Christamas Eve: Death and Swimming Pools

I’m nine years old. I am in my bed and its Christmas Eve. My family, consisting of Mom and Dad, nine of us kids, and a few spouses, has just smoked, drank, and exchanged presents to the point of exhaustion. There is nothing left for me to do but go into a slumber and wait for morning to see what Mom and Dad Claus had given me. My bed is cool and soft I shall sleep well.

As I lie there, in and out of consciousness, my brother John comes in and gets into my brother Marty’s bed. (No, he’s not molesting my brother Marty…Get your mind out of the gutter) Marty must have fallen asleep on the basement couch. I yawn, fix my pillow, and am fast asleep.

I am dreaming about the weather forecast set that I had asked for. I see visions of my anemometer spinning in the winter winds, and me carefully marking the changes in pressure with my barometer. In my somnolent world all is well. Suddenly my dream takes me for a dive into a swimming pool. This nine year old stud is in his swimming trunks splashing around with a scantily clad Veronica from the Archies. As we playfully wrestle and kiss each other on the cheek, I am praying like hell for her top to fall off.

And then, BAM…The splashing noise becomes louder and louder, a discordant mélange of cymbals, tone deaf church bells, and grindstones. Veronica is fading, as the tone grows exponentially. I writhe and force my eyes to stay shut so I can finish my exuberant pre-teen squishy dream. It is no use; the noise extricates me back to reality. I sit up and try to focus on the origin of the cursed noise. It is my brother John.

An orchestra of sound is emanating from his motionless body. Gurgling, snoring, sounds I had never heard. This is a dirge. My brother is dying. I run to Mom’s room and tell her to hurry John is dying. She takes my hand and we race to the bedroom. She listens for a second and begins to chuckle. “Holy Crap what’s so funny? Do something” I say. “Matt…Maaatt, John’s not dying. He’s grinding his teeth in his sleep; now go back to bed.”

When I awoke Christmas morning John was still alive, my folks came through with the Weather Forecast kit, and we had a good laugh over my plight. But one thing that bugs me to this day is that December 24, 1974 was my first, last, and best chance to have pool sex with Veronica Lodge.

Cheers…

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