Allison Miehl

Summer in Florida

Summer in Florida is blue. People think it’s orange like the juice, or yellow like the angry sun, but no – it’s the sapphire blue of the sky reflected in salted oceans, the teal of food-grade dye in chlorinated pools, and the aquamarine of who-knows-what-chemicals lingering in water park slides and lazy rivers. The days grow longer, school lets out, and the mass search for coolness begins.

I bring my little sister to our grandparents’ house for a swim. She’s twelve years younger than me, and sometimes she feels more like my kid than my sibling, especially today. She’s grown two inches in the two weeks since I’ve seen her. In six months, she’ll be a teenager, and I don’t think either of us is prepared for that. 

We jump into the pool. That’s the best way to get in. You gotta do it fast, get the temperature shock over with. I like to go further and hold myself under the water for a few seconds. I make sure my hair gets completely saturated and take time to gauge the temperature difference on my skin. Breathe out, let the bubbles of breath mix with the bubbles from the jump. Let the water churn and twirl and lift strands of hair in the closest approximation of zero-gravity that most of us will get to experience in this lifetime. When my lungs start to burn – the only heat in this oasis – I push off the pool bottom and rise to the surface. 

This is the same pool I swam in as a kid, even younger than my sister is now, and all alone. Back then, it was just me – no siblings, no cousins, no boyfriend to bring along to family gatherings. As I watch her, I think of all that I’ve gone through since those lonely summers, all the suffering that adolescence brings, and everything that waits for her on the other side of thirteen. I dip my head to rinse off my face; let droplets join pool water. 

“Ate,” she calls me, the Filipino term used for an elder sister. “Let’s sit at the bottom.”

She counts us down, and we plunge, forcing the water above us with our arms, blowing bubbles, and sitting criss-cross on the floor. She waves at me from behind purple goggles. I wave back, but with my naked eyes, my hand is a blur. 

The surface of the water floats four feet above me. It looks as far away as the sky. Beyond it, the world dances and wavers, azure tinted. I wish I could live here, hidden away from time, holding onto my kid sister so she can stay a kid. The water weighing on us is nothing compared to the pressure I put on myself to protect her. I can take it. But the chlorine stings and the carbon dioxide burns, and I as much as I want to soak in the blue of it all – she’s already floating back up and away, and I have to go with her.

Bio

Allison Miehl is a journalist-turned-tech writer trying to enjoy writing again. She likes theme parks, vegetarian food, and reading (duh). Her favorite food group is carbs -- tweet her bread pics @allison_typing.