Scott had never intended to speak to the synchronized swimmers.
Every evening they occupied the far lanes of the Olympic pool in perfect silence. Black reflective caps. Matching black speedos. Dark goggles hiding their eyes behind rotating rainbow spirals. Their turns were identical. Their breathing aligned. Even their posture outside the water appeared controlled and measured.
Scott usually stayed near the shallow lanes.
His swimming was average at best. Uneven strokes. Poor breathing control. Hesitation during deeper sections. He often paused at the wall pretending to rest while secretly watching the synchronized men glide past him without effort.
One night Scott surfaced from another failed lap coughing water from his lungs. A swimmer from the far lane approached silently. Lean. Athletic. Calm.
âYou drift too much,â the swimmer said evenly.
Scott laughed awkwardly. âYou noticed, eh.â
The swimmer removed his goggles. Thick black straps. Rainbow spirals still faintly reflecting beneath the lights.
The goggles looked strange up close. The spirals inside the lenses rotated in slow, controlled patterns that seemed deeper than glass should allow. For a moment Scott considered refusing. The synchronized swimmers already unsettled him enough.
But curiosity outweighed discomfort.
He slipped the goggles on.
The world narrowed immediately.
Pool noise softened into distant echoes. Reflections across the water became smooth and organized. His breathing slowed without effort. The swimmerâs voice remained steady beside him.
âEnter the water again.â
Scott found himself complying with near-zero hesitation.
The first stroke felt different.
His thoughts no longer scattered between embarrassment, exhaustion and self-awareness. The spirals occupied that drifting space completely. Kick. Pull. Breathe. The rhythm repeated calmly beneath the surface while the rainbow spirals reflected through the water around him.
When Scott reached the wall, he realized he had crossed the entire lane without stopping. Multiple times. As if the spirals had replaced hesitation with motion.
The swimmer observed him silently.
âLess drift,â he stated.
Scott removed the goggles slowly. The normal pool suddenly felt louder. Colder. Disorganized.
âWhat are these?â Scott asked quietly.
âThe beginning of synchronization.â
Scott stared at the goggles for several seconds before reluctantly passing them back.
âThose arenât standard competition goggles, are they?â
The swimmer secured the straps back around his own head with practiced precision. The rainbow spirals settled once more over his eyes.
âOcclipser Goggles,â he answered. âThey reduce drift.â
Scott gave a small uncertain laugh.
âFelt more than that.â
The swimmer said nothing, instead studying Scott calmly for several seconds before re-entering the water for more laps.
Scott remained seated at the edge of the pool catching his breath as water dripped from his arms and swim trunks. The sensation from the spirals still lingered faintly behind his eyes. Structured. Quiet. Focused.
Shaking the fog from his head, Scott stood and made his way to the change room.
The showers were mostly empty. Steam drifted through the tiled room while water hissed steadily from overhead pipes. Scott stepped beneath one of the showerheads, letting warm water run across his shoulders and chest while he tried to steady his thoughts. If he didn't know better, Scott would swear he was still seeing a rainbow spiral on any reflective surface.
The synchronized swimmer approached through the steam, remaining silent until mere feet away before addressing the distracted Scott by name.
With a start, Scott turned to once again face the disciplined athlete.
Up close, the swimmer appeared even more controlled than before. Black reflective speedo marked with a white HeX over the hip. Black silicone Syncap fitted perfectly against his head. Rainbow spirals rotating faintly behind dark lenses.
The swimmer held an object out to Scott.
A black silicone swim cap. Like the one the practiced swimmer bore on his own head. Water rolled across its smooth surface while the white hexagon over the forehead reflected beneath the locker room lights.
Scott looked down at it cautiously.
âThe beginning of synchronization?â he asked, repeating the earlier phrase.
The swimmer gave a slow nod.
âFor the next practice.â
Scott stared at the cap for several long seconds while the shower head continued its cascade over his skin.
The silicone looked thick. Tight. Restrictive.
âYou want me to come back?â Scott asked.
The answer settled into Scottâs thoughts more deeply than expected.
The swimmer stepped closer and placed the Syncap into Scottâs hands.
âWear it next session,â he instructed evenly. âFlow improves when capped.â
Scott ran his thumb slowly across the white HeX.
The synchronized swimmer turned toward the exit showers without another word, disappearing gradually into the steam.
Scott remained standing beneath the water holding the cap against his chest while the pool noise echoed faintly beyond the locker room walls.
For the first time in years, the thought of returning to the pool no longer filled him with embarrassment.
Only the lingering memory of rainbow spirals rotating calmly beneath the water.
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