I wake up to the sun in my eyes. From the brightness of the room it seems to be mid-afternoon. The couch feels different than it did when I fell asleep. I put my hands down beside my hips to adjust and find that the smooth, soft upholstery is gone, instead my hands land on a coarse, rigid fabric. I remember this couch. I stand, my vision coming into focus as I examine the rest of the room. A stack of VHS tapes sit next to an old tv, a rocking horse sits behind the loveseat, and over the fireplace are pictures of my family instead of a memorial to my grandfather. I can hear the faint sound of music and a crowd coming from outside, so I slide on some nearby sandals and head downstairs. I pass through my grandfather's office, back to how it always was when I was young, and head outside.

The gravel parking lot is packed with cars, and crowds of people are lined up, filing into the pool through the turnstile. I catch sight of my old playground behind the pool house and on it I see my childhood self and her best friend playing on the swings. I head towards the gate leading to the playground, it’ll be faster to get in through there. The gate squeaks as I push it open, just like it always did, but with all the commotion no one really notices. I make sure to close and latch the gate behind me. I don’t know if I am able to manipulate this echo of days past by interacting with objects but I don’t want to take a chance on corrupting the memory.

I take a moment to watch my younger self, piloting herself and her friend through whatever fantasy scenario she’s dreamed up for the day. I hear her yelling something about a spaceship and urging her friend to go faster as they frantically lean forward and back to propel the two-person swing. Soon she announces that they have arrived, and the two of them run with urgency up the ladder to the platform with a slide attached, both of them going down then circling around to the ladder again and again before hopping back on the “spaceship” for takeoff. There is a warmth that swells inside as I see how loud and wild I used to be when I played. I turn away and head towards the pool itself.

The memory overwhelms my senses as I pass under the awning into the pool area. The music playing over the loudspeaker is barely audible over all the voices, laughing and talking and squealing and yelling all meshing into a dull roar, the air smells like sunblock and chlorine and I breathe deeper trying to take in the scent. A group of teenagers lines up at the concessions counter, and my grandfather is there, leaning on the counter awaiting their decision. A younger version of my father is at the other counter, managing the near-constant flow of people coming in through the turnstile. He is almost unfamiliar to me, a much smaller frame than he has now, and with a layer of dark hair covering the bald head I am familiar with. My mother comes out of the pool house behind me and goes to fetch my younger self and her friend for their swimming lesson. Her hair is blonder, and less curly than it is in the present. I enter through the door as she leaves. My grandfather goes into the back to grab some nachos for the teenagers who have finally made their decision, then takes over for my dad at the entrance so my dad can in turn relieve the lifeguard on duty.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I witness firsthand the generosity my grandfather was so famous for, watching him turn no one away regardless of whether or not they could afford entry. Taking down names of “volunteers” to call on for help if needed then letting everyone inside to play and cool off in the water. I see him joke around with our regulars, treating them as family, and almost everyone is a regular to him. I see him watch my lessons from the counter with this look of adoration on his face. I watch him look so healthy, going to refill the ice chest himself and having no struggle with the weight of the bag. Tears well in my eyes and I find myself wishing I had gotten to see him like this, really see him, wishing I hadn’t been so young, or that I would’ve paid more attention. I decided to go out to the pool deck and sit at one of the benches to watch the rest of the memory play out.

The tiny version of myself barely pays attention to her grandmother's lesson, choosing instead to splash her friend in the face whenever he attempts to blow bubbles and test her ability to hold her breath. Eventually the lesson ends, and my mother comes to the pool side to collect me and take me to the ankle deep water to play. I watch her and her friend sit and chat with their feet in the water while my friend and I splash around, running over occasionally to sit on their legs and be lifted into the air giggling and screaming until we are lowered back into the pool.

All of these days sort of blend together in my mind. I was so young, every sunny day that smelled like sunscreen and chlorine has just become a blended, faded, frankenstein of a memory. There were so many of them. Every day of every summer of my childhood, it’s strange to be suddenly immersed in an individual one. It’s just how I remember them all though, the water, the sun, the crowds, everything is exactly how it was every day back then. I close my eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath to smell my childhood again, and then I feel it. The necklace burning a hole in my pocket. I pull it out by the chain and drop it on the table and the same loud popping noise fills my ears as everything fades away.

I’m left sitting on broken concrete under the sky as the sun rises in front of me. The necklace sits on the ground in front of me with one pearl remaining.