Swim to Me by Betsy Carter Read Free Book Online Page A

beautiful women on land or sea.” The paper was limp now, and the creases were nearly slits from the many times she had bent the brochures this way and that to study the photographs. As she stared at them again, she noticed something she had never seen before. Down on the bottom, under the driving instructions, was a telephone number and address. Because Weeki Wachee occupied such a large part of Delores’s imagination, it had never dawned on her that it would actually have an address and a phone number. It would be as if, by calling information, you could actually dial up Oz.
    A phone call to Florida was out of the question. Her mother talked about “long distance” as if it were an ermine coat. “Well, I’m glad
she
can afford long distance,” she once said, after a neighbor bragged about calling her son in California. Delores would have to write a letter, which was another skill she most certainly did not have. She went through her back issues of
Teen Girl,
because she remembered that they’d once run an article on how to write a letter. The article had eight tips for good letter writing including: “Be dignified.” “Be courteous.” “Be friendly.” “Avoid sounding too self-centered.” “Make your points quickly.” She tore out a page from her loose-leaf notebook and began to compose.
    How do you do, Sirs,
    My name is Delores Walker. Ever since I visited Weeki Wachee nearly three years ago, I have wanted to become
a mermaid at your park. I am a good swimmer. My coach says I am good enough to become a professional, no bragging intended. Please advise me about what I have to do to qualify for the position. I am nearly seventeen, which seems to me a perfect age for a mermaid. I look forward to hearing from you.
    It occurred to her that maybe they’d want to see her picture. She rummaged through her box of treasures and came up with one taken two summers earlier at Orchard Beach. She had on her white bathing suit with the strawberry print. At the last minute, she’d put her father’s Yankees hat askew on her head. The brim of the hat obscured her face enough so that you couldn’t really see her teeth. She lay on a blanket, elbow propped in the sand, chin cupped in her hand. Her father was standing above her and his shadow lay by her side. Delores was just over five feet nine inches. She had breasts that jutted out like Dairy Queen ice-cream cones, and her high waist made her long slender legs look even longer than they were. When her father had seen a flamingo at Cypress Gardens, he’d turned to her mother and said, “Delores looks like one of them things.” The way the camera caught her that day at Orchard Beach made her look taller and leaner than she was. Delores was pleased, and thought she looked as much like a mermaid as any civilian could.
    P.S. Here is a picture of me that I hope will be useful.
Before she sealed the envelope, she kissed her picture and crossed her fingers.
    Two weeks later, a letter arrived addressed to her and postmarked Weeki Wachee Springs, Florida. Delores sat with the envelope in her lap and ran her fingers back and forth across it, as if by doing so she could divine its contents. It was four thirty in the afternoon. The days were longer now, and it was the time of year when the softlight and gentle air held promise. She closed her eyes and thought about what her life would be like if they said no. She pictured herself working alongside her mother, sweeping popcorn kernels off of office floors and filching a cardigan here, an umbrella there. “Please let them take me,” she whispered as she ripped open the envelope.
    Dear Miss Walker,
    We appreciate your enthusiasm and your interest in Weeki Wachee. We are always interested in new applicants and would be happy to interview you and observe your swimming skills. Let us know when you will be able to visit us at the Springs, and we will set up