Deep End Dance
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As the staff moved in and safely took an emotional Justin away, I got dressed and an APRN helped me out of the pool – I was worn down, beat. The circus was over – the trio of clowns got paid, the sun set, and the shrinks drove home to their families, as the rest of us were herded back into our units in time for dinner. That evening in the main room, Juniper sidled up beside me.“Why’d you put yourself through all that crap in the pool today, Evan?” “No more blood,” I said. “I couldn’t stand the possibility of seeing any more of it. My own or someone else’s – it didn’t matter.”“Right,” Juniper said. “I still need help,” I said. “I loathe my fat. Cellulite sickness me. Body dysmorphic disorder, I think it’s called. I see only major defects in a mirror.”“I feel that way, too,” Juniper said. “Even though you appear perfectly delightful to me?” I asked.“Yeah,” she said, smiling and hugging me awkwardly. “Even though.”
That day in September was a bizarre one at Oz – a place I lived in for thirty months in my mid-twenties, where time ceased and nothing was ever normal or as it first appeared. A place I still look back on with jagged shards of nostalgia and substantial warmth. After that day, outdoor activities at Oz got suspended. But spring came back around with a vengeance and they razed the whole pool – planted sunflowers, rose bushes, two pear trees, and some hydrangea in its place. If you drive by today, there are flowers, trees, shrubs, and a lovely pine bench with a brass plaque in memory of the adolescent girl. It wasn’t any of those other A names I had mentioned, but it was unique and singular. Not Andy or Allie. Not Aimee, either. Just a simple colorful name. Aqua, that was it.R.I.P. Aqua.