by Irie Bliss

Created on: April 07, 2009

Diving Bored

Pool water never looks that cold until you test it with your feet.

Sitting on the edge of the diving board, my freshly shaved legs dangling over the sides, I wasn't taking any chances. It was getting dark and the streetlights had just come on. I could see each elegant metal pole poking up from behind my mother's house, the one she made my father move from, the one his father had designed.

Your attention turned to the darkening sky indicating that something had probably made a noise above us. I looked up at the ear piercing blast exploding into the stars and wondered if you could feel the vibrations in the warm summer wind as much as I could. Perhaps the feel of an explosion is equally as gratifying as the sound. I looked over at you just as the multicolored-lights began to reflect down upon your light brown face and a full-toothed grin took the place of your previously surprised expression. You were standing at the end of the diving board, one foot on the dirty plastic, both hands in the pockets of the jeans you sagged so beautifully. I let my questions fade with the yellow sparks that had already melted into the sky.

"Fireworks," you said to the crescent moon. You would have chosen to talk to the stars, but the night's, the week's, the month's, pollution made them impossible to see. Maybe one star was visible; maybe you were talking to that one.

I couldn't hear what they are saying or relate to any audience the pitches of their voices, but far off in the distance there were people, children really, screaming and yelling as they celebrated. Supposedly, somebody had signed some paperwork, which gave themselves independence from somebody else,
while all the common folk lined up and killed some other people. Or so my history books attempted to explain. These were all facts I had forgotten long before your presence made me forget that the holiday even existed.

You proceeded to sit behind me. I tensed up, excited, wanting you to press your breasts into my back
and grab the insides of my thighs. Instead, you kissed my bare shoulders and let your lips run over the back of my neck. The outstretched pool water seemed miles below us now. The screws and bolts that held us dangling, loosened by years of cannon balls and neglect, completely went unnoticed. I held my breath and allowed your hands to find the nervous skin beneath my shirt.

There was something in the front pocket of your sweatshirt. I could feel it poking into my lower back. With your short curls and over-sized

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