The Weight of Our Expectation

The Drowning Man (part 2)

(edited 27 SEP 2024)

After seeing Max safely to one of the poolside benches, Deniz headed into the locker room, intent on finding Kurt.

"Mr. Copper, I'm sorry that I challenged you like that. As a lifeguard and lifelong swimmer, I could see he needed —"

"Son, as a US Marine who has turned more boys into men than you have, I'm the one who knows what my son needs. And you need to accept that fact."

Max's pale face, etched with panic, flashed in his memory. Someone has to take his side. "Mr. Copper, Max isn't a Marine and —"

"Damn straight he isn't. And he never will be if people like you don't stop mollycoddling and making him think he doesn't have to earn his place in this world."

Deniz rushed into his pitch as fast as he could, blurting everything out in one breath. "Sir, the Red Cross has developed swimming courses for more than a century. I've got my certifications for lifesaving and can teach beginner swim lessons." Now he could breathe. "How about if I take him on as a student?"

Kurt studied him, eyes unwavering. The boy was posturing, trying for impressive— chin lifted, water beading on the tip of his nose, dripping from his fingertips like some wannabe tough guy in a bad action flick. Kurt had met real tough guys, this kid...held potential.

He was certainly clean-cut, athletic. A polite kid. He might make a good Marine one day, himself. And he certainly had gumption; standing up to a man like Kurt Copper took a lot of gumption.

"And I've been on the swim team since I was six," Deniz tossed out, hoping to tip the scales in his favor. Get him focused on agreeing, not on this macho pissing contest.

"How much you gonna charge me?"

Deniz knew that the battle was almost over. If this were an arm-wrestling match, Kurt would be tired out and losing ground. The YMCA would charge $20 per thirty minutes for private lessons, paying out most of that to the instructor, but Deniz had a plan to work around the hurdle.

"Just $5 per hour. And he can have as many lessons a week as you want."

"I can't take the time to get him here every evening."

"I can pick him up. I just got my own wheels now. Maybe Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, after my shift ends?"

Kurt stared, which was his natural pose while thinking.

"And we'll both be at GW this fall when Max starts high school, so I can bring him over here, whenever. Would that work?"

This little negotiation was easier than expected. Kurt felt like he'd just won the lottery. While he hated to admit defeat, handing over the responsibility to toughen up Max wasn't a bad idea. Once Max could swim a mile on his own, it would be time for his father to step in again and start the runs, weight training, and calisthenics.

Calisthenics before school, swimming after... He nodded absent-mindedly, already picturing Max running drills in their backyard.

Detailing Max to this kid was a good deal, truth be told. Kurt always hated water training exercises himself; maybe it ran in the family. He'd worked through it as a Marine, though. No doubt about it, Max could, too.

"Yeah, okay. Tuesdays, Thursdays. I'll pick him up from here on my way home."

"Twice a week is a good foundation, sir," Deniz said, meeting Kurt's gaze with a steadiness that surprised even him. He'd adopt the man's military jargon if that's what it took. "I guarantee Max will get the training he needs." He held his breath, until he realized how to seal the deal.

Deniz pushed out his hand and Kurt met it with a firm grip, looking for any sign of pain or weakness in the boy's face. The boy met Kurt's hand with a firmness that belied his size. "What's your name, kid?"

"Deniz. Denizhan Kamal."

"What kind of name is that?" asked Kurt, a skeptical look on his face. He never understood why people insisted on using these foreign-sounding names.

"Well...I like it!" he shrugged and smiled, trying to disarm the man. "In Turkish, it means 'ruler of the sea,'" he said, his voice quiet but steady. "A lot of people just call me Dennis. I promise, I'll take good care of him for you, sir.""

He liked this kid. This Dennis. Kurt always puffed up when people showed respect and called him "sir". It was a good sign.

"Tell Max to meet me in the truck."

"Yes, sir!"

As Kurt left through the hallway door, the scent of cheap aftershave did too. Deniz blew out a breath, waving a hand in front of his face as if clearing the air. What a jerk, he thought, recalling the way Kurt had shoved his son into the water.

Yes, there had been a couple lies told, but did that really matter? The guy was ready to let his own kid drown, just to make a point! At sixteen, he'd seen enough of life to recognize a bully when he saw one — even if the bully was wearing dad jeans and spouting off about the Marines.

Deniz felt a well of anger replace his outward calmness. All that talk about "toughening up" — it made Deniz want to punch something. Hard. He'd heard that kind of talk before — the "be a man" crap. He knew the damage those words could do, the way they chipped away at your confidence, made you doubt yourself.

Max was different. Didn't his father know? But different wasn't bad. Hell, his own little brother was different, and he was the most awesome kid on the planet.

He glanced back at the pool, recalling Max's skinny frame struggling in the water just moments ago. Nope, he thought, flicking his fingers. Not going to let that happen again. Not on my watch. Sir.

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