The Ocean Pool – Part 1: Dawn Lengths

Ravi swam fifty lengths every dawn, and on the morning he forgot to turn, someone spoke.

"That's the wall," said a voice.

He surfaced, gasping, in the cold green water of the ocean pool at Bronte, a long rock-cut basin on the edge of the Pacific, its far wall washed by the surf. The sky was pale pink. The tide was coming in, slow and heavy. Beside the pool, on the stone step, sat a man in a worn grey hoodie with a thermos.

"Sorry?"

"The wall. You were going to swim into it. You've been in a daze for twenty lengths."

"I wasn't aware."

"I noticed." The man smiled, a crinkled, careful smile. "Oscar. I come here at six. Most days I watch you. I'm sorry. It sounds strange."

Ravi laughed, wiping water off his face. He was thirty-one, a primary teacher, lean and dark-haired, with a faint scar on his chin. His husband had died in March. He had taken up swimming in April, because it was the only thing that stopped his head. "It doesn't sound strange."

"I was a lifeguard," said Oscar. "Twenty years. It's a habit. I watch the water."

He was thirty-four, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired, with sun-weathered skin and kind, tired eyes. He poured tea into the lid of the thermos and held it out. Ravi took it, his hands shaking slightly with cold.

"Thanks."

"It's sweet."

It was hot, sugary and perfect. They sat on the stone step in silence, watching the surf break white over the far wall. The sun rose, a vast red disc, lifting out of the Pacific. A cormorant stood on a rock, wings spread to dry.

"I swim to stop thinking," said Ravi, after a while.

"I know."

"Does it work?"

"For about forty lengths."

Ravi laughed. It startled him. It was the first time in months.

"Can I ask you something?" said Oscar.

"Yes."

"Would you mind if I sat here again tomorrow?"

"Green?" said Ravi, a flag, a tide.

"Green," said Oscar, softly. "Very green. Same time."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Slack Tide.