Faded Swimsuit

Faded Swimsuit

by David

For Rich, Constance, and Andy

We were older than children then, the last time we went to the river. It was me, Jack, and Paul, and we had all three graduated college, two years before. I was twenty-five and becoming increasingly obsessed with money. There wasn’t much of it, certainly not like when I was younger, when my parents had paid for things. At that time my parents’ wallets never seemed empty. I didn’t want the money then. I didn’t really want things. I had had a bedroom, some nice clothes, a tennis racket, and a basket of balls. That was all I needed. The courts were half a mile away, and even when nobody else was there, I would hit the balls against the cement wall. Now that college was over though—and my parents had stopped funding anything at all—I was concerned about money. It seemed, suddenly, as though every purchase I made would be my last. It seemed like buying groceries would push me into bankruptcy, and that paying the rent, the bills, insurance, and all those other unexpected expenses would literally kill me. I felt such a struggle against spending, such a desire to have money, that I can barely describe it to you at all. It seemed as if I would never be safe again, because I didn’t have enough money.

Now Zack and Paul, who had moved away after graduating from college, were both back in town at the same time. They were here just to say Hello to me, to hang out, and to enjoy a weekend of their summer. So, we planned to go down to the river. Paul was wearing an old pair of shorts, but Zack, who was always smiling and laughing about the craziest things, needed to borrow a pair of my old swim trunks. These made him laugh too. “What the hell are these?” he asked, giggling. He held them up in the middle of my living room. “Lingerie?”

True. The fabric in the suit was faded and thin. And I, always oversensitive to being heckled, answered back—probably too strongly, but with a laugh—“What are you? The CEO of Calvin fucking Klein? Do you put on lipstick before you go to bed?”

“Well, no,” Zack answered, still laughing at the yellow shorts.

“Then what the hell do you know?” I said. “It’s a swim suit. Put it on.”

“Okay,” Zack said, shrugging his shoulders and giggling some more. “I’ll go put on the see-through boxers—just don’t get a hard-on when you see me.”

“Oh, we won’t, Zack,” said Paul. “You can count on that.”

Zack opened the door of my bedroom a few minutes later wearing his jeans over the swim suit. He clapped his hands together. “Allright! I’m ready to go!” He laughed.

I had a twenty year old truck at that time, an ’87 Chevy, grey with a red stripe down the back. It had a beat up bed with rust stains all over it, an air conditioner that kept up, and a cloth bench seat up front. There was no room behind the bench seat—what with all my tools and junk back there—so the three of us smashed into the front seat, and Paul kept his legs pushed to the passenger side so I could use the stick. On the way out of town, we stopped for gas and snacks at the Conoco-Phillips. I paid at the pump, then went inside to poke around.

When I was younger, I never wanted any of the snacks. Perhaps it was because my mom would offer to buy me some, and I’d say No just to be difficult. I imagine I was a pretty difficult kid sometimes, but she could be overbearing—always wanting to spend and show off her money. So I used to say No whenever she’d ask. Now that I didn’t have money, even a dollar fifty for a bag of chips and a dollar fifty more for a coke seemed like a lot. It was just three dollars, but three dollars seemed like half of my checking account. I think it was the feeling that if I spent three more dollars than I had to at the gas station, I would have to sacrifice and eat eggs for dinner, or spend three days without the air conditioning on. And in the Oklahoma summertime, that meant sweating while you sat. I looked around for a bit, talked to the guys, and told them I’d meet them outside when they finished paying. In the car, moving down to the river, Paul offered me a handful of chips, and I took some.

1