I once wrote of a prisoner who wrote a book in the spaces between the lines of a book because it was the only paper he had. Here I will revise an episode (true story) I wrote years ago, so that it has a different, perhaps more edifying, conclusion.
I arrived in Key Biscayne at night and went swimming in the motel pool, which was illuminated by underwater lights at the deep end. A Cuban boy of 10 or 12 was at the shallow end. Although it was my impression that he was getting out while I was getting in, as I returned to the shallow end on my second lap, I saw his dark, slender, headless body before me. I mean, there's no one else in the whole pool except me and him, so of course he has to do a number in my lane. I was going to have to kind of smack him one. Instead of dropping my hand slightly below the diagonal on the point of entry, I rotated it outward. But as I extended my hand, he held out his to mine...
God: Ah! Wasn't that how I gave life to Adam?
...my fingers touched the tiles and I was joined to my writhing shadow.
God: You're such a feeble schmuck, but I forgive you.
Me: Thank you, Lord.
God: Don't mention it, and I appreciate the plugs.