Part two of a two part story. Part one ran March 29. I think I was half-heartedly expecting John Jolly to turn into the cutthroat I imagined upon my entrance, but he did not. He introduced me to the other swimmers and pointed me in the direction of the locker room.
I pulled out my new swimming attire in the blissful solitude, and was horrified and shocked by the underwear-like bathing suit. I simply could not believe that people actually wore underwear with drawstrings to swim in, but I reluctantly put them on.
The first thing that hit me, after I finished changing, was how cold everything had gotten. Suddenly, I understood why everyone in the pool was a pretty shade of purple. Their coloring was not from torture and abuse, as I had first surmised, but from the immediate temperature drop.
I slowly shuffled out to the pool deck and was intercepted by John Jolly. He asked if I was comfortable in deep water, and, assuming he wanted me to answer in the affirmative, I said yes. He took me over to the diving well, which was separated from the pool, and told me to jump in.
It was now the time to decide whether my life was really worth pleasing this man and the other swimmers who watched with vague interest.
I knew how to swim, but I did not want to get in water where I could hardly see the bottom.
Dad was nowhere in sight, and it had surely been 30 minutes. So, with the utmost care and finesse, I slid into the pool.
I looked up at John, from the bone-chilling water, to see him brightly smiling at me. I tried to understand what reason he could possibly have to be smiling about. I had already felt my insides begin to freeze and thought that this might be the source of his amusement.
John genuinely seemed to like me and like teaching, though I thought he might just be a few brain cells short of a full load. His next question seemed to confirm that.
“Do you know the strokes?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Butterfly?”
“Is that like freestyle?”
“Not quite . breaststroke?”
“Is that like freestyle?”
“Hmm . not really. How about backstroke?”
“Is that like freestyle?”
“Yep. Just on your back.”
By that point, the tension had been released, and I was smiling sheepishly.
John then said with a grin, “Why don’t we start with freestyle and work on the others later.”
After about five minutes of re-learning freestyle, I spotted dad out of the corner of my eye. I jumped out of the pool and ran over to him, forgetting all of my dreadful fantasies about the swim team.
I told him how much fun I was having with John.
He asked if I was ready to go, and I said that it would probably be OK for me to stay just a little while longer, but that he should stay near in case I wanted to go.
Now, 12 years later, dad stays near when I swim competitively, just to make sure Captain Hook and his plank-walking captives don’t try to get a hold of me.

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