Swim season

Brick walls and stained wood flooring.

Statues wrestling for attention and artwork that paid dividends with its daily beauty.

And a  pool that was a short walk from a choir room.

Both places that gave me shelter for years.

A place to be free deep under water.

That silent refuge from the outside world.

I'd sink to the bottom and smile as the bubbles rose one by one.

Those bubbles were my friends.

I created them with every breath.

I watched as they made the slow ascension to the surface.

Some fast and some slow they would rise like smoke from a chimney until, pop!

They were no longer bubbles of air. Just air.

That's what swimming was for me.

A chance at being something other than myself.

Senior swim. One last "go" in the pool that helped make me into what I was. And a reminder of who I could be.

I didn't give in the seriousness that one would give to say, a good book.

I ripped off my goggles as if I was exposing myself to the world for the first time.

And with a laugh, a leap, and a mile wide smile I careened once more into your bone chilling depths.

Yet as I returned once more to that familiar place I felt a warmth that I'd never experienced before.

A sense of belonging was what I felt.

For three years you got me through the name calling.

I had no one to talk to in my times of need.

But I had you. You who were always there for me.

But it all ended when I resurfaced for what would be my last time.

I now know what it was like to be one of those bubbles.

The McClain Natatorium was my sanctuary.

It was home.

Now I am as homeless as I am hopeless.