Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 167 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:
Welcome to Freely Written, where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.
[Light piano music]
Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty, and today’s prompt is Reflecting Pool.
I couldn’t resist. Living in the DC area and watching this reflecting pool fiasco play out has been a mild obsession. We were in DC over the weekend, but did not want to navigate the Pride Parade crowds to see the peeling mess for ourselves. Besides, the National Guard is apparently there, threatening arrests of anyone who gets too close, which we apparently do now in the land of the free.
But let’s sidestep the political circus and enjoy a story break. I like this phrase as a prompt because it can go in many directions. Also, because reflection is a valuable skill. We grow when we reflect on ourselves, others, and the world around us.
As a reminder, here’s how my Freely Written process works: I sit down with a prompt and write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing. Then, I record the story and share it with you.
Here’s what came up today:
Reflecting Pool
Daryl did not grow up with a pool. He knew a boy in his class who had an above-ground pool, but he was never invited over to swim. Some of his classmates had neighborhood pools, and a few belonged to the country club, which he heard had two pools.
His parents did take Daryl to the YMCA for swim lessons, and they chose hotels with pools on their annual vacations. But swimming was a special treat. Not something he could do every day. Not like now.
Daryl sipped iced tea from a tall, narrow glass and looked out at his backyard pool. Like most Florida pools, it was covered by an aluminum frame with a fine mesh screen. That kept the bugs out, but let the filtered sunshine in. It also let the rain in during Florida’s frequent summer storms.
It was raining now. A quick flash that would soon pass. Daryl didn’t mind. The rain was welcome on a hot day, and it had come well after his morning swim.
Daryl had opened the sliding door between his kitchen and pool to better hear the rain. He lingered in the open doorway, watching the raindrops dance across the surface of the water. It was mesmerizing. A wind blew through, sending ripples over the water. Beneath the staccato beat, the pool water undulated.
As Daryl studied the motion of the water, he felt his gaze soften. The smells of chlorine and damp cement washed over him, mixing with the kitchen’s scent of lemons and vinegar. His cleaning woman had recently left, and she used her own concoctions instead of store-bought cleaners.
Daryl’s family didn’t have a cleaning woman when he was growing up, either. No cleaning woman, no swimming pool. He also didn’t live in Florida. Daryl had grown up in a small Rust Belt town. His dad drove a big rig and was gone for long stretches. His mom was a part-time cashier at the corner store and worked early shifts so she could be home after school.
Staring at his swimming pool, smelling his professionally cleaned home, Daryl felt a tightening in his chest. He had worked hard to get here. Made his way through college on loans and scholarships. Worked grueling hours. Evenings. Weekends. Sacrificed relationships with girlfriends who wanted more of his time.
He had time for them now. Daryl dated. He was on the apps. Nothing had stuck. Not yet. And he was tired of the short-term connections. The hopes that didn’t pan out.
Shaking his head, Daryl stepped back from the doorway. There was something about the view of his pool that made him reflective. Some days, it brought him joy. More often, melancholy.
In the absence of a romantic partner, Daryl had cultivated a large group of friends. Most of them were paired off these days, but they were coming over tonight. A casual party. No special holiday. Just a Friday night with pizza and drinks. And swimming under the stars, if the weather cooperated.
Getting ready, Daryl hesitated between two shirts: a graphic tee or a Hawaiian button-down. It was casual, but some of his friends would bring more friends. Single friends. Single women. They wanted to pair Daryl up.
Eventually, he threw on the button-down over the tee, leaving all the buttons undone. It was warm but looked more stylish, he hoped.
As the evening wore on, his attempt at style felt increasingly futile. His core friends had invited others. The music was playing. The drinks were flowing. Daryl was having a good time, laughing and talking, but had still found himself sitting alone at one end of the pool.
Daryl watched the water sway around his lower legs. He wasn’t swimming tonight, but had kicked off his flip-flops to let his feet dangle in. He’d been sitting with friends before they left to get more pizza.
Now, he stared at the water, vague memories drifting through his mind, yet again pulling him into a reflective mood.
“Penny for your thoughts?” A woman asked, then laughed as she settled beside him. “Oh, wait, they don’t make those anymore. A nickel for your thoughts? Oh, that doesn’t sound right.”
“And it’s overpriced,” Daryl said, turning to see a woman he’d briefly met when he was carrying a stack of pizzas into the kitchen. Her name escaped him, but he remembered the blue of her eyes.
“Your thoughts aren’t worth a nickel?” She squinched her mouth and brow in thought, then let out another laugh. “Neither are mine.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Daryl told her with a wry smile. It was the kind of mindless banter he’d enjoyed at previous parties, but it felt flat tonight. He looked out over the water, seeing friends splashing around at the far end of the pool. His smile faded, and an unexpected weight fell across his shoulders.
“Your thoughts look pretty pricey now,” the woman observed in a quiet tone. An earnestness in her voice stirred an unknown feeling in Daryl’s gut.
“I don’t know, maybe.” He tried to smile, then let it go. “To be honest, I’m not thinking about anything. Or, if I am, I’m not aware of it. You know how sometimes your mind just wanders, and there’s some kind of thought there, but you can’t really hear it. You just feel the thought, whatever it is, and let it wash through you for a while.”
Daryl blushed then, embarrassed. He shook his head and tried to laugh at himself, but the woman put her hand on his arm, pulling his attention to her clear blue eyes.
“Don’t do that,” she said softly. “You don’t have to put on a smile or have the right words. I know what you mean.”
Daryl’s jaw felt tight. His arm trembled under her touch.
“It’s looking out at the pool, I think. It just puts me in a reflective mood. Usually when I’m alone, but tonight…”
“You’re alone,” she said when his words trailed off. “It’s okay to feel alone when people are all around you. I get like that, too. I think we all do sometimes. Or most of us. Probably not Greg.”
She nodded toward Greg, who was loudly calling Marco, with his eyes wide open, then asking why no one wanted to play. There was a group laughing and splashing him, getting rowdier by the minute.
Daryl laughed with her.
“Yeah, not Greg.” He sipped his drink and glanced to see that she was content sitting beside him. He didn’t feel the need to hold her attention. He cleared his throat, feeling his face prickle.
“I don’t feel alone now.” He glanced in time to catch her quick smile. Instead of responding, she bumped her shoulder against his and took a sip of her drink.
They sat together for a solid minute before she said, “I always wanted a pool when I was a kid. Which is kinda weird, since I can’t swim.”
“You can’t swim?” He asked with curiosity, not surprise, and saw her shoulders relax.
“I mean, I learned, but… no. I don’t swim.”
“You don’t have to,” Daryl told her, without asking why. He figured she would tell him more... if she wanted to.
“I like this, though,” she went on, gesturing at their legs in the water. “Just don’t push me in.”
“I won’t,” Daryl promised.
They watched the others splashing and ducking under the water, swimming and popping up with sudden laughter. Stars were shining overhead. Music was playing over outdoor speakers. Daryl wanted to ask her name, but, in the moment, it didn’t matter. He was content to sit by her side and watch the night unfold.
After a while, her hand brushed his, and their fingers intertwined. Daryl let his mind wander, glad he’d put on the stylish shirt, sure that this was a night he’d look back on for the rest of his life.
The End
Thanks for listening. I hope you enjoyed this story break. If so, please share it with your friends. You can also like, subscribe, and share Freely Written wherever you listen to podcasts. And—if you’re so inclined—it would mean the world to me if you’d check out my novels and other books.
You can learn more on my website: SusanQuilty.com or search for “Susan Quilty” wherever you buy books. As an indie author, it can be very hard to build an audience. I truly appreciate any positive reviews, and I love to connect with readers. You can find me on social media or sign up for my newsletter. All of that info and more is on my website, and there are links in the show notes.
Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you.
[Light piano music]
