The Cure

“Yeah, that’s right, two dozen, please,” I say. “I’m at the community pool. How long do think it’ll be?”

I stand out front and wait. It’s raining slightly.

A teenager arrives in a car. He gets out, meets me on the curb. “That’ll be $14.35 with tax,” he says. I give him fifteen.

“Keep the change,” I say.

I’m a pretty generous guy.

I take my hot wings into the change-room. I take off my clothes and place the hot wings on a bench. I put on my trunks and walk to the shower. You’re supposed to have a rinse before you go in. So I have one. I hold the hot wings above my head so they won’t get wet.

I head out to the pool. There’s loud music playing, something from the fifties. Old people sit quietly in the hot tub. Children scream from all directions. I walk past a pile of life jackets and beach balls. I see a guy shoot out from the water slide. He makes a large splash. Then he swims over to the other side of the pool and starts doing lengths, front crawl.

I enter the sauna and sit near the back. I start eating my hot wings. They’re really good.

A woman is in here. She pours water on the rocks. She looks at me wide-eyed, mouth open. She doesn’t say anything. She’s about forty-five.

I have sauce all over my face. I’m starting to heat up. Moisture is coming out of every pore in my body. I’m losing weight right before my eyes. I can’t feel my tongue. Breathing is difficult.

I try to engage the woman in conversation.

The woman leaves.

I think I’m approaching cardiac arrest.

I have five hot wings left. I haven’t even used the blue cheese dip yet.

A young couple enters. The guy whispers to the girl, “Well, looks like we have an Upper Paleolithic Cro-Magnon here.” The girl says, “That man is fucking gross, Jerry.” The couple leaves immediately.

I realize that I can’t see anymore.

My knees are shaking. I have one hot wing to go. It’s a drumstick. My favourite.

I finish the last hot wing. With the box full of bones in my hand I crawl towards the door. I can’t open it. A lifeguard arrives and helps me up. I can tell it’s a male lifeguard because of his grip. I would have preferred a female one. But you can’t always get your way.

The lifeguard puts the box of bones in a trashcan and escorts me to the change-rooms. I hear a parent say to a child, “Daddy’s here, Honey. You don’t have to look.”

The lifeguard says to me, “I’d better not see you here again, asshole.”

I take a long, cold shower. It’s great.

Then, my eyesight returns.

I towel off and put my clothes back on.

I leave the pool.

I feel much better now, thank you.