Ampliatio (am’-pli-a’-ti-o): Using the name of something or someone before it has obtained that name or after the reason for that name has ceased. A form of epitheton.
They still called me Speedo, although I hadn’t worn a Speedo in 10 years. I used to love my little banana hammock. I loved to see how it affected the people who came to see me swim 1500 meters, making smoke on the water. My arms are freakishly long. They nearly reach my knees. I used to pull through the water like a porpoise. But now, I’m like a drugged manatee, swimming like I’m swimming through pudding. I can’t even reach 1500 meters without sinking and being hauled out by the life guard who each time said that is was the last time. He was getting a hernia from hauling me out. Since the end of my competitive swimming days, I had gained 145 pounds— I weighed 345. I was heavy. The manatee comparison was apt. I wore size 50 baggy swim trunks imprinted with pastel colored surfboards.
Yet, I couldn’t stay away from the community pool, no matter the fool I made of myself. One day I did a belly flop and landed next to a little kid. She almost drowned and I was nearly banned from the pool for life. You can imagine how I felt. I began to realize when people called my “Speedo” they were making fun of me. And why not? All that was left of my former glory was the key to my locker with my old Speedo hanging inside. I cried quietly as I sat on the bench, memories roiling my mind. I often thought of Jessica, my former girlfriend who was now happily married with two children. One of her children, the boy, is named Speedo after me, but her husband doesn’t get it. He’s a high school dropout who clips coupons for a living,
Jessica had recently bought me a space heater and given me a copy of the story about Jim Morrison’s electrocution in a bathtub in Paris. It was interesting, but I had no idea why she gave those things to me. I read the story several times and finally realized that Morrison had probably died when a plugged-in space heater fell in his bathtub when he was in it.
Now I got it.
Jessica wanted me to copy Jim Morrison’s death. But I didn’t have a bathtub—all I had was a shower, and besides I wasn’t sure I was ready kill myself. Although I was close—very close. Then it dawned on me that I could electrocute myself in the community swimming pool. I could hold the space heater over my head and walk to the deep end, submerging the space heater when I got there. But then, I realized that the pool was always packed with other people. I wasn’t looking for collateral damage. I would hide in the locker room until everybody left. It was awkward carrying the space heater around. I told everybody who asked that it was an Easter gift for my mother. The extension chord was a little awkward too. If anybody asked me about it I told them “Think about it!” And that was the end of that.
Everybody had left the pool. I was there all alone. I plugged in the space heater. It started glowing. This was it. I held it over my head and walked toward the deep end. Soon I would be dead, unburdened of my useless life. Damn, the extension chord was too short to reach the deep end. I climbed out of the pool and threw the space heater in. There was a rat swimming across the pool and the space heater made a direct hit. There was a flash and the smell of burning hair and the dead rat floated belly up.
Seeing the rat’s electrocution was a real inspiration. I went to Home Depot the next day and got a longer extension chord—one that would surely reach the deep end.
POST SCRIPT
He succeeded with his plan. They found him floating belly up with his eyeballs popped out. His funeral’s eulogies given by his friends were replete with swimming metaphors and the word “Speedo.” Jessica gave the most moving speech—centering untruthfully on his desire to die like his rock’ roll idol Jim Morrison.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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