The Atlanta Jewish Community Center

Lyrics

The heavy door sighs shut behind me.
And the air is immediately thick.
Chlorine and quiet.
Tuesday morning, 7:45 AM.
Before the first real splash.
Just the blue, heavy stillness of the water, waiting.

The lane lines are taut, drawn straight across the deep end.
A few old men, methodical in their bathing caps, their quiet strokes barely breaking the surface.
Goggles and a slow, steady kick.
Breathing out under the water.
The whole neighborhood holds its breath with them.
Just for this one moment.
Before the day fully arrives.
Two blocks west of the Quality Kosher sign.

Oh, this third room on LaVista Road.
Not the bedroom, not the office.
Just this shared air.
The echo of a hundred murmured conversations in the locker room.
The weight of a thousand small promises kept.
To show up.
To swim your laps.
To simply be here.

By dusk, the sound changes.
The high, sharp squeak of sneakers on the polished maple floor.
A girl learning her jump shot in the echoing gym.
The soft thud of the ball against the bright orange rim.
Over and over.
Her father watching from the cold metal bleachers.
The last light outside is fading over the Toco Hill Kroger lot.

Oh, this third room on LaVista Road.
Not the kitchen, not the classroom.
Just this shared air.
The echo of a hundred games won and lost in the gymnasium.
The weight of a thousand small hopes rising toward the net.
To make the shot.
To hear the cheer.
To simply be here.

And the preschool classrooms, they're quiet now.
Dark behind their little windows.
But I can almost hear them.
The ghosts of the very first classes.
The non-Jewish kids from down Eldorado street, their names never written in the membership ledgers.
The mothers who arranged the carpools in 1972, their work unrecorded, their names forgotten.
You hold them, too.
In the faint crayon marks on the low tables.
In the quiet hum of the heat pump.

The last swimmer towels off.
The last basketball is racked and put away.
The building breathes out.
A long, slow sigh.
Goodnight, JCC.
Goodnight, blue water.
You hold us.
You hold all of us.
Here.
On LaVista.