I needed a break. I had an upsetting call with Constance’s paternal grandmother that concluded with me hanging up but not before yelling, “No, we’re not going through the same thing. You have three children that are alive and I have one child that’s dead. Yes, we both feel bad but it’s not the same thing.” Not my finest hour but, these days, the bar is much lower.
Taking a break, I put on my swimsuit and went to the pool’s hot tub. When I entered the pool room, two girls in the hot tub using floaties jumped out and went to the pool. I climbed in and faced the wall. As a flood of several girls came in chatting and playing, I started crying with loud heaving sobs that I hid in my towel. With all the subtly of Elton John, the girls noticed me and started whispering. I thought they’d all left the pool so I put the towel down and just sobbed.
Actually, they had left the pool deck to go to an adjoining billiards room to stare at me directly from the window. As they lined up along the window like sunflowers, they all stared at me with pained expressions of horror on their faces.
I got up, wrapped myself in my towel, and began to leave. As I got to the door of the room, one of their mothers opened it and asked if I was okay. I was clearly not okay but I nodded yes while walking to the elevator. I heard the girls whispering “Why is she crying? What’s wrong with her?” to the mother who tried to quietly hush them. My chest lurched in painful wails as I took off my swimsuit, got dressed, and left the hotel. In the future, I’ll be restricting myself to early-morning and late-night pool use.