I’m swimming and I’m a kid again, but no, actually, I’m an adult. I’m an adult in a pool with my love, and we are kicking our legs so that we don’t go under because the only space left for us is along the wall marked “9 FT.” I’m taking sips of a hibiscus margarita that makes me grateful a human saw those beautiful flowers and found a way to tuck them up inside. It’s night, or nearly night, and still almost 100 degrees. The sun has disappeared behind the San Jacinto Mountains, the range backlit and looking like the rolling sets of a high school production. A good one, though, a production you watch and think to yourself, “Oh yeah, that lead actress is on her way to New York. On her way to Broadway!” And you hope everything works out exactly how she wants it to. That’s how the mountains look, anchored by palm trees. Even though I hate the heat and the fact that, for some reason, the pool is heated, I’m content. Time doesn’t slow down, but I’m aware of time moving around us. Leisurely and fraying at the edges. Usually, I’m the kind of person who gets lost in the thing the moment might eventually become, somewhere down the road. But tonight I’m happy, thrilled even, to be right here. Burning up.