| Home Page | ||||
Identity crisisby Jenny
Seal-sleek, he handed his winner's token to the blond recorder. "Good win. Name... " "Keddy Foley." A small frown, "In the 50m sprint?" Keddy looked down at the record sheet, spraying water. "Yeah, sorry, Adam. Adam Foley." "Identity crisis?" The recorder grinned. Plundering, luscious, those were the words Keddy admitted to later. But now he was merely breathless. Breathtaken. Jelly-kneed, he dropped a steadying hand to the trestle table and the data entry guy glanced across, "You okay, dude?" Keddy nodded, oddly confused by the pool cacophony, second and third placegetters shuffling in now, a whiff of chlorine, hot air panting behind him. The recorder scraped back his chair. "I'm taking a break, Rob. Can you finish this one?" and his dry hand clasped Keddy's forearm. "Where's your gear? In the stand?" Keddy blinked, gathering his wits. "Sorry, just …" They walked slowly. "You faded away for a moment. I'd like to imagine I made an impression, but I'm assuming you need some food…" But you did, you did, sang Keddy's heart. "So, can I buy you a coffee?" Keddy felt naked in his slippery slick Speedos and hastily donned t-shirt and jandals. "You've got another race?" "Not for ages." Keddy was afraid to look up, afraid of more dizziness. He kept his eyes on the wet floor tiles. From a table in the corner, Keddy could take a look at 'his' recorder. Faded powder blue track pants clinging to his hips, damp from knee to ankle, a swim meet badge of honour. Shiny white Globes, loosely laced. A tight white t-shirt, and as he turned slightly to hand over his money, Keddy could see a soft belly trapped between ribs and track pants. The recorder turned and met his gaze, and reddened as he carried a plate to the table. "Coffee's coming." He had bought Keddy a doughnut and a plum. "What're you having?" "I'm not hungry. Well, I am but I'm trying to ignore it. I'm having a little - internal war." "Sounds dangerous." The recorder smoothed a hand over his stomach. "It is. I'm losing." He nodded at the plate, "You go ahead." Keddy nibbled at the doughnut. "D'you swim?" "Last year, a third, a second and two firsts." "That's great. What about this year?" "I went to Mexico, for work. No pool, great food … well, I … well, now I wouldn't be seen dead in togs." He shrugged, blond hair dropping over his eyes, blue eyes, golden brown lashes, a pale tan – Keddy shook himself and focused. "I promised myself I'd be in shape for this Meet." He shrugged again and Keddy watched his hand smooth over his stomach once more. I want to do that. I want to do that. The recorder snapped his fingers, "Jeez, I never even introduced myself. I'm David." Keddy shook his hand, electrified, "I'm … I'm … " he was stunned into immobility again. The recorder held his hand. "It's Adam but it's not, is that right?" A shudder seemed to pass between them as their hands dropped, and the recorder's hand, David's hand, shook slightly as he picked up his cup. "Keddy. Adam's just for formal stuff." "How does Keddy come from Adam?" "It's a Scots thing." Keddy caught his arm as they left the café, squinting against the roar of the pool, "Meet me at seven." "What? Where?" "Here." * The crowd had gone. Flags, banners, streamers, folded; streaks of colour hosed away. Tables, ropes, computers, stacked and packed. A few lone swimmers. Two teenagers with a ball in the distance. Tiles mopped and shining. Silent still smooth water. Keddy sat in the bleachers. 7.01 7.02 7.03 and there he was zig-zagging down the rows of seats. Keddy handed him a small bag. "Open it." David drew out two pairs of charcoal board shorts. "What's this?" "We're going for a swim." "What? No! No way in hell." "C'mon." They shared a long cubicle. "Shoes off." "I can't do this." "Let me help you." David no longer confident, trembling as Keddy placed cool hands on his hips and drew down his track pants and boxers. Shuddering as Keddy laid electric fingers on his waistline, thumb tips scraping his belly as he lifted off his t-shirt. David closed his eyes. "Feet." Keddy lifted the board shorts, "Breathe in." He fastened the Velcro below his navel and patted his stomach, "A perfect fit." Keddy shucked his own clothes and donned the twin pair of board shorts, slapping the Velcro closed across his own taut belly. "Ready?" "No, but … okay." They padded out on cold tiles, their arms brushing from shoulder to elbow. An empty lane beckoned. "What if I've forgotten how?" "You don't." "What if I can't make it to the other end?" "You will." David inched to the edge, toes curled over the tiles. Tepid water lapped at his feet, the feel, the sound, the sight, the smell, so familiar, and with a sob he dived, breaking the surface, plunging deep, weightless, and Keddy would be waiting at the other end.
© 2008
|