I was in love with a lifeguard when I was twenty.
She was tanned, beautiful and full of joy. Of course, I imagine a lifeguard shouldn't be sullen, angry and full of shit because no one - not even someone choosing between the white light and white concrete - would want CPR from a lifeguard with bad breath. Besides, there was enough shit, anger and regret seeping out of my pores to comfortably feed the both of us for years.
She was tanned, beautiful and full of joy. Of course, I imagine a lifeguard shouldn't be sullen, angry and full of shit because no one - not even someone choosing between the white light and white concrete - would want CPR from a lifeguard with bad breath. Besides, there was enough shit, anger and regret seeping out of my pores to comfortably feed the both of us for years.
She saved lives. I made pizza. I saved pennies. She made lemon chicken and crepes. We had sex on a soccer field during a thunder storm. I knew then - somewhere around the 30 yard line - that sex before marriage wasn't a sin. If God wanted to strike us down, I can't think of a more appropriate opportunity.
She was strapping on roller blades ( "A fad." I told her. "It'll never last.") while I was lacing my shoes for a walk that lasted far longer than originally intended.
I finally said sorry today. She accepted. Once a lifeguard, always a lifeguard.
