duck-shaped pain

They were splashing. And slapping each other. And yelling. For awhile, it was just everyone talking at once, but then it soon coalesced into just one phrase.

And, it was the strangest taunt I've heard in a long time:

"Aaron doesn't know what soy sauce tastes like! AARON DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SOY SAUCE TASTES LIKE!!!!!"

The water in the pool was bitter and salty, like the water in a proper hot springs pool should be. In between slapping and dunking each other, the boys tried to discern what, exactly, the water tasted like. Nothing too imaginative, though. Dishwater. Salt. Fish. Vinegar.

Some boy decided that soy sauce was the answer, and a group consensus was rapidly reached. Except for Aaron, who disagreed. "Don't you know what soy sauce tastes like? You're dumb," was one response.

Aaron, who cringed as if being singled out for teasing was a daily occurrence for him, tried to defend himself. Of course he knows what soy sauce tastes like.

Which is when the taunt began. At first, it was all in unison. But it got more disorganized as it went on, devolving into sort of a round. By the time one of their teachers came over to say something, it had more or less petered out.

All within hearing distance were relieved.

It had been a pretty pleasant day swimming when all the adolescents showed up. At once. A big school bus pulled up in the parking lot and deposited its load of eighth graders directly into the pool, or at least it seemed that way.

One moment, calm. The next, volume and treble.

It's a big pool, at least. There were places to go to hide from the constant splashing and complaining. Not much thirteen-year-old interest in the lap lanes. Not too many adolescents hanging out in the therapy pool (which was populated almost entirely by old men in tiny swimming trunks, all reading the paper as they sat, soaking). Not many of them lounging about in chairs, reading, applying lotion or sitting very still.

So, once the initial shock of that many eighth-graders showing up at once died down, people went back to their normal activities. Some might have wondered what they were doing there, since school was still in session and all. I didn't think too much of it, except for the occasional soy sauce chant or behavior that provoked a loud rebuke from the beefy lifeguard.

But then I saw my eighth-grade math teacher, yelling at some of the kids.

First one, and then two, and then a lot more then that. Teachers from my past, from one of my less-than-stellar years in school. My speech teacher. My science teacher. Some more than I didn't personally have but who I recognized anyway.

None of them recognized me. I was wet, covered up with a towel, and was far from the most distinguished student at my middle school. Besides, we were miles and miles and miles from the town in which we all live (I was on vacation -- why they were there, I have no idea). They would have no reason to expect to see me there, and were much too busy with their current squirmy charges to even notice. I was greatly relieved.

But it made all their behavior seem so personal now. These are people from my middle school, representatives from my town. The kids throwing balls at people walking beside the pool? Future clerks at the convenience store. The two girls trying to stand on their heads in the wading pool? Waitresses, maybe. The kid who walked out onto the tallest diving platform (not that tall, really) and somehow ended up hanging off the end of the diving board by his hands, singing, while all the lifeguards and several teachers were yelling at him from the edges of the pool to jump or otherwise get off? Future mayor. [1]

Recent acquisition: a book called Boring Postcards by Martin Parr. The title explains it all: it�s a collection of old postcards featuring highway exits, motel rooms, plates of interesting food, gas stations, awnings, trailer courts and much more. Things that are badly photographed or that shouldn't have been photographed in the first place. More fascinating than boring, really. Lots of things to stare at and analyze. I bought the volume dealing with "boring" American scenes, but there is also a British one and a German version on the way. Highly recommended.

[1] Our mayor is appointed, not elected, and doesn't do anything in the way of governing, so why not?

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