Swimming with a kid.

I went swimming with a kid that comes waist-high to me. Our shorts kinda' matched: his were red with blue stripes, mine blue with red stripes. I took two steps back and jumped in, spreading my legs out to make the biggest splash I could. Water rushed from around me and spilled over the edge of the pool. It was still warm from twelve hours of daylight, used bathwater minus the soap scum.

The kid jumped in at a good angle. Everything looked straight, his body was like a bullet, red and blue streaks from shorts traveling down his leg, blending with the fence that cornered the yard. He stayed under water for as long as he could, coming up to take a huge gulp of air and he returned under water. I paddled for the shallow end and started bobbing.

About 8, the sun touched down on my roof. We talked in short chops, like the water passing to each end of the pool.

"So kid, are you in summer school? I don't see you out at the bus stop in the mornings?"

He bounced on the balls of his feet to keep his head above water. "Yeah, sometimes. Mom doesn't make me go everyday. I sit in my room and play Nintendo."

"Oh yeah?" I lunged for a pool ring and had it drag me back towards the ladder,"what do you play on Nintendo?"

"War games. I like to use the sniper rifles. They're quiet, but can usually take all the guys down with one bullet. Do you play games?"

I climbed up the later and squished my pockets, water spilling down my legs. The kid stroked a few times and floated on his back.

"Not too often. I usually work. I pack boxes in a factory, then drive them around on a forklift."

"Cool. Yeah, the war games are fun. There's this one where you're a ex-prisoner. You get to start World War III."

The kid floated towards the wall and I pulled him out by his underarms.

"Sounds like my kind of game. How do you start it? Do you push a red button?"

"Nah, somebody dares you."

We dry off then walk down the street towards his house. The sun slipped off my roof. I have to shield my eyes with an open palm to walk. Even then, not very straight. The kid is drumming on his thighs, making machine gun noises. Then his front door open, and he took off with sandals making the plastic clack on scorched asphalt. I turn around, shield my eyes from the sun, and contemplate trying to start World War III myself.