On the hottest days of summer, my brothers and I would walk to the local swim pool. We lived, and my parents still do, in northern New Mexico just a few miles from the Colorado border. The winters can be cold there with plenty of snow, though they felt colder and snowier then, which surprises many outside the Southwest. What does live up to its reputation, however, is and continues to be the blistering hot summers. Later I would try to describe the heat as ‘dry’ to semi-interested Dutch acquaintances, though the adjective only means something to people that have experienced it, and thus, have no need for explanation.
My parents house sits squarely on a hill some five miles from the pool. Once or twice a week, my brothers and I would tire of our toys and water guns and tree houses and fantasies and walk to the pool. My oldest brother typically led the way since my younger brother and I, unable to withstand the distant ice cream truck blasting its addicting jingle, would almost always get lost. Our distraction significantly prolonged the walk. At our departure, faithfully accompanying us was my dog Gypsy, who would walk us to the perimeter of our property and reluctantly turn back when we told her to go home. A mix of border collie, dingo, and mutt, she was a true friend and protector of ours that I’m sure will be the subject of another story.
The street we lived on was aptly and unimaginatively named Foothills as it was positioned at the foothills of the distant San Juan Mountains. Even on a hot day, such as this one, we could easily make out snow white peaks above the juniper trees and mesas in the foreground. Being the foothills, the walk to the pool meant scaling and descending a few hills and valleys; an everyday fact that never fully factored into our plans.
The walk to the pool seemed like a quest, even though we all knew the way. We past through the primary school playground, ignoring its appetizing yet sizzling metal slides that had tricked us before and continued towards the adjacent neighborhoods. We could hear grumpy and lonely dogs bound within concrete and center-block. I felt sympathy for the dogs, since they seemed caged and heat crazy, and not at all free like mine. Though, I knew if I tried to befriend one, it would probably choose to protect its home over potential friendship, and try to rip off my face.
Not too long ago I had met one such dog on my walk home from a friend’s house with my younger brother. We were cutting across a neighbors property, avoiding sticker bushes and juniper trees when we came face to face with a possessed German Shepard. We made the unmakeable mistake of running from the enraged beast, who seemed so big relative to us, and it bit at our legs as we ran. It was one of many times that summer I thought I would surely die. Today, the hot day, we passed the faceless dogs and their calls for attention with silent reverence and fear.
On our journey we spoke often of simple things as those were simple times. We asked ourselves if we would get fireworks that year (fireworks are always banned); what time Mom would be home; who could run the fastest, through the furthest, or more importantly who was the slowest and incapable; who would be at the pool; how hot was it; and other immediate concerns. This was a welcome distraction since the black asphalt and concrete sidewalks seemed to intensify the heat.
We would finally arrive at the golf course, where my parents were members. Elderly men and women, retirees though we didn’t know what that was at the time, hit golf balls amazing distances. We could never be sure one wasn’t coming for us. That is why we typically ran across the fairways, sensing the danger from above, only pausing if there was a snack cart nearby. More than once we were scolded for these choices but it seemed a reasonable risk to take at the time, especially so since we weren’t completely certain how to get to the pool any other way.
At last we reached the swim pool and wasted no time diving in. The quest was over, the heat defeated. The water was cool and clear that refreshed us. Tanned high school lifeguards attentively watched and occasionally yelled when we got to rowdy. The hours slipped by, each in our own way delaying the long walk home.
As long as I can remember, I have been swimming.
Neil Aaron Thompson 