A guy came into the store yesterday, dripping wet from the cold rain, and he laid three soaked dollar bills on the counter for me in exchange for tokens. If I was by myself I wouldn’t have taken them, but since my boss was nearby I did so grudgingly, placing the wet bills in my hand as I gave this guy a look of disgust. He acts all dopey and pseudo-apologetic, says, “Ah, sorry about that bud, but it’s raining out,” smiling like a weasel because he really doesn’t give a fuck. I take two of the bills in my hand, put them in the drawer, began to take the third one which is crumbled up, and as I unravel it I begin to see the letters of this horrible word written upon it in bright red marker. I don’t think the guy giving it to me even realized it, but seeing the word startled me so much that I started to shake a bit. At that moment everything in my life seemed so bleak, so hopeless; the cold February rain; my shitty job; the wadded up, drenched dollar bill; this guy in front of me, fat and wearing a derby on his balding head. He had a thick, bushy mustache and large, brown beautiful teddy bear eyes that tried to hide the fact that behind them was emptiness, and worms, and Froot Loops sitting in a bowl without any milk, this fucking loser.

It was a word that reminded me of one of the most disturbing events of my childhood. I was at the city pool with my hot Aunt Alice and Aunt Norma. My father has a very large family, about 11 brothers and sisters, ages ranging over a number of years. So even though Alice was my aunt, she was my dad’s youngest sibling and wasn’t more than ten or so years older than me. She liked to show her stuff, always wore skimpy bikinis to the pool. That day, I stood silently behind her, a ten-year old boy, and I peeked down her chest as she lied there in a reclining chair, her sunglasses on and reading a romance novel. I peeked down her soft, tanned chest, wet with lotion, and I could see nearly all of her soft, firm boobs. I couldn’t see her nipples, though, and this tortured me. I wanted to yell at Aunt Alice, “Show me all of your boobies!” and, almost as if she felt my tension through the back of her chair, I saw a fly sit itself on her cleavage. She brushed it away, and then, as if Heaven-sent she pulled the left side of her bikini completely down and I saw her whole tit, in all it’s lusciousness, that large brownish nipple I’ll never forget. She left it out for a whole three seconds, as if knowing I was watching, and then she innocently covered it back up.

I was in awe, extremely hot and bothered and, not knowing what else to do I began to run toward the water, toward the “deep water” section of the adults to cool myself off. I didn’t yet know how to swim so my Aunt Norma ran up to me, grabbed me and shook me. Aunt Norma was very religious and she screamed in my face, “Jesus doesn’t want you to go into the ‘deep water’ yet, you’ll drown! And there is also a word written in the cement down there, at the bottom of the pool. It is a word that was written by the devil and it will drive little boys like you insane!” My aunt was scaring me; the look in her eyes was the same as that of that dopey, masturbating fuck from the store who tried to give me the wet dollar bills-- one of emptiness, stupidity and latent, unrealized confusion hidden behind wondrous, bulbous beautiful human eyes. Even destitute losers have beautiful eyes and it made me realize people weren’t living up to their potential. Back then this look frightened me, the tension and lying, false promise-- but now it made me feel so sad, so hopeless and so numb and full of apathy that I simply could not take the last dollar bill from the guy at the porn-store because of the word written on it in red marker. I said to my boss, “Sorry, I can’t take this guy’s money.”

Years after the incident with Aunt Norma and Aunt Alice at the pool, I woke up at 5am on a warm, sunny June morning. I walked to the City Pool, wanting to find out what this word was that had haunted me for so long. The pool was closed so early in the morning, of course, but I climbed the fence and went in anyway. I walked along the hard, white pavement of the complex, looking all around and remembering my childhood, the greenish-blue water and the smell of chlorine; the boob of Alice on that horrible afternoon day; my Aunt Norma screaming at me on what should have been such a hot, happy day for a child turned into a disaster. In trepidation, I got to the edge of the “deep water” section. I took a deep breath, pinched my nostrils together with my fingers and jumped in. I swam down, all the way down to the bottom of the pool and once I got there I noticed there was indeed a word that had been rubbed into the wet cement by someone’s finger when the pool was first being constructed. As I ran my finger along the letters I began to choke up, realizing what I was doing and that it was wrong. By the time I made out the final letter I began to cry and thought I’d drown so I hurriedly rose to the surface, climbed out of the pool. I looked up to the sky cursing it, shaking my fist at every cloud and ray of sun, any angels that may be looking down laughing I spat up towards as I screamed at the top of my lungs to the entire town, the entire world and even God, himself, if he was listening. Because in disgust I saw that the word at the bottom of the pool was . . . .