Each time they descended to the pool, in the high rise’s elevator, they could check the backs of their heads in the bright 360 degree mirrors. How much less hair on this ride than on the last? they’d joke to each other. Sixty three years old was not fifty three. But it also was not seventy three, they agreed.
Focus on the moment, she told herself. Maybe meditation is the answer. Her late father, ahead of his time, had taken up that.
Was he as scared as she was of what was ahead? she wondered.
I’m sorry I never asked you. I was busy with my life.
But he never blamed her, she knew. He had been the one who taught her to swim, she thought as, cap on, she dove into the pool.
Karen Regen Tuero has published short fiction in North American Review, New World Writing, Gargoyle, Lunch Ticket, Potomac Review, Iron Horse, and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. For links to many of her published stories, go to: https://linktr.ee/kregentuero
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