March 4 - May 23 2026

We called up to his second floor bedroom window from below, our wet bodies standing still as columns in the pool, skin covered in goosebumps, arms crossed along our chests while we waited for him. Chlorine settled into every crevice of our bodies, slowly and imperceptibly bleaching our swimsuits and our hair.

For the warm months of the year, Nana’s swimming pool was the hub of our extended family, where cousins gathered in ceremony. Where I learned to swim. Those summer days stretched on endlessly. Until all at once we would be driving home with the sun hovering just above the road and the orangeing light spilling everywhere, reminding us that night would eventually come. But for now it was mid-day still, the sun directly overhead, and we called out to our grandpa to throw down his gifts.

When he finally emerged, the window creeping open, we cheered. And he tossed them into the air, licorice sticks and gold chocolate coins. We followed their descent with hungry eyes, starved for this ritual, anticipating where one might fall. And then we dove below to grab these treasures, clutching them in our little hands. We did not care that they were drenched in chlorine water, or soaked in a pool of our bodily substances. We ate the slimy licorice sticks, and we unwrapped the golden coins, letting it all melt in our happy mouths. We knew it was strange, but participated as willing subjects in our grandfather’s kooky world. We did not scoff or judge. We dove and chewed. We understood that we were bringing a story to life.

I never swam there at night. I did not know it’s dark waters. It was a place of light and sun for us, so we let the ducks and other creatures take over the night. I wonder if they ever came across a forgotten chocolate coin wrapped in golden foil, a remnant of the day, a call back to the shining sun. I wonder if the nightswimmers thought, such strange beings and their treasures.

-Brendon

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