Diving into the water, every sense awakened as the world above the surface faded into a distant memory. The initial shock of the cool water against Green's skin was invigorating, sending ripples of sensation across his body. The surface tension yielded, and he began to move, arms cutting through the water with purposeful determination.
Kicking off the wall, propelling himself into the first stroke, there was a momentary resistance, a feeling of pushing against the water's invisible embrace. His rippling muscles tensed and flexed, each movement radiating from the core and flowing outward through his arms and shoulders. The water wrapped around his limbs, offering resistance that was both demanding and soothing in its embrace.
The rhythmic splashes and the gentle current against his skin contributed to an almost meditative state, drowning out the sounds of splashes and laughs from his teammates. The sound of his breath, synchronized with each stroke, created a soothing cadence that synchronized with the ebb and flow of the water. His heart pounded, not in distress, but in harmony with the fluid environment that enveloped him.
With each stroke, a sense of propulsion surged through his body. It was a sensation of power and release, as his limbs worked in unison to carve a path through the water. The resistance pushed back, testing his resolve, and every muscle responded with a surge of energy. His only leg, an integral part of this symphony, harmonized with the rhythm, its movement calculated and purposeful.
As the laps continued, his body warmed with exertion. The tingling sensation intensified, his blood pumping faster, oxygen coursing through his veins. There was a unique clarity that emerged in this intense focus—distractions from the world beyond the pool dissolved, leaving only the water and the rhythm of his strokes.
And as he reached the final stretch, the sensations intensified. His muscles burned with the effort, his breath came in heaving gasps, yet his spirit remained unyielding. As he touched the wall with a final surge of energy, the sense of achievement was overwhelming, a rush of triumph that surged through his body.
Exiting the water, his skin tingled, his muscles hummed with residual energy. The world beyond the pool returned, but it was as if he had brought a piece of the water's tranquility with him. He slid his thumbs up through the strap on his goggles and gingerly removed them from his head, along with his swim cap. His mussed, dry hair sprang up in brown shocks around his burn scars as the coach wrote a few things down on his clipboard.
"1 minute, 5 seconds," the coach said with jubilee, "That's a new record for you, Oak!"
Green let out a exuberant whoop, throwing both arms into the air. Droplets of water cascaded down his burned skin, a landscape forever altered by the unforgiving assault of vicious electricity. "New record, baby!" he shouted, eliciting cries of affirmation and congratulations from the other boys.
He had come a long way since the accident in the woods, seven years ago.
Taking deep breaths of the cool, chlorine-smelling air, he laid his body back onto the tile floor, leaving his remaining leg dangling in the water. His chest was on fire, but he felt nothing but his victory.
As his coach proceeded down the line, he heard a door open and sat up. Across the pool, he saw a dark-haired lass with almond eyes enter the nadatorium. She glanced around the pool, lingering perhaps a little too long on each boy, clearly searching deliberately. When her eyes fell on Green, her expression seemed to dim.
"Oak, you've got a phone call! It's your grandpa, he says call him back as soon as you can!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the gym.
Oh god, why'd she say it like that? Green thought to himself. He glanced around for his wheelchair before he saw Coach bringing it over with haste.
"Is everything okay?" Green called back worriedly, using his powerful arms to lift his torso into the wheelchair.
"He just said to call as soon as you can, that's all I got!" she replied. The uncertainty brought back some powerful negative feelings for the young man.
The coach handed Green a towel, and the teen dried himself as best as he could as he was wheeled around the lap pool and to the back office, as his teammates looked on with concern.
As Green locked his wheelchair's wheels and lifted the landline phone from its receiver, he heard his coach whispering to the dark-haired lass that called him in.
Green dialed the only nine digit phone number he had ever memorized - and before the first ring, he heard his grandfather answer.
"Hi, Green!" he said, with his characteristic enthusiasm. "I'm about to head to the store. Is there anything you'd like me to cook for dinner tonight?"
Green paused, dumbfounded. Was this what was so urgent?
"Um, I don't know, Gramps. Ribs?" he said, spitballing. "Is everything okay? They said call you back ASAP,"
"Ribs and anything else?" the elder continued, seemingly ignoring Green's questioning.
"I don't know, baked potato?"
"Perfect. Do you know what time you're going to be home?" the professor prodded. Something was definitely off.
"6 o'clock. Same as every night," Green said.
"Great, I will have dinner ready for you when you get home! I'll see you soon, Green!" the professor proclaimed, before hanging up.
Sitting in the office in silence, Green laid the phone down gently on the receiver and unlocked his wheels. As he wheeled past his coach, whose concerned look had only grown, he flashed him a smarmy grin.
"It's all good, Coach - he just wanted to know what I wanted to eat tonight," Green said, unconvinced. "Let's get back in the water, I'm ready to break my record!"
After showering and dressing, Green exited the nadatorium and made his way toward the wheelchair ramp at the front of the school. Leaning against the railing, seemingly in wait, was a girl from his class - one he'd developed somewhat of a monster crush on.
"Hi, Green!" she greeted him cheerfully. As he rolled toward her, his lingering concerns about his grandpa's phone call disappeared behind the pink haze of infatuation.
Her name was Maisie Sequoia. She was tall for her age - 15, just like Green, her height accentuated by the skin-toned heels she wore. Unlike many of the other popular girls in his grade, Maisie was smart. Her thick-rimmed glasses emphasized bold, beautiful blue eyes and her raven hair fell in wavy cascades down her shoulders and back. She was in the cheer squad and the student council, and hers was one of the most divine contraltos in the school choir. And she had just said Green's name for the first time - it was as musical as he'd imagined it, every night for the past three years.
"Hi, Maisie!" Green responded with confidence stolen from a man much older. "What are you doing here so late?"
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled, and Green felt his heart melt like strawberry ice cream in the hot Pallet summer sun.
"I was waiting for you, actually!" she beamed. "I was wondering if I could walk you home?"
Okay, what the hell is going on today? Green thought to himself. First Gramps and now this?
"Sure, yeah!" Green agreed enthusiastically, before wheeling himself to the bottom of the ramp and whipping around to meet Maisie on the stairs. For a moment, they moved together in silence, until small talk began about school. They shared two classes, and talked about an upcoming test; they both had gotten sick at the same time when a stomach bug ravaged the school months before, and they shared much-censored versions of their ails. They discussed a prosthetic that Green used to wear in place of his missing leg, which Green had quickly outgrown and decided wasn't worth the hassle of replacing every time he had a growth spurt. It didn't take long before the duo reached the steps of Green's home, down the road from the Research Laboratory.
This can't be real, Green thought as he pinched himself to be sure. What kind of girl just hangs around waiting like this? She's got to be into me, right? What do I say to her? Ugh, why is this so hard?
"I wanted to ask you something," Maisie said with a smile. Green felt his heart start to pump heavily, like he was back in the pool.
"You can ask me anything you want, Maisie," Green said, his eyes bulging like cartoon hearts.
It was then that he noticed a group of people nearby, watching him and Maisie intently. A group of girls his age.
The true meaning of this encounter dawned on him a half second before Maisie reached into her purse and pulled out a giant wad of Pidgey feathers and smashed them into his face with her hand, the brunt force of her palm against his nose stunning him into silence as blood started to flow.
"Why are you still here, you big pussy? Huh?" she screeched as the pack of girls in the shadows began to roar with laughter. "Shouldn't you be overseas with the rest of the boys? You fuckin' pidgey?!"
No! Green panicked as a series of flashes indicated he was being photographed. He spat out the feathers and turned away from Maisie in a split-second before charging at the front door of his house. The group of girls jeered and yowled as Maisie's expletive-filled rant continued, until Green was finally, mercifully, separated from them by his front door. As he fought back tears, he noticed that his Grandpa and Mrs. Roth from next door were both present to greet him.
"Oh my gosh, honey, are you okay?" Mrs. Roth attempted to comfort the mortified teen. She reached for a handkerchief as Green roared in protest and wheeled past her, past the Professor, and into his modified bathroom to wash the stain of shame off his face.
He didn't even wonder why Mrs. Roth was here - ever since her son went missing seven years prior, on that fateful summer afternoon that changed Green's life forever, she'd become somewhat of a mainstay in the Oak household.
Green wiped the rest of the blood from his face and stared at himself in the mirror.
He could not see the bright young man his teachers saw, nor the beast of an athlete his teammates saw. All he saw was the burns on his face - the chunky, pink flesh on the sides where his hair once was, his missing eyebrow, his fake teeth.
The failure so useless that even his country refused to send him to die.