The Hotel Swimming Pool
by Liz Mathews
In years now long gone, summer vacations around the Midwest were what my family did, yet regardless of where our vehicle took us, there was really only one destination for my sister and I: the hotel swimming pool. My parents were well aware of this, and, because flaring tempers on family vacations were inevitable, they did 
everything in their power to avoid trouble from the beginning. This included booking hotel rooms in hotels with pools.
Visiting the Badlands during a tornado warning? Gazing upon the purple beauty of a waterfall in the Ozarks? Counting the number of forest fire warning signs in Manitoba? Sure, those things are fine, whatever. Dog-paddling in the lukewarm water of the humid hotel swimming pool room? I’m there before you can say “No lifeguard on duty.”
My sister, too.
So a few weeks ago, when our mother confirmed that yes, there was a swimming pool at the Crowne Plaza in Wauwatosa, swimsuits were the first things in our respective bags. My family descended on Wisconsin from various places in the United States, and congregated at my aunt and uncle’s home for an evening of eating and boozing. And then more of the eating, and also the drinking. The idea of the hotel swimming pool lingered, though.
It was late by the time my family made it to the Crowne Plaza. Still, since it was open 24 hours, my sister and father and I looked in on the pool. I was dissuaded by the teenage girl in her bikini and her boyfriend in board shorts. My sister’s face showed obvious disappointment, but we agreed that bright and early the next morning, the pool was ours.
Except that it wasn’t. At 8:15am there was a middle-aged man checking his Blackberry in one of the lounge chairs, and an older man doing who-knows-what in the deeper end of the pool. My sister and I entered the water. It was colder than expected. We stood awkwardly. We swam the width of the pool several times, only to then stand awkwardly again.
Soon enough the old man exited the pool. “I hope I wasn’t in your way,” he said as he passed us with his snorkel mask. “Oh, no,” we assured him.
The other man continued his Blackberry checking. We continued being in the hotel swimming pool.
After we’d done some racing up and down the length of the pool, and zombie walked some more lengths, an older woman entered the room and started working out in the whirlpool. We stood awkwardly some more, and considered the clock on the wall.
It took us a while to actually extricate ourselves from the pool, despite the sense of uncertainty that pervaded the whole swim session. Maybe we were clinging to memories of our younger selves, of summer vacations and breaks from schoolwork. Maybe we just didn’t want to fight over the shower. I can’t speak for my sister.
But if this is growing up, then what I can do is sigh.
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