Pool Party – Jasper Kerkau

children-listening-to-radio-in-swimming-pool-ca-1920s

At some point, towards the end of the night, I get into the pool with my clothes on. Adults are on the patio talking in hushed tones about divorce and lost nights from the early-nineties. Kids laugh and squeal, chasing each other through the house and around the pool. I hold my breath and float to the bottom, thinking of the mess I have to clean up. My life is falling apart. I gave my debit card for someone to get orange juice an hour ago. I ponder this and pull myself back up and repeat the process several times meditating on the mess, the residue from ribs, beer bottles, mistakes, dead ends. Eventually I sit on the edge of the pool and try to light a cigarette. My fingers are wet. The cigarette breaks. My f’ing luck!  My son waves with a big smile, he is elated. I love you daddy. I lean over and hug his small, wet frame in the pool. My mind races. I have to get up. I have to get up. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay. Eventually the house empties. I put the kids to bed and darkness washes over me. There is no path. I have to start over tomorrow. I have to keep moving.

Jasper Kerkau (8/17/16)

Author: jasperkerkauwriting

I am trying to write myself out of the darkness.

5 thoughts on “Pool Party – Jasper Kerkau”

  1. Shit. this is easily the most relatable thing I’ve read from you, or anyone else. And I loved the rhythm. I’m texting this link to my wife.
    It reminds me of Hank Moody from Californication, except that this is real. It has optimism, compared to hopeless alcoholism.

    Like

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