The Weight of Our Expectation

Private Lessons (part 3)

(edited 27 SEP 2024)

Second Week

A week later, Max was already working on the basic swimming stroke.

Deniz's guidance was always gentle and supportive. "Sometimes when we swim, it's easy to have that feeling of not getting enough air. That's natural."

"Even you?"

Deniz put a mock serious expression on his face. "Even me. When I was first learning, I'd say I felt it every day."

"You swam every day?"

"Still do!" he said, splashing Deniz with a small wave. "Relax—work with the water, not against it," Deniz said, demonstrating the breathing technique, turning his head to the side with each stroke. "It's more than just rhythm, though you've got that down. It's about finding a pace that feels relaxing."

"Relaxing exertion?" quipped Max. "Are you sure you understand this swimming thing?"

That earned him another splash, a bit bigger this time. "You'll get it. You're smart," he said. He grinned, his eyes crinkling. "It's no more difficult than dissecting a frog and putting it all back together."

Max laughed. "Umm, that would be quite a bit different, actually."

"Just sayin'."

"Just saying," Max echoed.

***

Just A Touch More

Deniz positioned himself at the edge of the pool, his arms resting on the concrete, his gaze intent on Max. "Today we're still working on that freestyle stroke. Remember what we talked about? Reaching, pulling, rotating, breathing. It's all about keeping the rhythm."

Max pushed off from the side, his body slicing through the cool water. He focused on the rhythm of the strokes, the way the water slippery against his skin, the sound of his explosive exhales keeping the beat.

"Good," Deniz called out, swimming beside him. "Lengthen your stroke. Imagine grabbing for something just out of reach."

Max stretched out each arm in turn, feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back engage. He glanced at Deniz on every rotation, noticing the way the biceps flexed as Deniz swam. It became a fascination.

Deniz seemed to sense Max's distraction, but misjudged the reason. "Don't worry about how you look," he said, his voice softer now. "Just focus on sensing the movement. You're doing great." He swam ahead a bit and stopped to watch the younger boy's form.

As Max glided by, Deniz reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against Max's arm as a reminder. "Remember, long arms." The touch sent a jolt of electricity through Max's body, and he stumbled, his rhythm faltering.

"Easy there," Deniz chuckled, a warm sound that eased Max's embarrassment. "You're a little tense. Let's take a break. Relax those shoulders."

Max nodded, standing in the water, taking deep breaths. He focused on the feeling of the water lapping at his waist, putting the distracting memory of where Deniz had touched him out of mind.

"Let's go again," Deniz said, after a minute. "Now, remember to only turn your head to breathe. Don't lift it."

Max practiced his strokes, his body slowly adapting to the rhythm, the fear of the water receding with each lap. He stole glances at Lucas, admiring the way he stood, his posture relaxed yet alert, his gaze never leaving Max. Anticipation and vulnerability warred within him, Deniz's presence a source of both nervous energy and a strange kind of calm.

"Sometimes when I'm swimming laps, I say the word 'relax' to myself on every fourth stroke," Deniz suggested. "Create repeating patterns. Don't complicate it. You're not dissecting that frog."

Max laughed. "No way. This is way harder. But, yeah, repeating patterns. Okay."

"You struggle getting your arms all the way out." Deniz moved closer, his hand sliding down Max's chest. "See, you're going to have to learn to engage your chest muscles here, and shoulders up here — especially when we try the other strokes. You'll want power. But you mostly want control and rhythm."

It was strange, but Deniz's touch was somehow both reassuring and exhilarating for Max, causing him to blurt out something he had once read. "The pectoralis major pushes people away, and the pectoralis minor pulls them in for a hug."

Anatomy and kinesiology were still on his to-do list, but moments like this made him move them higher every single time.

Deniz continued. "And don't bunch up those shoulders. Think of the water as pushing them down and back, not letting them come up toward your ears," Deniz continued, reaching out with both hands and touching Max's shoulders, his falling fingers gently suggesting the flow of water. "That's crucial for good form. It keeps you streamlined and efficient when you're under water."

"Efficiency is good," said Max.

"Crucial," Deniz emphasized.

Max realized that Deniz was too close to him — so close that he could smell a faint scent of sunblock. He held his breath, a silent plea for his heart to stay quiet, in fear of sending little shock waves across the water.

Deniz had Max stand where they were, waist deep in the pool. He then took Max's hand and placed it on his own chest, pumping his pectoral muscles slowly. "Feel that?" he said. "I use my pecs to get the most out of each stroke. Power, but control."

Max's breath caught and he had to consciously think about how to breathe again. Heat. Firm contours. Flexing, releasing. A river of shivers flowed down his spine—an unexpected intimacy.

"Power, but control," Max echoed.

As much as he wanted to break contact and maintain his personal space, his hand seemed frozen in place. The strength and control — tangible beneath his fingertips — it was overwhelming. "I wish I had my field book here," he blurted.

Deniz looked confused. "Why? Note taking? I can probably send you a PDF or a YouTube video on it. Is that what you want?"

The fact that he said it out loud — and that Deniz responded — slapped Max like a misplaced modifier, dangling, creating a pause, a beat of silence where there shouldn't be one, throwing his carefully constructed world slightly off-kilter

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