Pool Party - John Persons

Priya found him by the hedge, behind the rose bushes, where he had gone to check his phone for the twelfth time. There were no new messages. There were never new messages.

There was Mark, his old college roommate, who now sold medical devices and had the hollow, cheerful eyes of a man who had watched his own soul get repossessed. There was Priya, John’s former business partner, the one who had quietly pulled her investment out six months before the crash, who now wore a one-piece swimsuit the color of a bruise and smiled at John like she knew where all the bodies were buried—because she did. john persons pool party

He dove underwater to escape the question. The pool muffled everything. For seven seconds, he existed only as weight, only as displacement. Then he surfaced, and the noise returned: laughter, the hiss of a soda can opening, the splash of Kevin’s ten-year-old daughter doing a cannonball. Priya found him by the hedge, behind the

Priya tilted her head. She had known him for fifteen years. She had been in the room when he cried after his first company failed, and she had been in the room when he screamed after his second company succeeded. She was the only person alive who had seen both versions of him. There was Mark, his old college roommate, who

The filter pump hummed.