Pool Memory

We wore socks in the pool because we were afraid of the bottom. It was unpaved and would leave scratches on our feet. We took turns jumping in, plugging our noses and diving for rings. Hannah and Maya, playing in the baby pool for hours. For summers.

When the sun got too hot and our feet got too soggy, we took our matching butterfly towels and spread them on the rocks. There we lay, with raisained hands and raccoon goggle marks around our eyes, baking in the hot July sun. It was six o’clock; mothers start packing their chairs and giving their kids the “five minute warning”. We didn’t care. Hannah finds a small red rock that’s warm to the touch. She rubs it in her hand and bits of red dust stain her fingers. Like rust colored blood. We strike the rock on the stone ground, rubbing it back and forth like an eraser to produce a beautiful red stain. We add a drop of water and the stuff comes off on your hand like watercolor, perfect for applying as nail polish, lipstick, hair dye and more. That was the summer of Rock Paint.

We move to the grass when the sun begins to set. A tribe of wet children follow us and the construction begins. The small ones gather towels and the bigger ones collect chairs, dragging them across the rocks in their sun-burnt bare feet. When the towel fort is finished, we don’t let Elizabeth inside. We tell her she doesn’t know the secret password. Then the fort becomes a make-up salon. And the kids line up to have their faces, nails, legs, and arms decorated in chalk-like paint. 

Before we know it, our sunblock has worn off and the mosquitos are biting. Mom says it is time for dinner and we walk up the hill and down the gravel path home. Before we know it, it’s September, and Hannah's family is packing the minivan back to Ohio. The next time we see each other, it's another summer later. We’re one school year older and the pool bottom has been paved. Before we know it, we are not wearing socks anymore.