Nicola Keegan - Swimming

For my mother, Kay Keegan ,
and my fathers, Reuben George Keegan
and Joseph OMahoney

Swimming

In Water I Float

Im a problematic infant but everything seems okay to me. Im sitting in Leonards arms grabbing at his nose. I have no idea how prehistoric my face is, am smiling a gaping, openmouthed smile that pushes the fat up around my eyes, causing a momentary blackout. When the world turns black, I scream. Im blessed with unusual eyebrow mobility; when I scream, they scream with me. Leonard pats my back, bouncing me gently up and down; his face is tired and drawn and as green as the lime green paint the nuns use for their windowsills. I recover quickly, push his big nose in with all my force, have no idea that a perfect replica is sitting in the middle of my own face just waiting to grow.

I have seven chins varying in size and volume; crevasses things get stuck in that my mother has to excavate carefully after each bath. We have ceremonies: Each morning she leans in toward me with a cotton ball dipped in baby oil, two purple sandbags of fatigue carefully holding down her eyes, and each morning I karate-kick the open bottle of baby oil out of her hand. Today she burst into tears as the bottle whizzed past her ear, shooting a trail of shiny oil across the room. I wailed with her in loving solidarity, the fat above my ankles flapping over my monstrous feet like loose tights.

I live simply; when something doesnt seem okay, I scream until it is again. I do not like closing my eyes to discover there is no music, lights, or people I know inside. I do not like being alone, being alone with Bron, finding myself in my bed alone, waking up in my car seat with no one in sight, the sound of silence. If I fall asleep listening to the beat of my mothers heart, pacing my breath in cadence with hers, and awake later to find myself lying on my back in a pastel-barred prison, I feel cheated and betrayed. I howl with my guts in a belly-shaking rage until someone comes and gets me, usually my mother, who is shocked and worried at how her second child could be so different from the sleepy, button-nosed first. Day and night mean nothing to me. Leonard is trying to think; cant.

Were at the Quaker Aquatic Center waiting for my first aqua baby class to begin. My mothers sitting at the edge of the pool, holding a shivering Bron, whos studying me quietly, an intent expression on her oval face. She wont get in and no ones making her. I grab Leonards lips and pull; he taps my hand with one finger, whispers: Stop . I cant walk yet; he has to carry me everywhere and its starting to hurt his lower back. He yelled at my mother yesterday. What in the hell are you feeding her? And she yelled back, hard. The same damn formula we gave Bron . I look over at my mother; Bron has moved behind her and is holding on to her neck with a hand that suggests possession. Shes got one thumb in her mouth, eyes burning holes in my flabby face. I kick Leonard in the gut; he grunts. I jump a little bit, pointing toward Bron, gurgle, then speak. Im trying to say: She means me harm .

Leonard says: Shush now; the nice lady is talking .

I dont know what the hell hes talking about so I kick him in the gut again, grab one of the long hairs that sprout from his eyebrows, pull.

Theres a lady coming at me with a mermaid puppet on one hand. The mermaid is saying goo things, but Bron has destroyed the joy of puppets for me forever. I try to get away from it by weeping dramatically as I crawl up Leonards shoulder and he scrambles to hold on. The lady is hailing me, but I dont know her face, so I wont look at it. Shes wearing a swimsuit with a skirt attached and a necklace with a bright yellow plastic smiley face in the middle. Leonard bounces me up and down. I wipe puppet from mind, swallow sobs, lunge for the smiley face. Leonard almost loses me, says: Whoooahhhh there , a sharp satellite of pain pulsing in his lower back.

The lady says: Shes ready, all right .

Leonard says: You think?

She says: Oh yes .

He says: What should I do?

She clasps her hands. Lets put her in .

He says: I hope this works .

She says: Oh, thisll work. Youll see. It will change your life .

He dips my feet into the warm water. I hop, squealing a high-pitched squeal that makes the lady jump. Oh my. I see what youre talking about .

Im nine months old and the longest Ive slept at one time is one hour and forty-three minutes. I think my name is Boo, but its not. Its just one of the many things Ill be called: Boo, Mena, Phil, Pip , but the name on my birth certificate, Philomena , has four syllables and will be the first major disappointment in my life. No one will use it until I get to school and the nuns insist. I have various hobbies that consume me: kicking, screaming, pulling things down, kicking again, crying. Lately, Ive been experimenting with howling like a wolf. I sit up in my crib three hours before dawn, grab the bars with both fists, and keen at the moon. Ive started to pull myself around on the floor and, when no one is looking, roll myself up in electrical wire, get my fingers stuck in air-conditioning vents, and scream until someone yanks me out. Yesterday, I gnawed down half a candle, pooping it out this morning with horrible grunts as my mother wept: I just turned my head for a second .

Leonards trying to write Most Misunderstood Mammals , which will be published at Roxannes birth and will win him the largest grant to study bats ever awarded in the history of American academia. He will be pictured on the cover of the Glenwood Morning Star standing next to Rosy, a cuddly African fruit-faced bat with wide, dreamy eyes. He knows that his work is good, but at the moment hes just tired and poor, sleeping in his ratty old car with a pillow over his head when he cant take the screaming anymore. When he gets the grant, he will celebrate with his bat team, astronomer Gerald, Ahmet Noorani, and Dr. Bob, and then hell fly all over the world studying bat behavior, coming back home with a burnt nose and a collection of exotic bowls things will get lost in. I will do things too. I will be ashamed of his job, pretend hes a regular doctor until the mini-Catholics turn into junior Catholics and find out hes the guy in the dumb suit that Channel 9 interviews every Halloween. Theyll call me Batgirl, draw ears on my locker and all the school pictures I ever hand out until the day I win my first Olympic gold and they repent.

Leonard slides me in up to my belly; there are spaces in my diaper that let the warm water leak in. This makes me so happy, I squeal. I look over at my mother; shes clapping her hands and making goo sounds. Shes pregnant again because I took so long coming that she and Leonard decided theyd better have the rest of their children quickly, bam, bam, bam . When Leonard said bam, bam, bam , hed hit one open palm with the side of the other, a gesture I will soon come to dread. Shed agreed with him at the time, has changed her mind since, but doesnt know it because shes too tired to articulate thought. I look at Bron and my two eyebrows become one. Shes been poking me through the bars of my crib with her Barbie. Shes been pinching me hard with vicious claws. She pretends to be nice when theyre around, but reveals her true face when theyre not looking. She tries to scare me with it, and succeeds; I howl. At the howl, Mom and Leonard look at each other and frown as Bron smiles. I am one of those people who will never truly grasp the relationship between time and space. I tried to hit her from my high chair across the room as she played with her Barbies this morning, her hair lit in long golden shafts by the narrow winter light. I howled in frustration when my fist hit air and not her head as Mom and Leonard exchanged glances, unspoken worry darkening their eyes.