Ghost pool observations.

IT'S STRANGE HOW someone can be remembered. In passing, he or she could be the person ringing up your toothpaste at Walgreens and then, just like that, a few sentences printed in a local newspaper regarding relatives left behind and a timespan led here on Earth. A start and a finish all read in one breath.

There's a house at the end of a dead-end street that some friends of mine found. Amidst the electrical wires, water lines, railroad tracks, wood, and steel that make up this structure to wake and sleep in, somebody designed and poured a bad-ass pool. There was a woman who lived in the house that surrounds the pool. She is not with us anymore. Who knows how she died? Husbands, kids, co-workers, or maybe not--whatever it was, she existed here. What she left behind may seem like a headache to some, but it's a gold mine for my friends.

I heard they spent eight hours bailing out the pool with buckets when they first found it, but this could always be an exaggeration. I will say this: I have seen them spend over an hour bailing after a rain just to skate for 30 minutes before the rain came again. It's a testament to the search, and to the holding-on of what we love. This pool has been skateable for a couple of months now, and my friends have taken full advantage. The light in the deep end, the drain, even the stairs in the shallow end, all concreted over to make a smooth, ridable surface. They found paint in the garage and painted it with brooms.

They keep it clean, too. Kitty litter is kept in buckets that conveniently hold up the old diving board as a bench. There have been bonfires, a New Year's Eve party, and overnighters with sleeping bags in the vacant house who wake up in the morning to do it all over again. She writes stories.

I believe in spirits--I think we all do--and I don't think this woman who lived in this house was too happy when skate rats all showed up to ride her pool. She's moody. The pool tends to sweat for some reason. I don't know why. But when it does it's so slippery you can't even walk in it. There have already been a couple broken bones and blown knees due to its surface. But after some kitty litter and towels, she can't help but let them ride. And ride they do. Daily. The word continues to spread and the tricks go down. The coping never even knew what it had coming. The sounds leak out to the passing cars weaving and searching around the clock for what we already know. She knows, too. That's why she's let them stay for so long.

Tucked behind a single fence and some beer, a ghetto blaster lets us know how much Lee Ving loves living in the city, and an empty pool reassures us to do what we do. The Ghost Bowl carries the torch that much further.

How will you be remembered?