Julia had a few people over her new house in the wake of The Firing of the Temps and Mike and I joined. Her new place was reasonably large and largely devoid of dead bodies despite her concerns. The house had ample space for both books and secrets. On top of this, it had a trampoline and a pool, things I both very much enjoyed at past points in my life.
The trampoline was enticing and was rimmed with rust as salt rims a margarita glass. Some of the springs were broken and it wasn’t quite level but I was bouncing happily soon enough and, by the end of the evening, almost able to do a 360 in the air. Mike also took to the trampoline but beyond him, no one else. Trampolines normally have maximum weight limits and these are functional limits. I remember using a trampoline rated at 250 lbs at a time when I was. My butt hit the ground with each bounce. This one was a 325 lb trampoline and with practice I’d be able to do somersaults.
The pool was a pond of disappointment. I had loved pools as my ponderous size wasn’t held against me in them and the amount of exertion I could put forth was infinitely variable from a deadman’s float to swimming laps. But this joy was now gone. Apparently, I no longer float. I had to tread water just to keep my head up and even when inhaling fully, my head would still go under. Walking around on the bottom was novel but now I needed floatation to simply tool about.
Sure, I had regained the trampoline, but at what cost?