Bitter Sweet Sugar

We were driving back from a prosperous shopping trip, taking the scenic route from the West County mall to home. We had caught the trees in the midst of changing colors—trading their proper housewife green ensemble for the more daring violets, crimsons, and marigolds of a Vegas showgirl. How bold Mother Nature was becoming. The sun beamed down in warm approval. The day was perfect. I gazed out the car window at the private roads peeking behind the foliage and the magnificent houses that not even the tallest trees could make cower. I have always been in awe of these wonders both natural and man-made.

As the car hugged a corner, I turned my head as I always do to a road that had long been reclaimed by the wildlife. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then. The sunlight splashed its dappled light on an area of the path that had been hacked back. A large white sign dully proclaimed this place was for sale. My breath paused long enough for me to do a double take. Gray slabs of stone whispered to me from farther back on the property—such cold mutterings. The moment passed. The car turned that tight corner; my lungs remembered their purpose; I blinked hard. And so it ends.

I have been familiar with this road since I was about nine. For me the summer of 1999 meant change. We had recently moved to Webster Groves, and my mother not knowing about the schools system’s form of childcare was putting me into a summer camp. Sugar Creek Day Care held every day at the Praise Fellowship Church in Kirkwood of all places. Being the illustrious age of nine I believed that I did not need to be babied by a day care, after all I was almost a double digit. The drives to and from the day camp were spent in silence partly because I was being sullen and partly because of the trees.

Then the gravel drive of the day camp was well kept, the wild bushes pruned back in the friendliest way possible. The archway of greenery gave way to open air and the sun would pour through the windshield only to be blocked shortly thereafter by the looming church. The Praise Fellowship Church was a pale gray building that never failed to remind me of a castle. Early morning light would twinkle off the glass panes like fey lights. On either side of the church were emerald lawns. To the left was a fenced in playground with the expected slides, swings, and playhouses. Behind the church was an Olympic size pool filled this time of year by the peculiar pale blue water of all pools. To the right of the humongous pool was a wooden awning with wizened picnic tables. Everything reeked of chlorine, even the dreary concrete.

I would be ushered through the church’s large medieval looking doors, and up the arching red velvet staircase to the top floor where the day care was held, by whichever parent had custody of me that week. They would hand me my brown bagged lunch, which always contained a peanut butter sandwich (no crusts), a bag of chips, a box of chocolate milk, and if I was lucky a cookie. And then they would leave me to my fate. I was in the middle range of ages at Sugar Creek. The little kids thought I was too big, and the big kids thought I was too little. I was a misfit. And to top it off I was a Statesman in the middle of Pioneer territory and strangely vocal about it. This did not win me many friends.

Despite this I did make a few friends at Sugar Creek Day Care. Two girls, one whose name I cannot remember for the life of me but I shall call her Sarah, and the other girl’s name was Danielle. But as I was still shaking off the remnants of my tomboy phase I played more with the boys. My closest friend at that camp was a six-year-old boy named Daniel (which is the only reason I can remember Danielle’s name). Daniel was the brother I couldn’t decide if I wanted to keep or not. He had a little monkey face with tan skin, close cropped, soft brown-black hair, and laughing eyes.

We had an understanding, Daniel and I. At lunch we would trade: my chocolate milk for his juice box, or Fritos for Cheetos. Then we would sit, munching in companionable silence, at the plain tables, our legs dangling off the folding chairs. We were close, closer than I ever could have claimed to be with Sarah or Danielle. So I made sure no one picked on Daniel. He was slightly small, and like me he had the tendency to annoy the beejeezus out of people. But Daniel irked people by playing pranks on them. He was a joker who wouldn’t quit when the joke got tired. Not only that but Daniel was stubborn, possibly more stubborn than me. He would not admit he was wrong even after he had proof waved in front of his face.

I remember we got into an argument one day about the new Star Wars movie, which now seems ludicrous. He was adamant that it was the fourth in the series. I kept telling him it was the fourth movie made, yes, but it was the first part of the story. Neither of us was willing to let it go and we almost came to blows over it until camp counselors separated us. The day care had taken us to the near by Sugar Creek Park, and in order to put distance between Daniel and I a counselor took me, Sarah, and Danielle down to the little stream running through the park.

Our tiny tennis shoes slid down the incline and plopped into the gurgling creek. The water was soaking through to my socks and beginning to cool off my temper. But like a wounded puppy, Daniel had followed us to the creek. He wanted to come play too. I turned, hands fisted on my hips and told him he couldn’t come down because he wasn’t old enough and he might get hurt. He clapped his hands over his ears and told me he was no longer talking to me. Fuming, I went further down the creek. Fine, we would just never speak again.

I had begun to calm down by the time we returned to the church. It was a Tuesday, which meant we would go swimming in the camp’s pool the appropriate thirty minutes after lunch. I sat with Sarah and Danielle because Daniel and I were still not speaking. I glared at my lunch. Stupid chocolate milk. Stupid Fritos. Since neither of us was willing to break the silence, so we didn’t trade food as usual. I suppose neither of us ate much that day. It was all just a long wait till we could go swim. Waiting the thirty minutes for “proper digestion” was a lot like waiting for an “appropriate” time to pounce on your parents on Christmas morning. Adults’ time schedules are never accommodating enough for kids.

Finally we were led down to the changing rooms, the odor of chlorine and the damp tiles only served to make us more animated. I ducked into a stall and quickly changed into my neon blue one piece. Stuffing my other clothes and towel into my father’s old gym bag I hurried out to join Sarah and Danielle. The maroon and beige canvas bag was heavy and it dug into my bony shoulders as we stood in line waiting to be let out. I shifted trying to get comfortable as the counselors—carefully checking to make sure they had each and every one of us, counted off my golden head.

We waited longer still as two counselors took to the lifeguard stands. Once they were properly situated with their sunglasses and slouching poses we were let loose. I shuffled over to the old picnic tables under the awning and dropped my burden on the creaking tabletop. I spent an unnecessary amount of time arranging my towel and change for the soda machine. The idea of swimming was exciting, but the reality wasn’t quite as energizing for me. I wasn’t a terribly strong swimmer, and I hadn’t bothered to take the test that would let me into the deep end. All of my friends had though, even Daniel, and it made me uncomfortable.

There was a tugging at my arms, Sarah and Danielle, pulling me towards the pool. Laughing, we grasped each other’s hands and took a screaming leap into the densest part of the shallow end. We came up spitting pool water and smiling, all my worries forgotten. The game the three of us preferred was a sort of treasure hunt. The pool at Sugar Creek Day Care was old. Chips from the pool’s bottom littered the floor of the pool. We would go underwater and pick up one of those triangular shaped pieces of rubble and break the surface exclaiming at what treasures we had found—it could be anything from a gold doubloon to a princess’ lost ruby ring.

We had shortly excavated to the point where Danielle was bored of our little game. She disdainfully told us that us that she was going to the deep end, and demanded that Sarah come with her. The two of them treaded water while I gripped the shiny sidebar as Sarah looked between Danielle and me. Sarah bit her lip and then scooted closer to me and said she was going to stay in the shallow end. Sarah was a most loyal friend, which makes me feel horrible because I can’t even remember her real name.

Danielle swam off in disgust. Sarah and I continued playing around until we concurred that we were too wrinkly and cold. We lazily dog paddled over to the gleaming ladder in the left hand corner of the shallow end. Daniel was blocking the gate, sprawled on his stomach looking down at the pool floor. He often did this and would float around until you got close enough then he would scare you. Sarah and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. We knew better than to fall for one of Daniel’s tricks. I rudely told him to move but he didn’t budge. Still ignoring me.

“Come on Daniel, move it!” I shouted

“Please.” Sarah said sweetly. The magic word had always worked before why not now?

Still Daniel did not move.

I let out a breath of annoyance, “Lets just move him.”

Sarah giggled her assent and our small hands grasped his side. We hauled him up closer to the edge of the pool, Daniel was much heavier than either of us had expected. We let him go thinking he would right himself, but he slid limply down under the water. Sarah and I scowled at each other. We dove underwater and hauled him back up. Keeping one arm around his waist, I grabbed his right hand and molded it to the sidebar so he could grip it. Daniel’s eyes were closed, his lashes spiky from the pool. Water poured out of his mouth bits of foam at his lips. Sarah and I let go figuring he would now have leverage with the bar to right himself. He slid again, slower than before, his hand not even gripping the bar. He seemed to sit at the bottom of the pool, letting his right hand stick out above the water in mock salute. Still thinking he was playing with us Sarah and I dove for the third time. He was so heavy, heavier than my father’s canvas bag.

“Daniel! This isn’t funny any more. Stop it! Stop playing!” I shrieked at him, shaking him. Still his eyes did not open.

Just then a lifeguard was walking past, not even looking at us.

“Hey! Help! Look!” I shouted at her. Panic and Daniel’s weight making me incapable of forming a complete sentence.

She knelt down and smiled at us—just three kids playing a little game.

“Help. He’s…” I broke off. I didn’t know what was wrong with him but I had a sinking suspicion that I wanted this woman to tell me was wrong.

Her smile fell into the pool, and her eyes widened. Like a track runner at the sound of the gun she shot off shouting, “Brian! We have a situation.”

A shrill whistle slammed into my skull. We were told to get out of the pool. Ever obedient Sarah and I scrambled out of the pool, up the ladder we had been trying to get to all along. The lifeguards pulled Daniel out of the water and lay him out on the concrete, and the other kids formed a half circle around them. The curly-headed female lifeguard I had called over was trying to give Daniel CPR.

“Oh God, there’s so much water in his lungs.” She cried as she came up for air.

This set the kids off like bottle rockets, shrieking and whining with worry and fear. The other lifeguard, Brian, attempted to quiet them by demanding that they pray for Daniel, this was after all a church sponsored camp. Echoes of ‘in Jesus’ name’ sounded through the air bouncing off the stone walls, becoming more frantic. The half circle of children stood hunched over their clasped hands, eyes screwed shut in earnest prayer. I stood far off to the side not moving, just watching Daniel’s lungs for any sign of movement. I was dripping wet, and freezing cold but numb. I padded over to the picnic tables to get my towel and gym bag. Sirens screamed in the distance getting closer and more insistent by the second. I wrapped my threadbare towel around my shoulders and for some reason looked up.

The back of the church faced an off ramp of Interstate 270. Up the large hill, wild with vegetation, on the off ramp was a news van. Some woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a power suit was standing with a microphone in her hand, the cameraman following her every move. Their distant shapes made me angry, but there wasn’t enough heat from my anger to banish the cold. Red and blue lights flashed across my pale face. One of the older counselors put her hand on my shoulder.

“Come on, you have to go inside now.” She said quietly, nudging me in the direction the other kids had gone. I could see their inquisitive faces looking down from the top floor window.

“No,” I said as I planted my feet on the abrasive concrete, “I’m not going anywhere until I know Daniel’s okay.”

Two EMTs ran out of the ambulance someone had called and over to Daniel’s prone body. Daniel was placed on a stretcher and wheeled away amidst technical terms and an oxygen mask. I lurched toward him, but was stopped by the counselor her grip firmer on my shoulder. His eyes still would not open.

After that everything blurs. I remember being forced to color as if that would help. I remember the older girls saying dramatically that they would never use the color blue again. I remember Danielle saying it was all so tragic because Daniel was her best friend (which was a lie because they hated each other). I remember wanting to hit her when she told everyone she had found Daniel and how horrible it all was. I remember getting picked up early by my father and having to explain in a small voice what happened. I remember waking up the next morning to find both my parents on the couch. I remember hearing that Daniel was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital. I remember crying violently. I remember blaming myself, thinking that if I had just gotten to him sooner he would have lived. I remember meeting Daniel’s mother. We looked at each other, I said I was sorry, and she began to cry.

For the longest time I had regrets. I regretted not getting to Daniel sooner on the off chance that it could have saved him. I found out later that hope was useless. Daniel had seizures, which his mother neglected to tell the camp officials. He had a seizure in the water and drowned in the shallowest part of the pool. There was nothing I could have done but it took me a long time to figure that out. I also regretted our argument or rather I regretted that we never spoke again.

Sugar Creek Day Care finished out the summer, but was not offered the next year. For various reasons I would pass by the Praise Fellowship Church. Either viewing it from the Interstate where the newscaster had stood, or through vague glimpses through the forest. I watched them drain the pool, never to be refilled. I watched the state of the building deteriorate until it truly did look like a ruined castle. I watched the wildlife reclaim the land. And now the place is for sale. The sun shining down on the moment, no longer as warm, and bright leaves blurring the past. But still the gray slabs seem to whisper to me. And so it ends.