The Weekday One Hundred

A nervous yet well-heeled crowd gathered at the pool’s edge wondering what my mother would do.

“He’s fine,” she mumbled taking another sip of her martini.

But I wasn’t. Far from it.

I struggled to keep my head above water. My arms flailed, my legs cramped, my lungs burned as chlorinated water stung my eyes.

I was drowning right in front of her. Her only son.

Finally, my mother casually kicked a life jacket into the pool. God forbid she get her Prada jumpsuit wet and jump in, but I was grateful for anything.

“See,” my mother sneered. “He’s fine.”