Simultaneous Life

Ronnie had the kids at the pool at the YMCA again. She was standing on the wheelchair ramp looking down at the baby who had a small plastic frog. The frog was jumping on and off a small swim float. Ronnie’s skin was cold because she’d been in the water which was eighty-six degrees and now was standing under one of the giant vents in the giant air circulating pipes. In fact, she froze. The baby, bless her, was good for about thirty minutes in the deeper water, riding around on Ronnie’s hip and being splashed about and playing with inflated balls and diving rings. Then she wanted to get her hands on the railing of this very convenient ramp and wriggle her laughing, charming way up and down it, ending up in the shallowest bit where she could sit and play in the water, very nice for her but cold. If Ronnie sat and tried to get more of her skin into the water, the baby would stand up and go just enough steps away that if she were to fall over and crack her head open, Ronnie wouldn’t be able to reach her. So she stood, shivering.

There had been a time when she would have tried to convince the baby to return to the water before the baby was ready to do so on her own. She would have cajoled her with toys saved for that purpose, and she would have maybe even dragged her crying into the water. But then she had written onto her flesh the true meaning and purpose of her life at that moment, which was to watch over the children, who were enjoying the water, and make sure they didn’t die or have bad experiences. All she had to do, at that recurring moment in time which was from about one o’clock until about two o’clock on Tuesday and Thursday, was to tend the children. Did she have to be comfortable at this time? No. Did she have to enjoy the water? No. There were many times in her life when she had been comfortable and had enjoyed water. Now was a time when she was protecting her children and promoting their happiness as the pool enriched their lives and developed their minds and bodies. So why cloud that with her comfort or discomfort. Who really cares? There are people walking around with no limbs, or whose children have fallen out of buildings and died, or people who can’t come to the YMCA because they live in some godforsaken rural hellhole. In the face of their suffering would she really cut short the very happy, shrieking, laughing playtime of Bubber and the baby over a little chill on her shoulders?

Eventually, the baby would get cold and want to be held. Then Ronnie could take her out into the deeper water and she’d go to sleep on Ronnie’s shoulder. Eventually even Bubber would get tired of the water and whatever friend he’d roped into playing with him would leave and they’d all get out of the pool and go take a shower and go home and they’d do whatever Tuesday or Thursday required until Tuesday and Thursday changed into some other thing and then they’d do that. This right now, coldness in the pool, was a tiny, hissing blip on the long beautiful stretch of her children’s lives, and of her life too. Wasn’t she going to be warm in a minute? Wasn’t that as good as being warm now?