The Pool It is one of the hottest summers on record and relatives from far and wide gather at the park for the annual reunion. There is an antique fire engine that we all pile onto and ride around in circles. They let me clang the bell. There are booths with kewpie dolls and my father wins a black cocker spaniel and a majorette by knocking over fat bottles with a baseball. My cousin Buddy brings burlap bags filled with ears of corn and he wets them down then cooks them over the coals and the next day we all get sick. But that is not the worst. Aunt Stella is letting my cousin Jimmy go swimming and my parents say to me, “Absolutely not!” I cannot go in the pool. I cannot go wading in the stream. I cannot get a drink from the water fountain. I cannot have soda from a bottle or use a toilet without putting paper down all over it first. I cannot eat after I touch a door knob, I can’t share a bite from somebody else’s sandwich, I can’t move or breathe or even think to myself any thought that might give me polio.