Coryn’s alarm clock buzzed persistently. Without opening her eyes, she reached out and shut it off. She lay there for a minute wondering why she had set it. Then slowly, like touching an aching tooth with her tongue, she remembered.
She dragged herself out of bed. She stumbled toward the bathroom to dash her face with water, brush her teeth, twist her hair up into a bun, secure it with an elastic ribbon. Dressing quickly in a sweater, pants, she tiptoed downstairs and out to her car.
It was still dark outside as Coryn drove to the community pool. She’d started going swimming every day, a therapy she’d discovered worked for her. She discovered the early morning gave her time before the rest of the day’s duties faced her. She had taken on more and more of the jobs her mother used to handle so easily, so efficiently. It seemed to Coryn her mother was going steadily downhill. It frightened her, and swimming seemed to lessen the tension she felt.
She also used the time to pray. For strength, for courage, for whatever the next months held. In the last several weeks she had turned to prayer more than ever before in her life. They were not the quick, desperate prayers or the careless ones she had often prayed. These were different. She had felt more tuned in than ever before. They were a kind of listening prayer. Seeking strength, guidance. For the first time in her life she knew she had to be there for her parents the way they had always been there for her. It was a new role, one she hadn’t expected, one she did not feel prepared for. The word help prayerfully said was often on her lips and in her mind and heart as she went through the day.
She parked her car, slung the bag containing her bathing suit, thongs, towel and toilette articles over her shoulder and went inside the pool building. At once the combined smells of chlorine, wet tile, canvas and plastic prickled her nostrils. She showed her pass card to be punched, got her locker key and went into the dressing room.
Earlier swimmers were already showering, using the hair dryers, chatting with one another. Coryn moved right to a locker, opened it, stowed her bag, started undressing. All around her women friends were discussing their weight, their diets, their husbands and children. She nodded to a few whom she recognized as regulars, but spoke to no one. The whole point of this self-prescribed therapy was her anonymity. She didn’t want to speak to anyone or have anyone speak to her. She’d heard sharing burdens was helpful. She’d always heard that But right now she knew that the only way she could bear this awful thing that was happening was not to talk about it. As if not talking about it made it not real.
She pulled on her tank suit, slipped her bare feet into thongs and moved like a robot into the prerequisite shower. Afterward she tossed her towel over her shoulder and walked down the green-painted corridor to the pool.
Aqua-tinted water shimmered from the painted bottom of the big, rectangular pool. Light from the gray day outside, filtered through the slanted windows, was augmented by glaring bulbs in aluminum fixtures set in the arched ceiling. A lifeguard sat at one end on a mounted place from where he could view the swimmers. Every sound was amplified in the enormous room. The ponging sound of the diving board’s metal springs, the echoing splash as the diver hit the water. Coryn disliked the claustrophopic feeling of swimming indoors. She had always loved swimming in a mountain lake or in the ocean. Coryn bit her lip and struggled with the urge to leave. But she was here for a purpose. Necessary activity to combat stress-induced depression.
She shoved her hair into her bathing cap while looking for an empty lane. She went to the side of the pool. Suppressing the reluctance to get into the water, she sat down on the edge, dangled her feet in the water, shivering as the chill ripples swirled around her ankles. Finally, taking a deep breath, she pushed herself into the water.
There were two what she called “serious swimmers” in the lanes on either side of her. One was doing a vigorous backstroke, the other a butterfly crawl. Water spewed up in their wakes and Coryn quickly ducked her head and slid into a slow breaststroke down to the other end of the pool.
At first it took just grim determination to swim the length of the lane. She forced herself back and forth a half-dozen times, alternating from sidestroke to crawl then floating on her back, making her arms propel her.
Gradually some of the tension began to drift away as she concentrated on her swimming.
That was why she came here, to blank out the shock, sadness, grief she felt about her mother’s illness. The unfairness of it all would gnaw, and the grinding pain would activate as she plowed through the resisting water. Slowly the tears would come and she would let them. No one saw or noticed. The marathon swimming went on on either side of her.
Kicking her feet, arms pulling strongly with each stroke, she fought back the terror of what they might be facing further along. Here she could let the tears she dared not cry at home in the presence of either parent flow. Running in rivulets down her cheeks and no one would see. She could swim under the surface of the water, come up, her face wet. Nobody paid any attention. Everyone was here for single-minded fitness goals, exercise, physical training.
She turned the panic into energy. The fear. She had to admit she was afraid. Afraid of what she might be called upon to do in the future. Her parents had always sheltered her, protected her. Shielded her as much as possible from disappointment, from hurt, from harm. She had lived most of her life in the cocoon of their love. Now it was her turn and she was afraid she wasn’t up to it. She had to be up to it. There was no other way. There was no one else.
“I can’t go through this alone,” her father had said. Neither can I! Coryn screamed silently.
Coryn felt the sobs coming, coming up through her tight chest, into her throat, choking her as she turned her head, gasping for air.
At the far end of the pool, she reached out with one hand, pulled herself against the side. The swimmers on both sides kept on swimming. She put her head down against the hands gripping the rail. Oh, God, I can’t, I can’t! Yes you can, and you will. She raised her head. Had someone spoken? I will never leave you or forsake you. Joshua 1:5. Those words from scripture learned a long time ago returned to her memory. She remembered she had received a medal in Sunday school for memorizing. She did not have to go it alone.
Strange, common thought was that it was in church you received inspiration, guidance, comfort. But isn’t God everywhere? His spirit is not dependent on time or place or circumstance. He had given her this as a tool. Swimming as a coping skill. And it was working. She emerged from the pool, her body tingling from the exercise, knowing it had been worth the effort.
She pulled herself up, sat on the side of the pool, stripped off her cap, shook out her hair. She could go home now. Somehow comforted, strengthened, to face whatever there was to face.
She showered, changed into her sweatshirt, pulled on pants, sneakers, then went out into the damp morning. She drove through the quiet streets, past houses where people were just getting up, cooking breakfast, men dressing for work, children for school. She saw a boy on a bike delivering newspapers.
Then just a little ahead, on the left-hand side of the road, coming through the mist, she saw a figure, jogging. As she got closer, she could see who it was. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She saw his face, his intense expression. Hair dampened into waves fell on his broad forehead as he ran steadily forward. Mark. She passed him, not knowing whether he saw or recognized her. For a moment all the old feelings she had for him welled up within her. If only it could have been different…if they had met some other time…under other circumstances. It might have been different…