She had gone out to the pool house to try to find the horrible blue sweater that she loved but that everyone else hated. It had pilled and the elbows were thread bare, but it hugged her tight in all the right places and made her feel safe. It was her horrible blue sweater and no one could take that away from her. Her grandmother had said that maybe, just maybe, it had been left behind when she moved out, stuffed in the back of the closet, behind the boxes of Tiffany silverware and scarves, a combination that she didn't understand but didn't take too much time trying to decipher since it was her grandmother and well, enough said. She did wonder though, just how her grandmother managed to have so much detail about where the offending sweater might be. She only wondered briefly.
The pool house was dark and cold, mimicking the atmosphere outside. It was January, after all, a new year with a new temperature. She stood in the small room and let her eyes adjust, shivering just a bit and involuntarily, not ready yet to flood her senses with the harshness of artificial light and the illusion of warmth. She stood there for ten minutes, maybe more, realizing she didn't really care about the blue sweater; realizing that inside, she felt a deep sadness, as deep and dark as the pool itself. It was a sadness that she couldn't quite identify and it continued to gently eat at her soul, an emptiness that couldn't be filled with wine or champagne or foie gras or any of the other delicacies that her grandmother threatened to serve. Hell, did more than threaten. She'd actually eaten foie gras and had the internal scars to prove it. She stared out at the pool as it danced in the darkness, wondering why it hadn't yet been covered, wondering why she was sad. It was cold, though not cold enough to freeze, and the pool was always covered in winter, and yet the water danced and tickled and teased under the moonlight. She stood behind the French doors of the pool house, mesmerized and lost in thought. And sadness.
A soft movement caught her eye and she watched as her mother emerged from the direction of the main house. She was tall, her mother was, and her long strides seemed at odds with the short distance to the water. She was also beautiful, her mother was, a stoic soul with incredible depth that mirrored the blackness of the pool itself. She had long admired her mother, worshipped her even, and watching her now in the night, from the safety of the glass and quiet solitude of the pool house, she felt a voyeur. And so, she watched.
Her mother stood at the edge of the pool, looking down into the depths of the blackness. Her dark hair fell across her face; her arms hung at her sides. She seemed oblivious to the fact that it was January and to the coldness of the night. She simply stared and didn't move. After a moment, her mother raised her head. She looked toward the pool house and for a moment, the daughter thought that maybe, just maybe, her mother could see her. But then, her mother turned her gaze back toward the pool, keeping her head steady as she stared out across the water, the moonlight glancing off the surface and sparkling in her blue eyes, sapphires glowing even in the night.
She marveled that even in the darkness her mother's blue eyes could be seen. It was almost ghostly, serene. And she felt the overwhelming urge to run to her mother, to get lost in those eyes, to escape. From what, she didn't know. She reached her hand toward the door and let it rest on the latch. She wanted to open it, to walk out, to announce her presence since something told her that she was spying, witnessing something intensely private, and yet, her hand wouldn't push down. She couldn't open the door. Something else told her that she shouldn't intrude. Perhaps it was her mother's eyes. So intense, so focused, so vacant. Her mother had seemed so distant for so long, as if the true life force that had always driven her forward, ever forward, always searching for joy and redemption and fun and love, as if that life force had been extinguished, snuffed out as easily as a candle's flame between two fingers. Still, there was a presence about the tall woman. She commanded attention even when she did nothing more than stand in the darkness on a January night at the edge of a bottomless pool.
And so the daughter watched, mesmerized.
The light from the moon danced and shown, rippling across the surface of the water, and playing an impossible game of tag and tease with the night and the woman above.
As the daughter watched, her mother slipped off her coat, letting it fall to the concrete. She kicked off her shoes and stood with bare feet and ruby-red painted toes, still staring into the blackness of the pool. Her long fingers unzipped her jeans and pushed them down long slender legs, then lifted her light blue sweater over her head. For a brief moment she stood nearly naked, then stripped off her black lace panties and unclasped her matching bra, easily shrugging it from her shoulders and allowing it to fall into the pool where it floated, sexy black lace. She stood then, truly naked in the January night, arms still loose at her sides, eyes black and yet still blue.
Her daughter knew that she should be embarrassed and concerned about what she was watching. But there was an odd serenity emanating from her mother and it seemed to give the daughter permission to marvel instead. She had never seen her mother naked, not that she could remember. She would have had no reason to. And now, as she looked at the woman who had given her life she was struck by the near perfection she was witnessing. Her mother was, simply, beautiful. Nearly forty and thinner than usual, making her long form seem even longer, she had a flat stomach with just a hint of roundness above and between her pelvic bones, two small breasts that still seemed perfectly proportioned, milky skin and a mass of dark curls that kissed straight shoulders. The black water danced and teased and still her mother stood perfectly still.
A sound the daughter couldn't hear caused her mother's head to turn ever so slightly, her eyes casting behind her. Then he walked from the shadows and the mother turned back toward the pool, unafraid, assuming the same stare she had held for the past five minutes, 10 minutes, perhaps more. Time had ceased to be kept.
In gentle silence, he slipped his arms around her naked body and she instinctively put her hands on his arms. It seemed that he wanted to give her warmth, but she wasn't seeking warmth. She didn't lean into him even when his hands traveled the length of her body, caressing her skin as if it was the finest of silk, kissing her neck through her hair, kissing her shoulder. His hands slid down her sides to rest lightly on her hips before sliding forward across her thighs to between her legs.
The daughter's breath caught in her throat, and yet, she couldn't look away. Perhaps because the scene playing out in front of her, witnessed through the safety glass of the pool house, was neither sexual nor even sensual. It was hypnotic. And, sad. It was then that her mother looked toward the pool house again, and the daughter stepped back as if caught spying. If her mother could see her, behind the inky panes of the French doors, there was no acknowledgement, just resignation, and the hint of a smile playing on red lips.
Her mother reached down to take his hands in her own and gently, firmly pushed them off to the side, away from her body. There was nothing malicious in the gesture. It was a woman simply removing another article of unwanted clothing, nothing more. And again, the daughter's breath caught. She watched as her mother turned to face him, her constant suitor, saying something the daughter couldn't hear. He nodded once, and reached a hand to touch her cheek. He kissed her softly, lingering chastely and then walked back into the shadows. The water sparkled, sending shards of reflected moonlight across and through her mother's body, scarring her with stars and the promise of redemption. And so she turned back and dove into the blackness.
The daughter gasped and moved closer to the door, her hand on the handle again. But still she didn't open it. She wanted to scream out "mom!" and to run to her mother, to wrap her in warmth and love, and a towel. She didn't. It was as if she was fused to her spot in the pool house, behind the glass, safe from the January night, safe from emotions and feeling and even desire. She watched the pool, with the water lapping gently at the sides and waited.
Finally, her mother appeared again, her head just above the surface, water streaming down her face. She opened her eyes, droplets on her lashes, near ice, and with just the hint of a smile on her face, she took another breath and disappeared again beneath the surface. Again, the daughter watched and waited. Her mother stayed submerged and she started to wonder and worry and panic. She didn't know whether to finally leave the refuge of her hiding place behind the glass to make sure that her mother, her naked mother who had disappeared beneath the black ice of the water, was alright, or to stay out of sight, hidden and safe. She wasn't even sure why the pool house made her feel safe, or why she felt the need for safety from the scenes she had witnessed. She hadn't ever felt the need to feel safe where her mother was concerned before; her mother always, always, always took care of her. She thought about the sweater she had come to find and wondered why it was important to her. She thought about the direction of her life and knew that she was drifting, drifting as if she herself was in water.
Then, just as she opened the pool house door, her mother emerged again and began swimming a long, leisurely stroke to the end of the pool and then back again. Lap after lap she turned, slicing through the black water with her naked body while her emotionally naked daughter watched from the limbo of the doorway between the pool house and the outside. She watched her mother; she idolized her mother; she was scared of what her mother was becoming. The water danced and sparkled, with light playing into darkness, shadows flirting with the reality of life and love and ...
It was then, suddenly, that the daughter realized what her mother was doing, what she was seeking in the black depths of the pool on a January night. And as she stepped out onto the cement from the safety of the pool house, she understood finally that her mother had found it. Elusive as it was. Peace and atonement floated to the surface, transcending the cold winter night and all the nights of loneliness and despair, of regret and disappointment. In the water, her mother was finding a way to cleanse her soul, to erase her past, to absolve herself of her mistakes, both grievous and not. In water, she was finding, finally, redemption.
And the water glistened.