Let's Do

Tom and Georgia Come Over to Swim

tom and georgia come over to swim
The night is too humid and still for the fan, but Pauline needs sound, the hum of blades slicing air. She twists the knob on the GE stand-up to “high,” then spins around to cool the backs of her knees. Strips of red and pink plastic fly from the fan, circling and flickering over her skin like minnows. Last Saturday, Pauline’s daughter Ellie tied streamers to the fan after watching the air-conditioning display at Sears. Ellie had liked the way the display’s silver-blue streamers glinted and danced in cool air. Pauline likes the noise of the streamers as they tangle together, crackling over the hum like her daughter’s laughter. She twirls again, as if her motion will help stir the air, but her knees remain sticky, the breeze damp and mechanical. She walks to the kitchen and opens the freezer, leaning deep into iced shelves 134 tom and georgia come over to swim 135 of boxed waffles and paper-wrapped T-bones. Lingering in the chill, she takes out an ice tray; she’ll have a quick Beam and Coke before Tom and Georgia arrive. She’ll mix it light, pouring almost all Coke: a little something sweet and cool on her throat, but with enough edge and weight to steel her insides. Pauline was surprised to see Tom and Georgia at the 5-Star today, out and about, even shopping, like any other day. Since their daughter Carrie’s funeral a few weeks ago, it seems like their front door hasn’t opened, though cars line the curb all the way to Pauline’s mailbox. Every time she drives by, Pauline is struck by how everything outside—the volleyball net and plump rhododendrons —looks exactly the same. But when she wheeled her cart into produce this morning, there they stood, Georgia touching the rough husks of cantaloupes, Tom staring at the grapes in the cart. Pauline chattered stupidly about the clumsy new paperboy, the slow mail this week, anything just to fill the silence between them. Pauline noticed their cart was absent of its usual fruit pops and cereal. Her own cart seemed too full of such things, garish with cartoon colors. At the 5-Star, Pauline talked too eagerly for too long a time, but she at least had the sense to invite Tom and Georgia to swim. It was, she felt, her only comfort to offer. The last few days of July have been the hottest in years, the air stifling, almost like trying to breathe water. Pauline’s husband Danny drooped through the doorway this evening, his shirt clinging, the very soul sweated out of him from working all day at their landscaping business. The pool, she hopes, will bring sweet relief to them all. She cracks ice into a glass, each cube dropping and ringing through the kitchen and hall. Lately, Pauline has noticed that silence seems amplified, that background noises are strangely essential and soothing. Especially when she is alone, like tonight: Danny has run to the Quik-Mart for beer, and Ellie is upstairs asleep, exhausted from another full day of play. This summer has 136 let’s do brought Ellie’s friends like cicadas, their voices from the backyard loud and cheerful and constant. They splash in the pool, scream “Marco! Polo!” and shriek as suits are yanked and handstands collapse. Pauline usually watches over the pages of a People , keeping a close eye on Ellie, watching as Ellie plays water ballet. She thinks there is nothing so graceful as when her daughter kicks high to the clouds, her legs proud and slender as a swan’s neck, curling in at the toes. Her legs hover, then slowly disappear into underwater darkness like the rest of her, without even a ripple. Ellie has practiced this move since she was just seven, and now at eight, has added a downward half-spiral. Still, Pauline counts every second until the water breaks, until the submerged shadow bursts into form and becomes her daughter again. Pauline stands by Ellie’s bed, her drink clinking softly; she holds the glass tighter to muffle the sound. Her daughter is sweating through dreams but is safe and intact, kicking off covers and sheets as she sleeps. She slides her cooled fingers across Ellie’s bangs, over her bright, sunburned cheeks. Ellie folds herself...