chlorinated decisions

The hotel pool sat still at dusk, its surface reflecting the neon sign of the adjacent bar—THE LAST STRIKE. Matt sat on the deck, legs dangling in water that felt too warm, too artificial. On the TV mounted above the bar, a baseball game dragged into the eleventh inning, the score tied, each team desperate to avoid being the one to crack first.

"You're going to miss your flight," Elena said, sliding open the glass door behind him. She held two cigarettes, offered one. He shook his head.

"I know."

"So what are you doing, Matt?"

What was he doing? Three days ago, he'd been a husband. A corporate VP. A man who'd made partner by twenty-eight by being the one who could shoulder any burden, the office's designated bear when things got ugly. He'd carried everyone's problems, Elena's included, until his back had simply—given out.

Not physically. Physically, he was fine. Emotionally, he'd realized he didn't know whose life he was living anymore.

"Remember that summer we played baseball?" he asked, not turning around. "College. That tournament you dragged me to?"

"We lost every game."

"You hit a home run in the final one. I remember thinking—that's it. That's the feeling I want. Just once."

He'd spent fifteen years chasing that feeling. Promotions, raises, the corner office. And here he was, sitting by a pool in some midwestern city he couldn't remember the name of, while his wife—soon-to-be ex-wife—waited for him to leave so she could tell their daughter daddy wasn't coming home.

"The bear," she said softly. "You always said you'd be the one to walk away first."

"I lied."

"I know."

He stood up, water dripping from his calves. The baseball game on TV ended—someone must have scored while they weren't looking. The crowd's roar carried across the empty pool deck like ghost applause.

"My cab's coming," he said.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"You could still stay."

He looked at the pool, its chlorinated water promising nothing but the same blue reflection, over and over. He looked at the bar, where the baseball game had been replaced by infomercialials. He looked at Elena, who'd loved him through his ambition, his absence, his slow transformation into someone she no longer recognized.

"No," he said. "I really couldn't."

And as the cab pulled up to the curb, as he left her standing there by the pool's artificial glow, Matt finally understood something: the weight you choose to put down feels heavier than the weight you were forced to carry. He got in the cab. He didn't look back.