Lifeguard ’99

Back in 1999, Marvin volunteered as a lifeguard for the entire summer. He invited me to join him. He thought that it would be an amazing experience, spending the whole summer at the beach, getting our chests tanned, and saving lives.
“What better way to see out the 90s?” he asked me. I told him that I wasn’t interested. I had just seen The Matrix and I was going to spend my summer writing a screenplay, a science-fiction thriller about a man who thinks he is a robot in a world of humans, but after the Y2K bug takes hold, he discovers he is a human in a world of robots. It was called Short Circuited.

Marvin was ecstatic when he made the cut. He invited me over to check out his official swimming cap and matching trunks.
“Do you want to try them on?” he asked me, seeing the adulation on my face.
“No thanks,” I replied, changing my expression and trying to keep it cool. But I was beginning to regret not becoming a lifeguard.
“You’re not really lifeguard material anyway,” he said. “Just stick to writing your robot stories.”

On New Year’s Eve, I went down to the beach to check out Marvin and see if he was as good as he said he was. Wearing a large sunhat and dark glasses, I laid out my beach towel and tried to look inconspicuous. And there was Marvin, emerging from the ocean with some fellow lifeguards, carrying a beautiful woman. I must admit that he looked tremendous. He had a swagger about him, and the way his swimming trunks clung to his body certainly made him the desire of all women and, I presumed, the scorn of all men.

I looked down at my flabby stomach and pasty-white chicken legs and felt a sense of shame. Marvin was right, I wasn’t lifeguard material. I looked over again at Marvin. The tank top was off, and two women were rubbing sunscreen over his back and chest. No one had ever rubbed sunscreen on me before.

Watching Marvin, I could feel my face heating up. I gritted my teeth and clenched two handfuls of sand between my fists. I couldn’t take it anymore. I frantically searched the sand for a projectile of some kind. Finding a used syringe, I ran and hid behind the lifeguard tower. Marvin had his arms outstretched, laughing as the women ran their hands over him. I took aim at his groin and threw the syringe like a dart. The syringe completely missed him and landed in the buttocks of a rotund middle-aged man, who gave an ear-piercing squeal. Marvin jumped up and ran over to the man who was lying face-down in the sand and kicking his legs.
“It’s alright, sir, hold still.” Marvin said. Placing one hand the man’s buttocks, he pulled the syringe out with his other hand. As he examined it, he looked back and saw me peering out from behind the tower. Our eyes locked for a few seconds before I turned and fled. To his credit, Marvin never mentioned to me the events that took place on that day, nor the fact he saw me at the beach. But deep down, he knew it was me. Oh yes, he knew.

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