That Afternoon

Phone rings midday. Norri asking if I want to go swimming. Obviously. We pick a time and I’m rushing—shower first to deal with leg hair that’s somehow gotten out of control overnight, then sunscreen, the highest SPF I can find. Ever since a trip to Mallorca years back I get this heat rash that burns and itches like hell. Doesn’t matter. Trunks on and I’m out the door.

Norri shows up and the new puppy, eleven weeks old, is so thrilled he pees himself. Whatever. Dog locked inside and we’re heading to Forggensee, the best swimming spot around. Weekday afternoon means it’s quiet. Mostly older people with skin either deep brown or sunburned pink, young couples with small kids wading around with buckets and shovels.

The three of us—me, Geli, Moni—show up with these massive red inflatable loungers we’d gotten on that Mallorca trip. The move is simple: lie out there, paddle into the water, watch the whole beach from a distance. Watch the kids by the boathouse styled like they’re in a music video, probably smoking their first cigarettes. Watch the woman maybe thirty just letting the sun cook her skin with no regard. Watch the young couple, can’t be more than fifteen, alone in the water kissing like they’re trying to prove something.

After enough of that we need ice cream. Chocolate for me. By late afternoon people our age start showing up, but we had the best spot, had gotten there first, could see everything. Standing there eating ice cream, we’re rating whoever walks by—which sounds harsh but it’s what you do when you’re watching. Nothing particularly interesting came through. Nothing worth a second look. I was there with chocolate ice cream in my hand, sun warm on my skin, friends beside me doing the same dumb watching, and nothing special about any of it. It doesn’t get better than that.