associated in random thought

against all odds

the weather in austin (or, as some call it: hell's rental space), always seems to beat the odds.

today, like every summer day, the heat is stifling. the thermostat lingers near the 100 degree mark. the dogs sleep on their backs in the air conditioned living room. and i sweat.

we watch the news. the 10 day forecast is always the same: 20% chance of rain underneath ten big suns.

as i sit beside a cold beer at the green muse, hoping for some words to find me (they rarely find me at home anymore), the clouds are rolling in. the wind is picking up. a clap of thunder. the distinct smell of wet concrete in the distance: here comes a storm. though my back is still feeling the heat from the sun beating down five minutes ago, the green muse is now grey overhead. rain beats down on the tin roof overhead like applause.

here is the trouble with writing austin storms realtime: it has already passed. the sun is reappearing, and sticky humidity is to ensue. so it goes.

i'll take what i can get.

i experienced a weekend of similarily small miracles with my family. i trekked up to dallas on thursday, sitting in the middle seat between my niece and nephew, who were all too happy to talk nonstop during the trip. when we weren't sampling texmex a la uncle julio's, or sitting on the couch watching the movie, fat albert over and over, we were at the pool.

my sister eileen's boyfriend lives in one of those swanky suburban neighborhoods of frisco (texas), and the neighborhood pool is actually a small water park: four pools, two with waterfalls, one with a mushroom thingy, and one with a proper waterslide.

my niece, alaina, is a fish; she has been swimming laps since she was six. and so she slid down that slide, into the 4 1/2 foot pool, in every way imaginable. on her back. on her belly. backwards. backwards on her belly.

my nephew, bob, on the other hand, is a lot more like me: he is deathly afraid of anything out of his control. i.e. water. and waterslides. on his first day at the pool, bobby hung by the edge of the pool nervously. he rode the slide only after much pressure, and wasn't sure what he thought about it afterward.

however, as a 7 year old kid, of course, he wanted to ride the slide. you could see it in his eyes every time he watched alaina spash into the pool. and so, his mom bought him a life jacket.

we convinced bob that he would most definitely stay afloat while in the jacket. he tested it out awhile, swimming along the wall of the pool. and then he ventured away from the wall. he splashed around a bit. then flailed. then jumped up and down. then swam on his back awhile. finally convinced, he ran up the stairs (as we grownups yelled "bobby! walk!" such killjoys.) and carefully mounted the slide. he pushed off, and from the bottom, i heard the happy screams of a boy unafraid, going down a waterslide.

bobby emerged at the bottom with an openmouthed grin. choking on a mouthful of water, he laughed and clapped his hands. "ohmygod you guys, that was SO FUN!" he said, and ran up the steps again. and again. and again.

by yesterday afternoon, bob was the waterslide connosieur. he quickly outranked his sister in points for style, poise, speed, and daredevilish creativity.

my god, he made me so proud. he even swam underwater, sans jacket.

i know the following smacks of chicken soup for the soul cliche, but my nephew's confidence in that life jacket to hold him up was quite awe-inspiring. my boy was absolutely fearless when he wore that thing.

i still have panic attacks often. i know that they stem from irrational fear, from fear unknown, of the big world around me. i had one on friday night, and found myself vomiting flautas and margaritas in the tiny stall of a frisco bar, when i was supposed to be out and having a great time with my sisters. nothing specific brought it on. and nothing but expulsion would alleviate. and i missed most of the evening.

i wonder what it takes to believe in my abilility to float. i wonder if i'll ever remember.

i know that my chemical cocktail serves its purpose, but it is not the life jacket. it simply enables me to feel the lifejacket at all. it is my job to believe that i won't drown, if only for the fact that i haven't drowned yet.

for now, i'm taking the subtle cues of my nephew, the careful daredevil, and my niece, who doesn't even think about floating. she simply swims and smiles.

Posted by bananie at August 1, 2005 5:03 PM | TrackBack