The dog did not contribute.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“They sell them.”
“I’m unemployed.”
“They sell cheap ones.”
“You’re not very good at customer service.”
“I own the place.”
That explained a lot.
I returned the next morning in a black swimsuit that pinched at the shoulders and shorts I had bought from a pharmacy.
The man introduced himself as Hank Dawson.
The dog was Captain Pancake.
Captain Pancake sat on my foot while Hank explained the equipment.
“Does this mean he likes me?” I asked.
“No.”
“What does it mean?”
“You’re standing where he wants to sit.”
The first time I put my face underwater, I panicked.
The second time, I swallowed seawater and accused Hank of insufficient supervision.
The third time, something changed.
The world went quiet.
Not empty.
Quiet.
My breath became the only urgent thing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
No email.
No meetings.
