Mondays [North End]

by Aileen Ma

Today is his sixtieth birthday, but otherwise, it is very much a usual Monday. No miracles have happened, or anything supremely misfortunate. He not lost nor gained 40 pounds, but has retained his beer belly. The economic situation is almost as bad as it was when he went to sleep, and yes he still likes to have his salami no matter how much the people at his job hate it. He crawls out of bed at ten in the morning, having returned from his three day long distance job in New Jersey at three in the morning, and enjoys leftover spaghetti from the fridge that Marie left for him the night before. He washes the dish and fork, then changes out of his striped cotton PJs into his casual clothes, and puts his swimming trunks into a plastic bag. Heads out the door and remembers to lock it.

Gets off the T at the YMCA. Says hi to Benny the guy in charge as he heads inside. Slaps old man Jerry on the back in the locker room. Pulls those swimming trunks over his gut and lets the string inside run a little loose. Stands under a cold shower and stretches his arms and legs a bit.

And then, Monday truly begins.

He stands at the side of the pool, the edge on the deep end, and makes a dive for it. Goes for a freestyle lap and then a breast stroke lap. Rests on the shallow end to catch his breath a bit. The old machine still has it, after all.

He talks a bit with some of the old boys there, the ones who have already retired, already made peace in their minds with the way their lives are. He remembers that today he practically turns into one of them, but doesn’t let on, and instead decides to nod and nod and nod, then wring some of the water out of his ears.

He goes back to the edge of the pool to dive in once again. This time, he starts out with hail marys. Not because he’s extremely devout, like his daughter Stefania, but more because he doesn’t want to let his thoughts catch up to him.

He doesn’t want to think his usual thoughts about his future plans, the big ones, about how he’d change things. Get a job he really liked. Move into a bigger house, but of course, close enough to stay near little Italy. Get enough money get Andrea’s little daughter, Issie, the one she’s had to raise all by herself, the special education she needed.

There were so many more dreams. But now, in between swimming on his back and switching to free-styling, he was thinking of it. Thinking of the little he had accomplished. A good community college education, an even night school to finish all four years, and what do you do? cannot even hold down a regular nine to five job. But the economy is bad, Marie would argue. But still…

Maybe, he had done enough. As he sits on the side of the pool, dangling his feet over the edge so that they splash just enough water to keep his feet wet, he contemplates the possibility. His thoughts followed his eyes, which followed his thoughts, and soon, he realizes something. Something the old boys of the YMCA pool had realized too. From beneath the plastic umbrella across the way, they raise their bottles of ale, tonic and gin in unison, as if reading his thoughts.