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7
The purity of life is in the secrets … they're simple； they say everything； they are there for anyone； but we must wake up to the purity first in order to understand the secrets。
My pursuit of physical excellence began early。 I tackled solitary athletics since this seemed best for my character。 They were also cheaper。 My family was poor … have I mentioned that？ Not poor poor。 Not 〃out in the street with no food〃 poor； but poor nonetheless。 My mother's first husband had been rich； but had been a gambler。 My mother … I should call her Boston； for that's what my father called her even though her name was Helen … had been the fifth daughter in a wealthy family who had married well the first time around。
But that man … someone I had never in my life heard of beyond knowing he existed … apparently lost all his and Helen's money； and soon she found my father； a good man one would suppose； who began his work life as a groundskeeper at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington； DC； but ended up working as a gardener for rich folk。 It paid well enough … like I said； we weren't poor poor。
My father probably would've had more money； but he had a sister who was dying … for years … down in Annapolis； Maryland； and he was her only support。 So； according to my mother； half of his ine went to her uping。 〃She has the longest…lived cancer I've ever heard of；〃 she'd say； sometimes right in front of him。
Of course； this wasn't all there was to it； but if I tell you all the secrets of the world at once； you'll either be dazzled or overwhelmed； and there's no point in making it all explode right now。 You'll want to know why breathing is one of the secrets of life。
All right； do you know how breathing is voluntary？ I've heard that people with dementia sometimes end up forgetting how to breathe。 That's a terrible way to die； although one would suppose that any method of dying would be awful。 Well； breathing is the essential ponent of acplishing anything。
I observed this early … I was on the school bus； and I noticed a little girl next to me who was terrified of an uping test we were about to take。 She would； in fact； stop breathing for seconds at a time。 I began to count her breaths； and I saw that for every four I took； she took one。 I suggested to her that she try just concentrating on her breathing。 After a bit of persuasion； she did。 It didn't seem to work。 I withdrew my father's pocketwatch … the one I'd stolen （yes； I stole things regularly around the house。 I have reasons； none of which you want to know。） I had learned a bit about hypnosis； so I asked her to stare long and hard at the brass of the watch as the sunlight reflected on it。 She asked me if I'd be putting her under。 I told her no。 This was； after all； just suggestion； nothing more。 I would suggest something to her and would hope that her mind would accept it。 Of course； I was a child。 I didn't say it that way。 I said it in some little boy way。 But eventually； staring at the watch so much that her eyes teared up； I began to help modulate her breathing。 By the time we reached school； she wasn't half as upset anymore about the test。
I began asking the other boys … the older ones who were good at softball and running … what their secrets were。 To get their secrets； I entertained them with my modest ventriloquism skills … I could do bird calls and the sounds of crickets and even get a brief sentence out without moving my lips。
Boys like entertainment … so they opened up and told me about athletics and sports。
They all said screwy things； but what I noticed were two solid answers：
breathing and imagination。
They made sure that they breathed through everything。 They also imagined that they would win。
This was a huge revelation to me； since I had never felt that I could win anything。 I realized that these other boys were winners in athletics because they in fact believed they were … whether from coaches； friends； family or whomever … and because they did not stop breathing。 They used their breathing … without even knowing it … to help keep their bodies working。
All right； that sounds simplistic。 But I believe that the simplest things can lead to the strongest results。
So； I began working on breathing。
This was not merely inhaling and exhaling； but swimming at the beach in the icy spring and holding my breath under water。 After all； if I were going to be lord of my own breath； I needed to master everything about it； didn't I？ I wasn't sure that I'd ever be a great breath…holder； because I never seemed able to go much beyond a minute。 I was holding on too much to my fear of dying。
This is one of the first lessons about breathing … if you have breath within your lungs； you will not die。 Death es once there is no more breath。
Again； simple。 Again； true。
〃Owen；〃 my mother said； pinning the laundry up outside the cottage that the Montgomery's housed us in。 〃What in god's name are you doing？〃
I had e up after logging in a minute…and…a…half beneath the water； right at the rocky ledge。 I had just leaned over and thrust my face underwater。
I was eleven at the time。 I tried to explain to her the principle behind my experiment； but she did not seem to understand。 However； within a few short months； I had bee best friends to the captain of the swim team in seventh grade； and by fall； I was running cross country。 I would never be the best … this was not my goal after all。 I would be a winner。
In fact； I knew I would close in on this with each sport or endeavor I tried … the other kids were lazy。 Life and their families made them that way。 I did not intend to let a day go which I could not claim as my own。 I was going to own life in a way that neither of my parents ever had。
Academics slipped in my middle school years … but not enough for anyone to notice。 I read studiously； and never for enjoyment； but to understand systems of thought that the world was trying to push at us。 I learned quickly that an A＋ in school sometimes meant a D… in life； and that in fact equal effort had to be made to excel in both spheres。 Breathing helped。
When I felt overwhelmed by it all； I practiced my breathing again。 Even in December； when the island was desolate and the water was cold enough to drown； I would leap into the sea and stay beneath the water for as long as I could； I would； if possible； use the Montgomery's indoor swimming pool for my morning workout which began at six a。m。
8
That was the wonderful thing about the Montgomery's place：
They were usually gone all winter unless Mr。 and Mrs。 Montgomery were fighting； or Mr。 Montgomery had gone off with one of his mistresses and Mrs。 M was so angry she came to the island for a blisteringly cold February。 I used to see Mrs。 M in those cold Februarys； and I ran errands in town for her because she spent too much time staring at the walls or sitting along the indoor pool while I did laps。 She enjoyed letting me swim there； and she sometimes even got in and did laps； too。 Once； when I was twelve； Mrs。 M told me； 〃You're turning into quite the handsome boy； Owen Crites。〃 She was in good shape for a woman of forty； and there were times when I was with her that she reminded me so much of Jenna it was almost like having Jenna there with me。
When I watched her back； as she got out of the pool； bathing cap on； her narrow waist； the way the water beaded upon her skin … it was like seeing Jenna for a moment。 This made me happy。 Jenna meant a lot to me。
But the pool … dare I describe it now； how I remember it？ It was vast。
It was Olympic size。 I could do real laps there as opposed to laps at the beach which ended with a summer lifeguard blowing a whistle for me to e to shore before I'd gone out twenty yards。 It was off the northern wing of their estate； and was constructed so that it was as if you were swimming outside； as if on the bluffs over the Sound； you owned the world as you went back and forth； breathing； carefully breathing so as not to wear out too fast。
Because； during those winters when the M's stayed down in Manhattan； my father and mother and I had the run of the house； I could swim naked in the pool； and rise to see the reflection of my body in the long mirrors that were in the small locker room off the pool。 By my sophomore year in high school； I had created … and mastered … a beautiful； strong body； and what average looks I had were masked by health and physical near…perfection。 I didn't admire this because I believed in beauty。
Beauty is for the lazy。
I admired it because I knew the world admired it； and I wanted to own the world。
Wrestling was my winter sport at school； and I did not excel at it； but I held my own。 The girls loved me … and the boys； too。 I never got too close to them； because I had to spend all my concentration on creating who I was。 But the girls all cheered for me in the sweaty matches as I brought some great bull of a boy from a peting school down to the red mat。 Because the psychological aspect to sports can't be emphasized enough； I would … with each match … create some threat to my opponent。 Something I could whisper in his ear。
This took no small amount of planning； as it meant I had to do research on those I wrestled； so I would know just what button to push to take away their psychological edge。 Dagon helped me； my god took me to books and ideas and notions； if you will； that showed me just what other boys would be most hurt by。 Usually； it involved their sense of sexuality。 After all； even I knew that showering with other boys all day； wearing jockstraps； cracking jokes about everything from dicks to pussies； was a veil across homoeroticism among adolescents。 And who but wrestlers were closest to puncturing that veil？ So； I would whisper to my opponent something about him； something perhaps his closest friend had told me … his closest friend； drunk； being taken out to a parking lot … his closest friend who； with six beers in him； would finally admit to something that my opponent would be happiest to hide for a thousand years。
Sometimes； it was less interesting。 My threat might be； 〃I know your little sister； Trey。 I know all about her leg。 I would hate for something to happen to her。 I would hate for someone to do something to a little girl so sweet。〃
You may judge me for this if you like。 It was a petitive edge； and this is what we； in athletics； were taught： to find our edge。
Skill alone never wins。
I wish it did； but lazy people think that way。
Faith is necessary； too。 I had found mine。 It had grown within me。
Now； this began rumors about me； but I had built up a loyal following of other boys and girls in school。 I became head of the pep squad for the football team … team sports were never my thing； but I knew that I had to somehow attach myself to them。 So； when kids from other schools began talking about me saying 〃crazy； psycho〃 things； I had friends who were willing to lay down and die for me rather than accept those lies。 I really liked the kids I went to high school with； I liked the teachers。 It was easy for me to like them。
I think even being poor helped … teachers saw me as an underdog rising。 I would tutor children in the local elementary school some afternoons； I took the coach's daughter to the junior prom； just because I was a nice guy and I felt bad that she wasn't pretty enough to get asked by any of the other guys。 I was wellliked； and sometimes； that carries you。
But I haven't mentioned much about Jenna yet； have I？ In all this talk of I； she has not yet entered not in the way she should've。 She was not at my school。 She was not within my sphere。 She was outer； she was beyond beyond。
How could I take her to the prom when she only arrived at Outerbridge Island in the summers？
I would count the days until Memorial Day weekend； when the Outerbridge Majesty would arrive in Quonnoquet Haven； heavy with tourists and summer people； and there； on the highest deck； I'd see her with my binos and I would lay back in the muddy grass and look up at the paling sky and think： please remember what we promised。 Remember everything and don't leave anything out。
Remember why I came to you and why you let me and why it would make everything be the way it was supposed to； and why you're the reason for my every breath。
That's