The June sun warms my skin. It feels like summer.
I have come to the public pool to swim laps. It is nearly deserted, except for the lifeguard. The water feels cold at first, but I ease into it and begin to swim. Soon I find the familiar rhythm while watching the display of net-like patterns of sunlight dancing in the water. For a time I only swim.
Then I lose the precious conversance with the present, with the light. My mind relapses to brooding over anxieties. I swim as if on auto-pilot, worrying. Mostly about someone close to me who has a history of substance abuse. She has been doing so much better for a while, up until very recently. But she has a pattern of sabotaging her successes.
She says this is a temporary setback, just a bout of depression, and she swears that she is not using. I want to believe her. I would worry a lot less if I did believe her. But past experiences make me wary of trusting what she says.
When I finish the laps I haul my body out and sit on the sun-baked concrete rim around the pool. There is a term for this concrete rim—it is called the “coping”. How appropriate to sit here and try to cope with caring about her.
I think about how she and I both live in the same city, but our experiences are so different. I am free to swim and dwell in the present moment occasionally, while she is imprisoned by her addiction and is struggling with her underlying problems. I know some of her family history, and I suspect that some of her problems may have origins older than her, having plagued her ancestors, too.
Leaving the pool area, carrying my towel and goggles, the June sun warms my skin. It feels like summer. But I remember that June also brings winter to the southern hemisphere.
How to cite: Wing, Steve. “Just Another Day: Steve Wing.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 4 Jun. 2023, chajournal.blog/2023/06/04/steve-wing.
Steve Wing is a former Cha contributor. He retired from working for many years at a major university. Currently he lives in Florida.
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