It was Terry Bonnemarche’s dream to be a hero. He wasn’t particular about the kind of hero, or what he had to do to achieve the heroism. It was the kind of loose fantasy that only comes into focus at certain points – for Terry’s hero fantasy those points were the beginning, in which he ran at top speed down some long pathway, the three-quarters point, in which he held a small, reviving figure in his arms, and the end, in which a crowd of bystanders applauded him and clapped him on the back. Sometimes he got hugs. Other times he got his name in the papers. Either way, Terry knew that the opportunity for heroism could arise at any moment, so he had to always be prepared.

He was lucky to have already mastered swimming; four years at the YMCA back in middle school and high school had allowed him to spend summers as a lifeguard at the community pool. The sun was a bit harsh on his fair skin, but it was nothing an umbrella and a bottle of zinc oxide couldn’t fight. Every summer had been uneventful, however – nothing disastrous ever seemed to happen on his shifts. Kids would play nice, stay within the boundaries, and always wear the appropriate floatation devices.

One time, though, he came close.

It was an off-duty day, actually. Terry didn’t usually go to the pool on off-duty days, but something that morning had told him he should be there just in case. So he stepped into his non-uniform, blue with white Hawaiian flower swim trunks, threw on a crisp white Ron Jon Surf Shop t-shirt, grabbed his towel, Yankees cap, zinc oxide, sunblock, and nose plugs and headed off to the pool. They had just opened the pool when he got there, so only a few swimmers straggled in the shallow end and one or two lappers snaked back and forth in long strides. The lifeguard on duty was Trish Hardwick. Terry had English, History, and Gym classes with Trish and they once did a History project together. She was pretty nice, but after their project ended she didn’t talk much to him anymore, not even when they saw each other at the pool.

After a quick scout of the patio, Terry spread his towel out in a shaded area with a good view of the pool. The sun was partially hidden behind a large billow of cloud, but it was humid enough to still be sweltering. Settling down on his towel, he removed his t-shirt and began to apply zinc oxide and sunblock. First, he slathered the SPF 45 sunblock onto his small, squarish shoulders, then smoothed it over his sloping, spongey stomach. The zinc oxide was smeared in one long stripe that stretched from one cheek, over the bridge of his nose, to the other cheek, and then he was ready.

It all happened in an instant. One moment, Terry watched as Trish climbed down her lifeguard stand and knelt next to a swimmer clinging to the edge of the pool, and in the next moment Trish was tumbling into the water headfirst, knees and ankles following her in a tangle, and she didn’t surface for a good thirty-seven seconds. By the thirty-eighth second Terry was on his feet and sprinting toward the pool. He didn’t even hesitate as he reached the edge and dove into the water, its icy shock barely registering as he searched the depths for Trish. No body to be found, only lower torsos and kicking legs. One leg came very close to nailing him in the face and as he followed it back to its owner he saw that it belonged to a body clad in a familiar red one-piece lifeguarding uniform. He surfaced.

There was Trish, floating by the edge of the pool, quite safe. Looking confused, but also amused. It hadn’t been an accident, or an emergency. Just some kids clowning around and maybe it only looked like an emergency. But thanks for watching out for them anyway, even while he was off-duty.

to be continued-