Page 24 of Breathing Under Water

“I don’t want to argue anymore, Phil. I just want to get our son the help he needs. You know as well as I do that he understands the ways he’s different from other people all too well. The antidepressants aren’t enough anymore, not on their own. We have to give him the other tools he needs to succeed.”

A sudden whoop carries in from the family room, Harrison cheering about something good in the game on TV.

“Why do you think Harrison is here all the time instead of living his own life?” I ask, glancing toward the family room. “He sees it too, and he’s doing everything he can to help his brother. But sometimes we have to call in reinforcements. Just because Leo is smart and can communicate his needs when he’s in an environment where he’s comfortable doesn’t mean he’s fully equipped. He’s going to be an adult soon, wanting to live on his own one day. We need to prepare him for that, and we can’t do it alone. There are resources out there, and we should be using them.”

“So you want to shell out hundreds of dollars a week to have someone teach him about body language?”

“It’s not just body language, and you know it,” I bite back. “He wants friends his age. Especially with Sebastian moving away. For that to happen, he needs to build his confidence, and you know that’ll only happen with the right kind of practice. Yes, he’s made great strides since the early years when he could only attend specialized school, but he still doesn’t understand tone of voice or nuanced facial expressions. His conversational skills need work, never mind navigating social situations when his tics come out. You want me to run down the whole list?”

“You know what I think?” Phil steps closer to me. “I think Leo’s made so much progress over the past couple years that you’re starting to worry he’s not going to need you, that you won’t be essential in his life anymore. Maybe you need to take a long, hard look at who this is really about.”

I gasp at the cruelty of his words. After so many years of banding together when Leo was younger, it’s hard to believe the disconnect is coming now, when our complex child is almost an adult. We’ve made it through years of meltdowns and tantrums, the delayed potty training, delayed speech, mental health issues, being judged and abandoned by adult friends, and our own feelings of guilt each time our child struggled. Yet now,now,when Leo has finally settled into mainstream classes at a public high school, when he’s holding down a job, and when we can list on one hand the skills he needs to develop before he could potentially live on his own, this is when our relationship seems to be falling apart.

12

McKenna

June 2023

After practice Wednesday morning, I head straight to Hollyhock. Coach kept us late, making us run pyramid sets in the pool until he was satisfied. As I make my way through the clubhouse, my legs are still wobbly, and I’m grumpy because I forgot to pack my protein shake when I left the house earlier.

My stomach rumbles as I pass Kathleen’s office. She’s got her phone pressed to her ear, and when our eyes meet, I toss her a quick wave.

“How’s it going with the kids?” she calls from her desk, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

“Great. Really great!” I give her an awkward thumbs-up and keep moving.

Truthfully, it’s been rough so far. After the first lesson, Karyn gave me and Leo some pointers and then told us she’d seen enough, that with the shared expertise between us, we’d be fine without her.

In the two days since then, I’ve only become more convinced that I’m not remotely equipped to teach these kids. I feel a stab of guilt thinking about how I engineered this entire situationso I could get my service hours and appease my coach, yet I’ve paid very little heed to the well-being of the students. But isn’t that exactly the same thing Meadowbrook is doing to me, using me to get what they want, putting demands on me without worrying about my well-being? Like, maybe it’s too much to expect a scholarship student to complete so many hours of community service while also maintaining an impeccable GPA and a nearly impossible swimming record. Yes, I know how much I’m benefiting from the deal, getting a free education and opening new doors for myself. Maybe the same thing is true for my students—that even despite the flaws of the program I’ve created, they can enjoy some perks too, like spending time outside with other kids and having access to a beautiful pool. But I wonder if a single one of them will actually make progress before the summer’s over.

Take Matthew, for example. He’s afraid of his own shadow. Anytime I suggest he touch the water, he starts rocking back and forth with surprising speed and doesn’t let up until I back off. He and I both seem to be happier when I just leave him alone. Then there’s Johnny, who thinks he knows everything about everything. He won’t shut up, and it’s really difficult to give the other kids instructions when he’s always talking over me and moving in every direction. He just might be the most restless kid I’ve ever met. Rohan mostly follows whatever Johnny does, so whenever things start to get bad with Johnny, Rohan’s encouragement just makes it worse.

Elias has emerged as the complainer of the group, and Lindy, who’s very soft-spoken, apparently has Tourette’s. Not Tourette’s the way most people think of it—like, she doesn’t scream out curse words at random. She keeps shrugging her shoulders likesomeone’s asking her a question on repeat, and sometimes her head jerks suddenly to the side, as if she’s been slapped by an invisible villain. I always thought only boys got Tourette syndrome, but when I asked Lindy to please, for the love of God, just sit still, she very sweetly answered, “I can’t, Miss McKenna. On account of the Tourette’s.” So I guess I was wrong.

And then there’s Leo, who seems to have made it his mission to give me as much negative feedback as possible. I wish I had a nickel for each time this week he’s said, “They’re not going to like that,” or “You shouldn’t do it that way.” He’s also refused to get in the pool, focusing more on his role as teacher than student, which I suppose is fine since I’ve clearly done nothing useful for these kids on my own.

I pass the large ballroom and continue through the smaller dining room where a buffet breakfast is being picked over by some older men in golf clothes. At the far side of the room, French doors lead to the back patio and the pool. As I step outside, I see Leo’s already here. He’s standing by the pool shed, arranging several large placards that look to be posters about swimming.

Continuing in his direction, I take the opportunity to study him. In his pink polo shirt and navy swim trunks, he looks like any other country-clubbing sixteen-year-old boy, except for the awkward posture and the way he moves his fingers. Each time he releases one of the poster boards, it’s as if he’s playing an imaginary piano. He’s a lanky kid with gangly arms and legs, but he’s got a gorgeous face, with a jawline that looks like it was carved from stone. Add to that the caramel-brown hair with a slight wave that reaches to just below his collar, and the dimples that pop on both cheeks whenever he smiles,and he could just about be a teenage model. I don’t know if his ASD gets in the way of attracting girls, but I do know how image-conscious high schoolers can be, so I’d bet it does. I’m certainly not going to ask.

“What’d you bring today, Leo?” I ask as I look behind him at the different posters he’s arranged against the wall of the shed. Each is covered with pictures that look to have been printed off the internet and taped to the board.

“I made picture schedules.” As usual, he avoids direct eye contact with me. “Sometimes people call them picture boards. Boards. Picture boards. They’re not boring, even though ‘board’ sounds like ‘boring.’ Because if they were boring, they would be called ‘boring boards,’ and that repeats the same sounds, which people might think is funny. And if they’re funny, then maybe they’re less boring than I thought.”

I’ve noticed that Leo is sort of obsessed with language. He likes to examine and repeat words, to use them in different ways, almost as if the words are marbles and he’s playing with the feel and position of them in his mouth.

“Well, why don’t you just tell me how we should use them today?”

He readily explains that the pictures are meant to illustrate what the swim lessons will entail, how long they’ll last, and what will happen during the instruction portion.

I study the pictures as he talks, and I see that they follow a very logical order. First, kids are standing beside a pool. In the next picture, a grinning boy is stepping into the water. Then there’s a picture of a kid floating on his back with a teacher’s assistance. Right next to it is another showing a girl doing the same thing. The next shows kids with the bottom portions oftheir faces in the water blowing bubbles. I follow the pictures all the way to the end, where kids are walking away from a pool, each holding hands with an adult. I’m not sure how Leo will get the kids to focus long enough to look at all these pictures, but given the abysmal job I’ve done running the show, I might as well let him take a stab at it.

Soon the younger kids start arriving. Johnny and Rohan show up together, as their parents have been carpooling. Rohan’s dad watches the boys make their way to me before waving and turning back toward the way he came. Next comes Lindy, holding tight to her mother’s hand. She’s wearing another one of her caftan-style cover-ups, today with orange Crocs on her feet and pink-framed sunglasses to block the bright morning sun. If she ever gets to the point of putting her head in the water, we’ll have to switch her straight from sunglasses into polarized, UV-blocking swim goggles.

When the others have arrived and are seated at the edge of the pool, I make the mistake of telling them we’re going to be putting our faces in the water today.

Matthew starts flapping his hands up and down in obvious panic. He bumps into Elias, who is clearly affronted by the intrusion into his personal space.