fly on the wall?" Yeah, I've been picking up some of the local Ancient slanguage of late. "The only reason he didn't just fire me on the spot and gave me this so-called promotion? Is because him and my grandfather guy are VFW warmongering buddies, whatever that entails?"
Mr. Blake now pauses thoughtfully tapping his finger on the big red binder slowly as he absorbs this critical detail.
"Dean?" He frowns deeply at me, his eyes bouncing around my face, apparently looking for a connection. It's when we lock eyes and old Joe blinks back, that an almost amused expression starts around his pursed mouth.
"You're not by any chance a relation to Ol' Iris Irish and Augustus, are you?" Now it seems he is suddenly interested in all this noise.
"Yeah, they're my grandparents." I shrug off the whatever for effect.
"I know them." He nods slowly.
Oh, no shit? Really old cinnamon smelling speedo guy, and by name and everything? So that's a big bowl of blazing awesome sauce.
He must sense something, so he informs me unnecessarily of the local rules, as if I need to hear them. "Hard not to know most of the folks in a town of less than ten thousand souls. Even harder at my age not to know ol' Iris Irish." But by his inscrutable expression, I can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
"Okay, great?" I shrug and wait for the hate.
Because I honestly do not know my grandmother well enough to say what her particular hate of choice is. For all I know, Aces and Irish are the Grand Dragons of the local KKK klavern? Or the token lights at the Panther Party. Which based on how little I know about the Raisins or their personal politics, I honestly think that could go either way at this point? The only thing I know for sure is that whatever side the Irish Antichrist is on, she hates the other side to death. Because Ol Irish is a natural-born hater, if there ever was such a thing.
"So here's the deal, Darren...Dean?" He tries using my given name and finds the taste dissatisfying to his palate and settles on.
"The Plunge is the fun pool." He leans back and smiles sagely. "The place where all those cute little screaming girls and boys take their first dips, and their first slips and falls and skin their knees."
"Where all the pretty young girls go to have fun in the sun. Whereas the Annex pool is more? How shall I say this..." He pauses and finally settles on a bad word he likes. "...much more mature?"
"As such, it comes with some difficulties that the Plunge has deemed fit to push the Annex's direction. Either through neglect or through intention." He nods slowly watching my reaction, of which I could care less.
"The Annex, including this building, we're built in the 1930's as part of the FDR's New Deal program as a National Guard Armory and staging area." He clearly feels the need to share this bit of unusual and irrelevant history. "As such some of our swimmers have been alive long enough to have voted for FDR and his Ladybird."
Aw...flock me! It's the blazing Raisin pool! I groan internally.
"Here at the Annex is where we run swimming programs for all the unfortunates and special folks." He smiles like the wise old spider that just caught himself a stupid fly. I freeze slightly because I have heard this "unfortunately special" term before, and it was not used in a good way.
"For starters, our senior swimmers have several low impact physical therapy classes. Which go on every day at multiple times throughout the day." He nods over at the big monthly calendar schedule on the small office wall.
"Now mind you we as Guards do not teach those classes, as they have physical therapist specialist on site. My wife Melody, as a matter of fact, leads most of the senior water aerobic classes, just in case you were wondering." Which I most definitely wasn't wondering, but I can see that is not going to stop him now that he is on a roll.
"But the county says lifeguard on duty, so lifeguard on duty." He nods sagely at the tall lifeguard throne across the pool.
"While we do not teach these classes? I fully expect that all the Guards who work for me, on or off duty, to assist those in need at all times. To wit, we have a very nice ramp that goes into the shallow end of my water for chair access. So if I decide to bring you on board? You will be pushing a few aquatic chairs up and down the ramps from time to time. Both in and out of the pool, regardless of the level of "hotness" of said swimmer ...age or gender. Is that understood?"
"Yeah." Dammit, that's why Buzzy and the boys were so blazing please with themselves. I've been dumped into the old Raisin pool. Okay, so this could be worse, I suppose?
"Now as to the classes that we do guard over. For instance, the basic water orientation and newborn introduction." He points to the schedule on the monthly calendar on the wall between us.
"Those classes are mine and mine alone. And will stay as such, because I don't know that you're ready for that level of responsibility. Not until I've seen you do your thing on the Throne for a long while. But just in case, on the rare occurrence where I feel the need to ask you to step in with the new babies and their mothers." He shakes his head ruefully which pretty much lets me know not to step into his water.
"The key is not to watch the baby. Because unlike the mothers, they actually know what they're doing." He shakes his head sagely. "No, it's the mothers you have to keep an eye on the most. Because some of these gals want their babies to swim...because they can't." He pauses as if this is an important fact to me. "Yes, just try to wrap your mind around that for a minute, and you end up with a possible panicky mother in the water with a baby."
"Awesomesauce." I intone under my breath.
"So here's your first interview question?" He clears his throat in gravitas. "After the basic water orientation class, I have gone to lunch and you are alone on the throne. A young mother and child are walking by and both fall into the deep end and go under. Who do you save? Screaming baby or panicking mother, or both? And most importantly how...and why?"
"Are you actually asking me that? Or is this one of those old rhetorical things?" I dead eye him right back.
"Oh son, I am most assuredly asking." His eyes narrow calculatingly, as he watches me intently.
"Baby. Why?" Because the mother had her shot at life best to give the kid theirs? But instead, I go the other way. "Because panicking drowners will latch on to anything to save themselves. And that baby isn't gonna make a good life preserver. So better to take it away from the mother and hope for the best."
"How?" I roll my shoulders over to the water. "Dive in, go down underneath them, then come up hard. Shove the mother in the jaw, and yank the baby away and kick-off to the wall. Pull the baby up on the deck and check for breathing, vitals, and go through the CPR protocols if required? Somewhere in there, I'll probably call for help on the mother, if I can? While I keep checking the kid for signs of secondary drowning."
"All the while the mother is drowning right behind you, not five feet away in the deep end?" He smiles smugly.
"You can't save them all. I committed to the kid, so I keep the kid. Until I know it's saved and safe. So if the mother sucks water in the meantime?" I shrug back the bullshit. "Oh well, she sucks water and we hope for the best."
"That's a bit cold, son. But at least you don't seem like the type that freezes under fire, so we can work on the rest." He rocks his judgmental old-world wood chair back and forth eyeing me. "Yes, I can definitely see why you and Buzzy think so highly of each other."
"Yeah, ol Buzzard would freeze up just trying to calculate out which one was more important to the man that signs his paycheck, while they'd both die." I drone back.
"All of our paychecks." He points out caustically. "And while you might mistake what I said as a disparagement to Buzzy's level of commitment to lives of the good folks of San Fallcon? It was most assuredly not an invitation for comments from the peanut gallery ...son."
Yeah, Old Joe calls me "Son" a lot. But I don't think it's because he wants to adopt me. In my mind, I always automatically translate Mr. Blake's use of the word 'Son' into "You Stupid Son of Bitch" ..at least when he talks to me.
"No offense, but you're the one that keeps tossing Buzzed and the Plunger Boys into the conversation at every other turn. For what I can only assume is to see if you can rattle me?" I counter back evenly. "Thing is I don't rattle, but I do get irritated after a while."
We lock eyes and I can feel him trying to shove his presence into me to see if I will blink. Little does he know, I am far too stupid to be intimidated by an old man in a pair of butt-nut huggers. No matter how right he might be? After a couple hundred heartbeats, he seems satisfied that I have spoken the truth about my inability to give a Two Shit Shifts.
"Melody, my wife likes to point out... that it's better that folks think you're stupid? Then to open that smart mouth of yours and remove all doubt." He eyes me coldly. "I'm starting to think that you could benefit from spending some time with her. I think you can learn a lot from her perspective. The good Lord knows I know I have..." He finishes dryly mumbling. "...whether I wanted to or not."
He fingers up the schedule and begins pursuing the columns, then taps the schedule thoughtfully.
"Now before we shake hands to seal the deal, and you go start knocking new mothers out in the shallow end and kidnapping their kids. There is another group of ...shall we say, problematic swimmers? That you will be overseeing from time to time."
Rah Roh? I feel the cold hand of karma starting to reach down to take what's left of my zen.
"They use the pool every day, one to three, come rain or shine. And while they try our patience, even dearly so at times, they also require our continual guarding and guidance. As they learn to swim, over and over again."
"While the pool is for everyone..." He drifts slightly in the habit of the raisin in thought. "...the good lord puts special people in our lives. And sometimes in our way, to teach us humility."
"So that we be thankful for the gifts we have been given, even the simple things that others do not have. But I have come to believe that his place was built with folks like them in mind. All part of God's grand plan." He gives a nod up to his invisible guy in the sky.
I will quickly come to find out that Mr. Blake is indeed a True Believer. But unlike the Irish Antichrist, he is thankfully not a terribly pushy one. Mr. Blake is more of a quiet zealot, with deep convictions about ...conviction things? The kind of convictions that have to do with grandmaster plans and angel armies having battles in space, against the forces of darkness and secret stuff.
"Now I personally believe that everyone has a place in this world, and the right to find that place. Regardless of how difficult or even frustration that journey may be on the rest of us who walk with them. That we as people, and most especially lifeguards, are defined by not in how we treat those best able to fend for themselves? But those stubbornly least able to control their time with us. So we must remain ever vigilant in our duty to stand watch over those special unfortunates. Do you see where I am going with that son?"
"Ah...no, not really." I shake him off.
"So how do you feel about working with the mentally challenged, in the Special Olympics swimming class?" His weary, bleary eyes lock into mine and wait for me to say something stupid.
Oooo Nooooo Blaaaaaze Meeeeee!!! The Annex pool is for Raisins...and Retards!?! No wonder Buzzy, Brad and especially Chad seemed so blazing pleased with themselves for shipping me off to the Annex. I've been banished to the one detail that might actually be worse than The Toilet.
"Yeah, I don't have much experience with Special Swimmers?" I hedge off the edge of deep end.
"Well, then you're in for a real treat." He smiles sagely. "Because you have the morning shift tomorrow at 9 am sharp. And don't ever be..."
"...late?" I sigh, repeating the temporal mantra.
"Welcome to the Annex, Dean." He smiles evenly. "Now show me that you know how to do a deck and drain check."
Thus I begin my thankless watch once more, over the lives of those uninitiated in the secrets of the deep water.
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Back Side Note:
It turns out that I was wrong about the Annex Pool and the Raisins and the Retards. The Annex actually ended up becoming my refuge and my sanctuary in a world of chaos. But that's part of a story for another time...not this time.
The one thing of import was that the Annex pool was directly responsible for what happened next with May, that first summer day. And for that alone, I will always silently be thankful to Mr. Blake, more or less? But that comes later, and now comes now. So like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives, in the Valley of Death. And so it goes until Hell or high water rise to drown you to death.