The Four Agreements

Imani had not swum in a public pool since school. The charity heat was only two lengths, but the tiled room made every cough and slippered footstep seem to travel. She stood behind lane six in a borrowed cap, rolling her shoulders while her uncle waved from the shallow end.

“Mimi!” he called. “You have plenty of time.”

Two people from her office stood beside him with paper cups. They had brought a hand-painted sign that said GO IMANI, which made her want to laugh and leave at the same time.

The starter checked the list on a clipboard. “Lane five, Sal. Lane six, Mimi.”

Imani put one foot on the starting block. The swimmer beside her glanced over. “Is Mimi your sister?”

“No,” Imani said.

The starter looked up. “Sorry?”

The whistle had not gone. Her uncle was still smiling, not because he had heard anything, but because he expected her to be looking at him.

“Nothing,” Imani said, and stepped down again to tighten her cap.

When the whistle came, she entered badly. Cold water went under the cap and into one ear. For the first few strokes she could hear only the uneven splash of the other swimmers. Then the lane rope knocked her elbow and she found a rhythm that belonged to nobody watching.

At the turn, she saw a blurred yellow shape at the pool edge: her uncle's shirt or the sign, she could not tell. She pushed off too hard and came up swallowing water. The swimmer from lane five passed her before the wall.

Someone pressed a towel into Imani's hands. It was her uncle's, grey and thin at the corners.

“Mimi nearly caught her,” he said to the office people. “Did you see that finish?”

Imani wrapped the towel around her shoulders. “It was Imani,” she said, not quite loudly enough for the starter to hear.

Her uncle looked at her for a moment, then at the wet floor between them. The next heat was already climbing onto the blocks.