Friday, January 20, 2012

The Pool (11)

FEAR! Unimaginable fear. What my eyes perceived around me and what my body and emotions were telling me were so diametrically opposed, it felt as if my very humanity was being stripped from me one agonizing cell at a time.  I was slowly transforming into a bloody mass of flesh, unrecognizable as anything but a worthless lump of meat and broken bone.

Sweaty, clammy flesh rubbed against my cheek as my family and  I walked through the double doors into the indoor water play area. I could hear the distant screams of glee and laughter as a giant red bucket tipped over sending its contents cascading onto the half dozen squealing children below. I promptly found a lounge chair and began to curl into the smallest ball possible a man my size could make.

"Are you coming into the pool with us?" I heard a distantly familiar voice ask.

Silence . . .

"Come play Daddy!" another voice called.

"Huh? . . . I  . . .ummmm. . ." was all I could say.

Feathers tickling. . . No, it was hair. . . black curly chest hair (at least that's what I think it was) tickling against my cheeks and lips. Sweaty taste of salt on my tongue.  The air around me started to become heavy, pressing on me from all sides, the invisible atmosphere squeezing and suffocating me.  A naked sweaty body pressing down on top of me. FIGHT it off! I am able to get out from under. . . then I am pinned to the floor again.  I can feel the cheap industrial carpet scratching along my body as I struggle to get free. I look to the side and I can plainly see my clothes in a pile by the door. I am naked. In some strange way, it felt familiar, almost as if the idea behind it was to substitute wrestling with my father when I was younger. This, however, was vastly different. One was innocent play, whereas this was not play. There was a wrongness to this. An inexplicably sinful erotic oppressiveness. I was not an equal. The force I was struggling with was the master, I was the dominated slave.

"Daddy! Please come play!" a voice pleaded from out of the distance.

"I can't. . . I'm . . ."

Pinned against the carpet again. Stale breath, heavy breathing. I am being suffocated by an invisible force from above.  I can't breathe! Quick shallow breaths, I've got to find a way to get oxygen. Suffocating! Suffocating! I am suffocating! Can't move! Flabby, sweaty flesh, the weight of a full grown man on top of this small boy.  I submit. Blackness envelops me like a warm comforting blanket on a cold winters night.

After a few moments the blackness turns to grey, slowly growing brighter and brighter. Grey to white, then I'm back at the poolside.  What was only a few seconds in present time felt as if hours passed before my eyes.  The sounds of happy children playing, growing louder. Out of the blur, into focus white painted steel roof struts,  a giant red bucket  being filled with hundreds of gallons of water. Then, it tips over  showering the happy boys and girls below. Across the room "wheeeeeeeee!" a child pops out of a water slide tube into the water below.

Deep breath, I'm back in the present. "What the fuck was that?"  I thought.

"Are you ok?" I heard my wife say. "Are you going to get into the pool and play with us? " I could tell she was getting frustrated with me.

"No, I can't.  I'm sorry. I just had a new memory." I then proceeded to tell her what I had just experienced.

Later, on the way home, my oxygen deprived  body started to become sick, a migraine pounded in my head. I had survived one of the most intense memories yet.

"Well, at least he didn't rape me. I don't think I could handle that." I finally spoke pushing back nausea and dry heaves.

A week went by, my wife had an opportunity to interview for a job as a Regional Property Director.  We were hoping for the best, but planning for the worst. My days and nights were spent working.  Days were laboring away alone at a machine labeling parts for various aircraft seats.  Nights were spent packing up our home of  many years for possible foreclosure or a move to Denver after her new job was secured.  Even though my present world was full of unknowns, I spent most of that time desperately trying to comprehend the unknown past. I had many questions. Most of which I did not have the answer.  How old was I? What was the con to get me into the office? How long did this go on for? WHY? And many others.

Each day the voice inside my tortured mind repeated over and over. "Not real.  Not real.  It's not real."  But my constant mantra was not erasing my reality as I so desired it would.  I could cling onto the fact it was just . . . just . . . just  . . .

Could it have been more?



iamnotbubba