| Portmeirion | ||
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My
boyfriend is nervous of the water, says he can't float, thrashes
stiffly when he swims, becomes tired and frustrated. When he looks
at a pool he doesn't see a place of potential pleasure, he sees
a place where he could drown.
I dream of magically being able to make my boyfriend a strong and confident swimmer. He couldn't care less, of course, but my fantasy remains. We would swim, hand in hand, like Lois Lane and Superman flying over the night skies. My boyfriend's anxiety about swimming has lifted somewhat recently and this I put down to a handful of happy experiences in the water. This year he even bought some new swimming trunks. The first happy experience was at my friends' place. They live in a housing complex that has its own swimming pool. One day they signed us in and we spent an hour splashing in the shallow water, making a train, not caring about anything. I remember my boyfriend hooting with delight. The third happy experience was in Lanzarote, where we had our own pool for a week. It's the second happy experience that I want to think about. It was at Portmeirion, that strange otherworld place in North Wales. My boyfriend was reluctant at first, had to be coaxed so gently - torture for me, who just wanted to be in that pool right away. He would sit and watch. No, he would just dangle his legs in the water. Okay, he would get changed into his trunks. Alright, he would come in, but not if it was too cold. So yes, he was in, but he wouldn't go to the deep end. Ah yes, he'd let me pull him around, let me jump into his arms, allow himself to bob alongside me until he became tired and needed to rest. There was no reason not to swim that day. The sun baked down, the pool was open and inviting, the village around us was magical. As we bobbed together we could see the estuary stretched out before us. |
 
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