Perseus and The Pool

A 1980s Meteoric Misadventure

Each August, Earth drifts through the dusty trail of Comet Swift-Tuttle. It’s a celestial breadcrumb path left by a comet that last swung by in 1992 and won’t return until 2126. These fragments, some no bigger than a grain of sand, slam into our atmosphere at 133,000 miles per hour and light up the sky as the Perseid meteor shower.

It’s one of nature’s most dazzling shows, peaking around August 12 and 13. Best viewed after midnight, when the constellation Perseus rises in the northeast.

But for me, the Perseids will always be less about astronomy and more about gravity.

It was August 12, 1987. Junior high. Hormones were high, bangs were higher, and someone had the brilliant idea to sneak into an empty in-ground swimming pool to watch the meteor shower. Because nothing says “safe stargazing” like concrete and questionable judgment.

There were five of us, maybe six. No blankets, a couple of sad pillows, and nothing but a vague understanding of astronomy. The pool had been drained, which we interpreted as “perfect viewing conditions.” No water, no problem.

I followed behind, waxing poetic about Perseus slaying Medusa. I had seen Clash of the Titans at least 25 times back in the early 80s. Half glancing skyward, I was just about to get to the part where Perseus slays the sea creature when I turned to avoid the dark silhouette of what was probably a lounge chair and promptly fell twelve feet into the deep end.

I saw stars, alright. Not the Perseids. Just the ones that appear when your tailbone meets concrete at terminal velocity. I swear on my fifth-grade hamster’s grave, I saw lightning when my thirteen-year-old body hit the cement.

The others peeped over the edge like I’d just been abducted by aliens. Finally, my friend Jeannie spoke up.

“Tab. Are you okay?”

I gave a thumbs-up no one could see from the dark crater of my dignity.

The fall knocked the breath out of me so completely I was momentarily stunned into silence. But then, with everyone staring down like I’d crash-landed from another galaxy, I started to laugh. No sound at first. Just a wheezing mime of hilarity. Then finally, I squeaked, “I’m okay,” and laughed until my side hurt right along with the rest of my body.

We never did see many meteors that night. But when school started a couple weeks later, I was a legend. The girl who tried to catch a shooting star and nearly caught a concussion instead.

Tab’s Perseid Viewing Tips

• Peak Viewing: August 12–13, 2025

• Best Time: After midnight

• Origin: Debris from Comet Swift-Tuttle

• Radiant Point: Constellation Perseus (northeast sky)

• Pro Tip: Avoid empty pools. The meteors are overhead, not underfoot.