The Happenstances at the Yellow County Community Swim and Racquet Club the Summer Before Last

by Peter Harmon

  “You’re okay?”

  “I can’t believe that worked,” she said.

  “Someone just handed me a clipboard with the results, Chad. It looks like Brown Town Hall and Recreation…”

  Jonathan hung his head. Carmichael Schmelps pumped his fist in triumph.

  “… and Yellow County Community have tied? That’s lame. What do we do with that big check, Chad?”

  “It’s cool, Chip. I brought my medium-sized checkbook just in case.”

  “Nice, Chad. I always underestimate you.”

  Judas threw up in a trash can. “I shouldn’t have drank all those Bacardi Silvers before I swam.”

  Susan Hark pressed Carmichael up against a pole. “This is all your fault, Schmelps.” She walked away.

  Carmichael called after her, “I thought we were chums!”

  CHAPTER 20

  THE AWARDS CEREMONY commenced. A random team stood on the third-place podium. The second-place one was empty. Brown Town and Yellow County squished together on the first-place podium, obviously built to fit just one team. They each held a medium-sized check for five thousand dollars. A margarita machine with a large bow on it was off to the side, for some reason plugged in. Neon-green frozen liquid churned in the clear skull of the thing.

  Chip addressed the crowd. “Chad, in a strange turn of events today, this year’s Tri-County Relay Race is a tie.”

  “That’s right, Chip. Last year’s champions, the Brown Town Hall and Recreation, and the usually honorably mentionable Yellow County Community Swim and Racquet Club, have tied.”

  “Usually Brown Town just kicks everyone’s ass, pardon my French.”

  “French pardoned, Chip. They’ll split the prize money evenly between the two teams.”

  “I wonder which team is going to take home that frozen margarita machine.”

  Chad covered his mic with his hand. “Quiet, fool. I’ll go start the car. You wheel it out and put it in the trunk.” He uncovered the mic. “And we’re done. Thanks for coming out today. Please pick up one piece of trash and throw it away on your way out.” He ran out of there.

  Chip slunk toward the margarita machine. The Yellow County team stepped off of the podium and congregated in the picnic area.

  “I’m glad we tied and all,” Charlie said, “and we worked together as a team and whatever, but we don’t have enough money to cover the debts and the board.”

  “Plus I gotta get off the premises pretty soon,” Jonathan added.

  June walked up in a huff. She was wearing all brown and a pennant bearing the initials BTH&R was sticking out of her back pocket.

  Charlie smirked. “You’ve been supporting Brown Town the whole time?”

  “Of course,” June said. “My babies work there, and they were on the team you just raced. How do you think I know so much about their business model?”

  “Carmichael is your son?”

  “No.” June gestured to Shannon and Channan, who were sharing an ice cream cone, taking turns licking the quickly melting treat as it dripped down the sides. They saw June and waved.

  “That can’t be ethical,” Roheed said, and everyone was unsure if he was talking about June’s potential conflict of interest or the erotic frozen treat consumption that was taking place.

  “Irrelevant,” June said. “Jonathan broke the law by living on the premises. Everyone out before I call the authorities.”

  “You know what?” Jonathan spoke up. “You’re right.”

  “I am?” June was surprised but pleased.

  “She is?” Charlie was usually on top of things. He was bothered that they were slipping through the cracks.

  “Yeah, she is,” Jonathan said. “We all need to get the h-e-double diving boards out of here. Charlie, go to school and begin your real life. Florence, a couple of weeks at a thrift store would do you good. You need to learn how real people live outside of your fairytale life. Roheed, grow a pair. You’re smart and funny, and quality girls will dig that. And I, I lived in a lifeguard office? Seriously?”

  Jonathan took the whistle from around his neck. He put it in June’s hand and said to her, “Take the pool. Make it however you think you want it to be.”

  And he said to the team, “It’ll never be the same now that Bill’s gone. But they can’t change our memories of it, right? They can’t change our memories of him. Let’s get out of here.”

  Jonathan snatched the whistle back. “Actually, I’m keeping this.”

  Judas stood next to the pool, fully dressed in a Brown Town warm-up suit, listening to an MP3 player. Jonathan walked over and pushed him into the water. He grabbed his box of belongings and headed out the front gate.

  Florence tapped Roheed on the shoulder.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Um, do you think I could give you a ride home?”

  Roheed smiled. “I would like that.”

  “Cool.”

  “I really thought you were in danger back there. I was about to kick some booty.”

  Florence chuckled. “You’re cute.”

  Roheed and Florence walked out the front gate.

  Jill sashayed over to Charlie. “If you’re quitting, what will happen to us?”

  “There definitely isn’t and never will be an us, but you’re going to the college in the community, right?

  Jill nodded.

  “So I’ll see you around, and we can be friends.”

  Jill smiled.

  “And as for me, this summer has really inspired me. I think that I can finally write that screenplay I’ve been trying so hard at.” He gazed wistfully around the pool grounds. “Yep, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what it’s going to be about, too…a pretty good idea.”

  EPILOGUE

  COEDS STROLLED THROUGH the adequately landscaped quad of Yellow County Community College. A sign on the door to the auditorium read Screenplay Table Read Today!!1 “In Sheep’s Clothing” A script by Charlie Heralds. Through that door was a long table where actors sat with scripts in hand. Charlie sat at the head of that table. A few scattered audience members, including Jonathan, Roheed, Florence, and Charlie’s parents, Hilda and Art, sat in the stands.

  Charlie read the scene action from his script. “Leonora hangs up the phone. She pulls out her calendar and checks the date the event planner gave her.”

  An actress read the character’s lines. “The eighth, why does that date sound so familiar?”

  Charlie read, “She flips to the eighth and gapes in horror.”

  The actress continued, “The eighth! The eighth is the next full moon. I can’t put on a career-launching fashion show…if I’m a werewolf! Think Leonora, think.”

  The actress took a beat, pretending to think, think, think, like an awesome, acting-ass version of Winnie the Pooh, then continued reading, “I know. If I add rips and tears to the designs and I get werewolf masks from the costume shop, I can host my own show undetected.”

  Dramatic pause. The actress looked up from her script and stared into the audience.

  “I just have to make sure I keep my thirst for blood at bay…”

  And the In Sheep’s Clothing table read went well enough. Charlie didn’t want to beat himself up too bad. He was taking baby steps, but this was not what he had envisioned for his life, but he guessed that he was (relatively) young, and this was the first thing he had written, and, admittedly, it did kind of suck and the structure wasn’t perfect, but he had put words on the page and done the proverbial damn thing, and dammit, he was damned proud of his damn self.

  Art, along with Hilda balancing a tray of brownies in her arms, approached Charlie after the reading.

  Charlie shrugged. “It’s not USC or NYU or Boris, but at least I’m going to school, right?”

  “I’m so proud of you. My tiny little grown man-child is finally growing up. I made you brownies!”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Art pulled up the corners of his lips with his face muscles, “Congratulat
ions, Charles. You worked hard, and you actually have something to show for it.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll be applying to transfer as soon as possible.”

  “If this doesn’t lead to anything, there’s always that job in the mailroom.”

  Hilda held Art’s arm. “Art…”

  Art looked at her. “Just saying.”

  Charlie smiled. He stepped away and walked over to Roheed, Florence and Jonathan.

  “I’m glad you guys came. What’d you think?”

  “It was a tour de force,” Roheed said.

  “Great dialogue!” Jonathan added.

  “Very promising.” Roheed nodded.

  “I thought it was going to be about something else,” Jonathan said, “like this past summer, the relay race, us…but no, yeah, it was awesome.”

  A student approached Charlie and said, “I have a question.”

  Charlie turned to him and said, “One second,” then turned back to the gang. “Thanks again for coming. I hope to see you again soon. Come into Popcorn Movies whenever. I can get you free rentals.”

  They waved and walked away. Charlie turned back to the student.

  “Yes?”

  “You were delving into some pretty complex themes. I was wondering how you were able to relate so well to a werewolf.”

  “You see, I too used to have a secret I kept, much like the protagonist of my screenplay. I have webbed toes…” And he was off, already waxing poetic about his project.

  Jonathan, Roheed and Florence paused by the door.

  “We better head out,” Roheed said. “We have a date.” He smiled at Florence.

  “Yeah, the team has practice in a bit. Good to see you though,” Jonathan said.

  “Totally,” Florence agreed.

  Roheed and Florence exited, hand in hand.

  Jonathan headed out of the reception hall and into a long corridor where Chris the Diving Broad was waiting for him. She put her arm around his shoulders, and they walked outside through the quad. They stopped for a moment under a large tree and kissed passionately. When they pulled away from each other, Jonathan spit out a mouthful of tobacco juice.

  “Babe, I thought you were going to cut down.”

  Chris smiled through a set of black-flecked tobacco-rich-stained teeth. “Get to work, hon. I’ll see you at home in a few hours.”

  “Okay.”

  Jonathan walked across the quad to the campus fitness center. He walked past the front desk and gave a nod to Jill Bateman, the receptionist. She had a yellow legal pad with some scribbled song lyrics. Jonathan entered the Yellow County Community College Indoor Pool and Fitness Facility. He pulled on his YCCCIPFF windbreaker, size L for the large amount of respect he received while wearing it and even without it on. A dozen or so young men in swimming suits greeted him.

  “Alright, team,” Jonathan said. “The warm-up laps aren’t going to swim themselves. Let’s get in the pool. I want two hundred free and two hundred breast. Let’s go!”

  The young men lined up in their lanes, dove into the water, and began their practice. Jonathan took his whistle out of his pocket and slipped it around his neck. He began pacing the edge of the pool, yelling encouragement to the young men as they swam back and forth in the clear blue of the pool’s over-chlorinated water.