j.d. salinger died and I went to the swimming pool

I read news about Salinger's death this morning. Many people are commemorating him today. There is an obituary from the NY Times, which gave me a full image of that man. One thing mentioned in the article is about Salinger's affair with a then college freshman Joyce Maynard (Salinger was 54 at that time), who later wrote a memoir about him and portrayed him as controlling and sexually abusive man. I don't think Salinger could handle the solitude well on his 90-acre farm. Although being a reclusive, he still needed some fun.

My only memory of this man is an unpleasant reading experience with his The Catcher in the Rye. I was in high school then, and all my intention was to be a good student. So the foul-mouthed Holdon didn't persuade me into finishing his story. But I was struck when I read the sentence "the weather was damn cold, so cold like a witch's tit." I was at an age when every word about the female body could arouse my sexual libido. The witch's tit is all the connection I have with Salinger.

Mark got up late today. It was about 1 pm when he opened his door and said hi to me.
"Salinger died." I said to him. I pronounced "g" in Salinger as the "g" in "anger".
"Who?" Mark looked puzzled.
"Salinger." I repeated.
"Say it agian."
I knew something went wrong. "How do you call that man... the Catcher in the Rye?"
"Oh, Salinger (g as in ginger). Yes, I knew his death last night. He's really a  reclusive." Mark said. A couple of days ago, when we were sitting on the couch in Atrium, Mark said that when he was old, he would move to the moutain, live there, get rid of all the connections with the outside world.

I went to the swimming pool afterwards. I took out my shabby bike from the shed, got on it and plunged into the January's wind. I only wore a pair of flip-flops without socks. The weather was as cold as a witch's tit. It was warm in the changing room, but after I put all my personal belongings into the locker I just couldn't lock the damn thing.

There was a naked middle-aged man wiping himself dry by my side, and another tall guy wearing clothes.
"Excuse me, can you tell me why I can't lock it?" I said.
"Do you have 50 p?" The naked man said, towel in his hand.
"50 p?"
"Yes. You need 50 p to lock it." He walked up to me, and turned the locker's door, "See, here, you need to put the coin into it so that you can turn the key."
I saw a slot at one end of the latch.
"I don't have 50 p."
"Do you have a one-pound?" The tall guy asked me. "I've got 2 50-ps"
"No."
"Well, take this." The naked man took out a 50-p from his locker and gave it to me.
I took it but forgot to say thanks. I grabbed my pants and pulled them out of the locker. I groped inside the pocket and found a pound.
"I do have a pound. Thank you very much." I gave the coin back to the naked man.
"Oh, good. Hey, you can give him your 50-ps." He said to the tall guy.
I exchanged the money with him. "Thank you, mate."
"Don't worry."
I put the coin into the slot, and turned the key, but I couldn't turn the key. I tried another locker, the damn thing still didn't work. I tried a third one, a forth one, the damn latches were all stuck.
"Oh, these things are all crappy. Try this one. I just used it. It must work." He took all his belongings out of the locker, and invited me to use it.
I turned the key. Click. Locked.
"Thank you very much, sir." I said to the naked man, who was sitting on the bench wipping his legs, as I walked towards the swimming pool. "Have a good day."
"Oh." He lifted his head, "It was nothing, really."

I plunged into the water. I felt like a baby inside his mother's womb.