Brett wore speedos. The lycra kept his shape streamlined and smooth.

He was standing by himself on the 10 meter platform, eyes focused on a spot that only he could see. He held his head erect, proud and confident.

He was wearing black today, with a matching skull cap. He performed a reverse 2 ½ somersault with 1 ½ twists. He entered the water with barely a ripple. He was art and grace defined.

We were sitting in red folding lounge chairs that we had brought along for comfort. A cool breeze had whipped up from the north. We pulled our blankets closer about our shoulders to ward off the chill. As Brett emerged from the water, no one said a word. Sally sucked in her breath, before biting down on her knuckle. The view was magnificent.

He winked as he walked past us and then around back to the ladder. He was good and he knew it. This is probably how narcissism begins.