Short-Short Story Contest Finalist

What Took You So Long?

By Heidi Grogan

Cursed knots! I quickly re-thread and stitch the nylon pocket into the lining of my Speedo bathing suit. Shove the “made-for-water” fake boob into the pocket, check that it’s secure. I don’t want to see my rubber breast floating on the surface of the pool, kids using it for a game of pig in the middle.  Two years since the mastectomy, and I’m still not ready. What if people see it when I bend over? I won’t bend over.  

At the pool, Eli and his son Simon are waiting. “What took you so long?” Simon asks. 

We hit the water slide and Eli scoots down first with Simon safe between his legs.  I sit at the top and feel the water gushing, piling up around my back, moving around my hips and sneaking under my thighs. I push off, lay back and pick up speed down the dark tubes that drop off with no warning. Run the banked curves like a luger, water sloshing over the sides as I slide high left, then high right around the corners. Feel the seams of the plastic slide catch hold of my bathing suit running them over, faster and faster, click, click, click…. At the bottom I plug my nose and propel into deep water, sink low and kick up to the side where Eli and Simon laugh, ready to go again.

After each run I cup the false breast when I think no one is looking. At the end of the day it’s twisted sideways in its pocket, but my sewing job held up.

In the change room I use the key tied onto my right shoulder strap to get into my locker—I want my shampoo. The plan is to use another quarter to lock it again and free the key. Only, I don’t have a quarter.  Damn. I’m stuck! I have to get the key off the strap. Only, I can’t.  I have to get out of the bathing suit. I pull the left strap off my shoulder and wiggle my elbow through. Oh no!  My flat mastectomy no-nipple skin is exposed! The nylon pocket flops against my ribcage. For everyone to see.  And they are seeing. My face flames. I stand higher on my tiptoes, pretend to search for something on the top shelf. My calves cramp, I need to stand down. When I do, my bathing suit pulls up my crotch like a hammock yanked up between two trees, trying to toss its occupant. Fuck! I’m high centred! Back to tip toes. Two girls make horrified faces at each other and exchange a silent “OMG.” I snarl out “thanks” but the tears flow. A mother with a toddler in her arms comes over.

            “Can I help?”

            “Need a quarter.” It’s all I can choke out.  She opens her purse. This will be done soon, this will be over soon. It is. She unlocks me.

I mutter gratitude and make for the bathroom, close the door. And I bawl.