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salt water pools

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She took a plunge to become something new, to shed off her past with fresh water. She felt like an improved version of her old self because she was moving forward, with a new apartment, a new school, a new relationship. Her new roommates screamed when they met her at the airport and they said they were still surprised she was there, with them. 

(The same man beside the pool said something to her as she walked past.)

She loved her new apartment – and, her new roommates – she had moved past the traumatic thing – she was Me: 2.0. She was bored of the old challenges, because they hadn’t adapted, as she had, to the world, with their outdated violence, believing it worked to a basic degree, so that the aggressor felt in control of something, or someone, walking down the street.

(It was so hot, and the sun never seemed to set, which was nice, although, after some time, she craved the coolness of dark.) 

Her dog often shook with excitement before jumping into the pool but today it leapt without hesitation. It pierced through the flat layer of the water and liked the taste of salt.

(The man made a remark about her dog, and how long have you had it, and what’s it’s name, and I could come over to walk it, if you need a hand, what apartment do you live in, I’m in number six, reminding her that the role of a woman was to listen to people’s advice on how they should really walk a dog, that the purpose of a woman was to be the physical sounding board for people of all genders and ages to police them into shape through passive aggressive advice, on how to swim, or walk, or what bathing suit was appropriate, and what it said about them, until they became human beings by swimming beside a man.)

The dog came up from the water and shook. She loved her new apartment, and the salt-water pool was an added bonus in the heat.  

word by Liam Lachance

colour by Bart Smeets photo by Karen Dillabough

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