The Pool Chlorine and the Empty Room

The tiled floor of the pool deck is cool against my bare feet. Steam rises from the basin, smelling of deep, undisturbed water. The pool lights cast squares of yellow on the wet tile. I stand by the shallow end, holding a clear glass of water. It never empties. When I tilt it, the surface level does not drop. I turn toward the changing rooms, needing to get back to the locker. I pause at the edge of the hallway. The locker room is silent, but the air coming from the main pool area vibrates with the low sound of running pumps, a sound that only exists when no one is swimming. I left my wallet on the third hook. It is the weight of knowing the wallet is there, hanging, and the hallway continues past the hook, deeper than it should.