Watch Me Disappear

fully clothed.
    He swims toward Maura, who moves away. “No,” she says. “No clothes allowed.”
    “No prob,” he says. He struggles out of his shirt and tosses it to the side, and then his shorts and boxers follow.
    “Can I get in and then take off my clothes?” some girl, an underclassman who tagged along with her date, asks.
    Jason missed the entire display, but his buddies have retrieved him by this point. He comes outside, fresh beer in hand, and studies the scene. “Get the hell out.”
    Maura shakes her head, and swims up to her now naked swimming companion. “Me and Jimmy here are taking a swim.”
    “I said, get the hell out.”
    “Maybe you should come in,” she says.
    I watch a few people scoot behind Jason to get inside. It seems the party-goers are torn between a fascination that makes it impossible to look away and a sense of horror so overwhelming that they need to remove themselves.
    “Listen, bitch,” Jason starts.
    John steps in front of Jason then, interrupting him. “Hey, man—”
    “Was I talking to you?” Jason shouts. I wonder if my parents hear him. I know Maura’s parents can. They’d have to be deaf not to.
    “Just cool it,” John says. “Everyone’s having a good time.” You can tell John has experience with a rowdy party crowd.
    Jason shoves him and John stumbles back a few steps, close to the edge of the pool. “Mind your own damn business,” he shouts.
    “We’re all just here to have fun, man,” John says, holding his hands up in the air like he’s being arrested.
    “Fun?” Jason says. He pulls back and then slams his fist directly into John’s nose.
    I watch John’s head snap back and blood pour forth as he falls backwards into the water. We all stand there, frozen, as John sinks for a moment, and then somebody says, “Jesus! Help him!” and everyone leaps up at once. The kid who was swimming with Maura gets there first and pulls John up and to the shallow end stairs. Blood runs down his face.
    No one thinks to keep an eye on Jason, which is a mistake.
    “Fuck you, fucking rich assholes,” he shouts, picking up a chair and launching it into the pool. Several pieces of deck furniture follow, and then, finally, Mr. Morgan appears through the sliding door.
    “Enough,” he says—not yelling, not pleading, just “enough.”
    At the sight of her stepfather, Maura, realizing she’s naked, swims into the deep end and treads water under the diving board, apparently hoping the shadows will make it hard for him to see her. Everyone else turns toward his voice, even Jason. Mr. Morgan looks tired and far too defeated to really seem angry.
    “You’re going to need to leave,” he says, looking at Jason. “Or I’m going to have to call the police and have them escort you.”
    “Fuck this shit,” Jason says, wiping a hand across his face. He turns and points to Maura. “And fuck you, too.” He pushes past Mr. Morgan into the house, his posse following him.
    Mr. Morgan waits until he’s sure they’re gone. “Our neighbors are upset about the noise,” he says. “I’m going to have to ask you all to come inside for the rest of the night.” He looks like he might actually cry. I’m sure he wants nothing more than to send us all home, but he can’t, because he has been letting everyone drink. He looks around, takes in the sight of the furniture floating in the pool, and then, after a moment, John, propped up against the pool steps, a bloody t-shirt against his nose. “Is he okay?” he asks to no one in particular.
    “I think his nose is broken,” one of the guys answers.
    Mr. Morgan nods. “Does he need to go to the emergency room?”
    “I’m fine,” John mumbles. “Some ice, maybe? And aspirin?”
    Mr. Morgan nods again. “Okay, everyone inside.” He stands aside as everyone files in silently, until only Maura and her naked swimming partner are left in the pool. I don’ t know what Mr. Morgan says to them, but after a moment he comes inside and asks me to take some towels out, and then he adds, “Your parents want you to come home.”
     
    *          *          *
     
    Amazingly, my parents do not ask me about the party or offer lectures of any kind. My mother pushed me into friendship with Maura, and now, unless she is willing to admit she was wrong, she can’t fault me.
    “Want to drive up to Amherst this afternoon, just you and me, walk around, check out the town?” my dad asks the morning after the party over