Hello, readers. Sometimes story ideas fester as I figure out how to lay them out. Once in a while I'm struck with an idea and just pour it out on the computer screen. That's what happened this week.
The Puddle
By,
Jennifer E. Miller
It was Saturday and raining. I decided to meet my girlfriends for coffee at the corner cafe on the old fashioned neighborhood's lamppost-lined sidewalk. My feet get wet as I dodge puddles. I had hastily thrown on a pair of those ballerina flats and raindrops splatter onto my shoes from passersby. I was so concerned over keeping my feet comfortable, I didn't see the large puddle ahead of me. I step right into it and disappear; sucked below the surface.
Disoriented at first, I hold my breath and swim around the mysterious abyss below the puddle. It's narrow and dark and deep and I don't wish to know how deep. I feel a jagged rock wall along the sides but fear it thins as the depth increases, ending somewhere.
Paddling to the top, my heart plummets. A clear cap of glass like glacier ice separates me from the world I was meant to exist in. Pressing my palms and face against the invisible barrier, I exhale a few bubbles and watch the scene above.
Paddling to the top, my heart plummets. A clear cap of glass like glacier ice separates me from the world I was meant to exist in. Pressing my palms and face against the invisible barrier, I exhale a few bubbles and watch the scene above.
I must've vanished from the sidewalk quickly. I observe the a growing crowd at the puddle; their voices muffled.
"What happened to her?"
"Who?"
"The woman walking in front of me. She disappeared into this puddle."
"Another wonky street magician's trick, probably. World is full of those people who can't find anything better to do with their time."
"No. No, she sank."
A hand reaches into the puddle, clawing for answers. I grab for it, but am blocked by the glass shield.
The woman sighs. "I hit the bottom."
"Of course you did, it's a three inch deep puddle. Dirty, I might add."
Other witnesses reach in, knocking the pavement, like they are trying to find a trap door. The sound reverberates and stabs my eardrums.
"Ow," I say.
I accidentally inhale water when I speak and I panic, imaging my lungs drowning before this batch of strangers who can't even see my struggle. But it doesn't happen. Instead, I breathe again and easily. The water isn't water; can't be water. Some liquid substance that still allows for regular breaths. It swirls through my windpipe and settles in my veins and capillaries. I hadn't realize until that moment that the liquid wasn't cold like a puddle; it was comfortable, nearly body temperature.
The confused onlookers above disperse, and I'm left to watch footsteps pass by, dodging my puddle. Swimming to one end, I can see from an angle, and the cafe squeezes into view. I watch patrons enter empty-handed, while others exit with their coffee. One of my girlfriend walks in, then soon the other. Just as I disappeared into the puddle, they disappear into the cafe. I imagine them excitedly greeting each other as they wait...for me. But I don't arrive. Do they worry? Try to call? How long do they wait? How long must I wait?
I worry about how long I am destine to be trapped here in this aquatic world. Deary raindrops plop continuously, tapping my glass roof. The morning passes into the afternoon, which eventually passes the wand to the evening; the day's last relay member. The final sliver of sunlight is pinched out. I curl up into a buoyant ball, rest on a fairly flat place on the rock wall, and close my eyes.
After the right amount of time lapses, the sunlight reappears. It takes me a moment to find my composure and surroundings. Too early yet for pedestrians, a little songbird bathes in my puddle. His tiny talons tap gently on the barrier. He dips his head and wiggles his rump, flaps his wings, delighting in his morning rinse. I enjoy his happiness in this simple activity. All too soon, he leaves. I'm left alone and suddenly envious of my feathered friend who the freedom to roam the world we both were made for.
The same pattern of walkers commute past my puddle, dodging it entirely. Would another splash through? I could use the company.
It is beginning to feel hot as the midday sun strikes its rays directly above. The puddle warms quickly and I feel a wave of panic rush over me. The ice barrier cracks, prompting me to swim up to investigate. The shallow pool of water above is gone; the sun must have evaporated it. Another crack startles me and my eardrums. The crackling continues and I bring my hands over my ears, close my eyes, and clench my teeth. It sounds like the fat opera lady hitting the right note, and another, slowly fracturing the delicate glass. Finally it pops, and shatters completely. Gravity inverts it pull on me, yanking me towards the sidewalk. I emerge in the now dry pothole spitting up liquid goo, gasping for air. I welcome oxygen as it rushes into my lungs bringing a familiar but strange sensation.
"Did you trip over that blasted thing?" a woman asks.
I look around for the source, but she misinterprets my noggin swinging about as a head shake for "no."
"You didn't trip? Goodness what happened? And why are you all wet."
She kneels down beside me to pat my back. I finally get to look at her face, and she at mine. We both freeze.
"I'm not crazy," she says.
I try to reply but my throat is pruney and raw from extended liquid exposure. A small grunt is all I manage.
"You're that woman from yesterday who fell through the puddle."
I don't know what to say, lest she thinks I'm crazy.
"That was quite some magic trick."
If only that were the truth.
Copyright 2018 Jennifer E. Miller
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