Fred settled himself in the driver’s seat of his car and turned around to check that his passengers, three flat-chested girls including his daughter Molly, had their seatbelts fastened. They were chattering amongst each other and had forgotten him.
“Alison!” The giggling stopped.
“Yeah?”
“Buckle!”
“’Kay.”
And the chattering resumed.
With elaborate caution, Fred backed the vehicle into the suburban street, peering ostentatiously behind and to the left and to the right, well aware of the watchful eyes of Alison’s mother through the living room window. It had taken weeks to get the woman to watch from inside the house instead of the curb where she would supervise his progress with imperious hand gestures and warnings: “watch out for that car … don’t turn too sharp, here comes a bicycle.”
At long last the car, with its precious cargo, was on the quiet suburban street. He eased ahead as if he was leading a funeral procession.
Alison’s mom wasn’t his only tormentor that afternoon. Every mother had some critical instruction regarding the care of her daughter. Maggie warned him not to allow her Jenny anywhere near the water slide. “It’s just not safe,” she said. His wife, Cindy, made him promise not to take the kids to McDonald’s after their swim. “It’s all sugar.” She complained. “Take them to Healthy Way. And make sure Molly doesn’t get any nuts.”
But the kids hated Healthy Way and so did he. There were no seats, only stools, so he couldn’t curl up with his coffee and newspaper, the highlight of the trip for him.
Fred chafed under these instructions but he enjoyed the kids. They carried along noisily by themselves. They ignored his driving, flew hysterically down the water slide and gorged themselves on sugar. They called him Fred.
He listened to their chatter as he drove smoothly through the suburban streets to the swimming pool. They were talking about the high diving board. One of his daughter’s friends claimed to have dived off it head first. The girls were agog.
“Are you gonna try it?”
“Nope,” said Molly, “but my Dad can do it.”
“Hey Fred,” called Jenny, “can you dive off the high?”
“Oh, sure! Of course!” He replied in the hail and hearty voice he put on for such occasions.
He regretted that remark immediately. Of course the kids would put him up to it and he’d have to find a way to back out of it. He’d lose face in front of his daughter.
The image stayed with him as he waited on the pool deck and listened for their giggling arrival. They would challenge him right away, three little flowers looking up at him with excitement. And one would wilt after he disappointed them.
Dammit! Why couldn’t he just do it? He was a strong swimmer though soft and a bit overweight. He could have made the swim team in high school if he hadn’t already started smoking, hanging out with the other losers.
He hated heights. Even climbing a step ladder to change an overhead light bulb made his body tingle and his fingers slippery with sweat. Cleaning the gutters was out of the question, especially the second-storey roof of their home.
Jenny’s father Bill, a bluff, no-nonsense carpenter who served with the militia on weekends, had done it for him one year. Fred, shy and awkward in the face of such competence, had bought him a case of beer for his troubles and carried it across the street to their house. Bill had invited him in to watch the hockey game. He’d sat at one end of the couch listening to him cheer and groan. In the third period Bill laid down on the couch, drawing his feet under his thick haunches to leave room for Fred. Then, after manspreading his thighs, he let loose a long, noisy fart in Fred’s direction.
“Sorry,” he said gleefully. Fred summoned a laugh and spent the rest of the game breathing through his mouth.
The clamour reached his ears. The girls had arrived . “Are you gonna dive? Are you gonna?” They pointed.
“Maybe,” he said. “After you get wet.”
They splashed into the water instantly and bubbled to the surface.
“Fred! Fred! Fred!” They cheered, his daughter’s face an eager sunburst in the middle.
With a quiver in his heart he lurched towards the ladder.
“Not that one! Not that one!” They cheered, pointing not to the three-meter board he was heading for but the dark tower looming menacingly nearby with a single five-metre board.
Really? That thing?
Fred had climbed a ladder more than six feet above the ground only once in his whole life. That was the time when he’d tried to clear the lint which was clogging the dryer vent on the second floor. He’d gone halfway up the ladder, clutching the rungs with sweaty hands, and come to a dead stop. Finally Cindy had to do it while he steadied the ladder from below.
But as he approached he saw that the tower had an advantage over the three-metre board: the stairs were enclosed by the tower in a spiral. The dark entrance looked inviting.
He grasped the handrail and took a step. And then another. He was brushed aside by a younger man taking the steps two at a time. And then a woman. Both looked fit and fearless. Fred, graduate of the high school smokehole, soldiered grimly on.
At last the gloomy stairway gave rise to the platform, a grand stage edged with railings and covered with a sure-grip hemp surface.
Fred saw the truth and recoiled. He was looking down at everything, even the girders supporting the roof. The gigantic water slide was a toy. The chlorine blue pool was a small target below. On the deck three tiny girls waved rapturously.
His hands clenched the railing and saliva flooded his mouth.
“‘Scuse me,” said an athletic young man as he walked past him to the end. Fred watched him stop, turn back towards him then arch his back and plummet off the edge. He heard a tiny splash much later.
No. He couldn’t do it. What if he landed badly? Would he break something? Would a bellyflop disembowel him or would it just be hugely embarrassing and painful. His breathing was rapid and his pulse pounded in his ears. He looked past the edge where the other diver had disappeared and saw a clock on the wall far on the other side. It read 1:20 p.m. He wondered how long he’d hesitate before finally turning around.
He could just say he didn’t have the nerve. It had been too many years.
“Excuse me.” An older man walked to the edge and stared down, swaying slightly back and forth. He waved at somebody below then jumped, feet first, with a rebel yell. Again a distant splash.
Three little flowers on one side of the pool, not waving or cheering.
Fred had learned a little bit about conquering fear from a magazine article. Just take one step at a time, the writer had advised. Don’t get too far out of your comfort level. Remember you are in control and there’s no shame in quitting. You can come back and try again.
With a gulp he took one hand off the railing and walked slowly towards the end of the board, keeping his eyes down, watching the carpet at his feet.
And then there was no carpet, only a small square of chlorine blue water a thousand miles below.
His knees trembled and he struggled not to faint. His right hand was clamped to the railing. When his heart returned to normal, he thought, he’d take that hand away.
He waited and waited, wondering if there were people behind him getting impatient.
He took his hand off the railing and saw himself through the eyes of the people behind. He knew they could see his fear but maybe they’d think he was brave for confronting it. “Look at that guy,” they’d say. “First time. C’mon man! You can do it!”
Yes he was a brave man, he thought. Brave enough to lean forward just the tiniest little bit. Brave enough to ——
And then suddenly he was flying, arms windmilling to bring his head down and then smack!
His nasal cavities exploded and he was blinded by the rush of water. His momentum shot him 10 feet below the surface. He blinked at the waves above and then his head broke the surface.
The girls were cheering and laughing. He slowly stroked to the side, eyes clamped on the face of his daughter.
Do it again! Do it again!
Hey girls, how about McDonalds?
Yeah! They chorused.
They’d have 45 minutes at the restaurant before heading back. His wife would need the car and he he thought it was about time to take down that string of Christmas tree lights. He could do it by himself