Even as a child Eric couldn't resist. The lure of reflections and the shimmer of dancing
light made him leap feet first into the glassy pools. His mother would yell, her voice echoing across the neighborhood like an unleashed demon, accusing him of stupidity and weakness of heart.
"Stand up to it, Eric. Don't let it take you."
But Eric would jump… sending miniature rivers into the air while soaking his shoes down to the skin. He couldn't help himself. It was the lure of the puddle and he had no defense against it. The promise of sudden and absolute domination of each tiny watery world propelled him like a gazelle darting the claws of a hungry lion. He would splash and kick and grin like an idiot, knowing full well that his mother would admonish him with her tongue and the back of her hand. But he didn't care.
So it was on the day he was walking back from the bus stop. He was thrilled that it had rained and puddles lined the sidewalk like waiting friends. Each one brought a rivet of satisfaction as his feet dipped and kicked at the standing water. He was wearing boots that covered his shoes like tight fitting raincoats. He had learned to be careful about playing in the puddles. Now that his mother was sick and he had to work, he tried to fit in and not make such a fuss when giving into the temptation. But people still watched, their stares hidden by quick glances and pulled curtains. Even in his late twenties he was still the odd kid that lived up the street. Eric was walking home after riding the downtown bus home from his job as a copy person at the local newspaper. He sorted and delivered mail around an old brick building that shuffled news like a worn slipper. He didn't really understand the importance of it all, only that the mail never seemed to stop arriving at his desk. Throughout the day he carried out his duties, but his thoughts were never far from his friends. The puddles would always be waiting.
So when it rained, Eric was very happy. He was especially happy when the storm that was predicted finally arrived and drenched the city with almost two hours of steady rain. It was difficult to have to wait. Eric wanted to charge out the double doors of the building and leap into the nearest puddle. He left the building with the others, yet kept to himself. He was tempted to slosh through several pools of standing water but refused to do so. It just didn't seem right. He couldn't get comfortable with strange puddles… the ones that formed on concrete away from home. Besides, they wouldn't know him or even care that his mother was dying of AIDS or that his pet cat would be sitting in the window, its tail dancing, waiting for him to come home. Neighborhood puddles, on the other hand, didn't care if your life was screwed up. They would always be there, ready to take you in. So he caught the bus and rode it home, his eagerness channeled through twitching fingers.
When the bus finally made the loop and stopped at the corner of Mill and Oak,
Eric jumped off and hit the first puddle with a child's abandonment. He kicked and stomped the water like a giant focused on smashing submarines. It was good to be home. But something was different.
The first puddle he plopped in covered his boots up past his ankles. He felt the delicious sensation of water hugging his feet. He jumped and splashed, kicking the water out into the street and away from the bed of concrete. He felt like dancing, but knew eyes where lurking behind windows.
"People will talk," his mother had said. "It's not normal to play in puddles at your age."
Of course Eric's mom didn't think any age was appropriate for puddle play. But her warning still haunted him. He moved on, still walking through the puddles, but kept the splashing to a minimum, or at least as much as he could.
It was as if the puddles were sleeping. After a few minutes of walking with his head down and his feet kicking muddy water, Eric was sure that was the explanation. It was something Eric could tell right off. They weren't being playful. In fact it was as if they weren't puddles at all, but rather shallow pools of standing water with no names.
And it was because of the names that they had become Eric's friends. He knew them all and often would call to them when the clouds grew dark and rain began to fall.
"I'll see you soon, Thomas," he would shout from his bedroom window. The large puddle collected on the sidewalk next to the old maple. Over the years its roots had pushed the concrete up just enough for the puddle to form in the depression that was coaxed into existence. It was the first puddle Eric could remember sitting in. It was also the first friend he ever had. And over time Eric knew most if not all the puddles that formed on Mill Street, and most had been his friends.
Some of the puddles collected even if there was little rain. It was as if they had staked a claim to any and all water that fell within a certain distance of their lairs. Eric would go visit them, sitting in their shallow muddy pools. Yet, he usually didn't stay long. He didn't want to jeopardize their friendship. The puddles would always come back, yet they feared drying up the most. When the water pulled away the puddles sagged into extinction, waiting for the next rain.
So Eric waited for the rains to come. He would watch the thunderheads pool in the sky and feel giddy with excitement. His true friends would be awakening from their slumber and entice him to kick and splash. They knew the true value of friendship and wouldn't deny him the pleasure of their company. Yet, they also had urgency to their existence. Life was short, and they feared the rippling of the wind and the glare of the sun. But Eric knew they would be back. They always were.
Trisha was silent and gray that day. The puddle collected along the sidewalk that edged the street. The puddle was long, almost the length of the house that was next to it. Eric stared. It seemed lifeless. Trisha was the one puddle that he knew would be happy to see him. Years of erosion had made it deep and tough. Yet, it seemed to be cowering, as if trying to hide from Eric.
Eric was truly puzzled. Since getting off the bus all the puddles seemed distant. Had he offended them? He was sure the closer he got to his house things would be different. But the silent puddles had spiked a feeling of dread.
He wanted to slip his toe into the reflection that was floating across Trisha… a little stir to see if things could be nudged back into normalcy. But a moment of shyness kept him from breaking the surface. So he left, his thoughts dragging back to his mom dying at home.
He thought about her as his booted shoe smashed through the reflection of the sky and into the mucky bottom of Clarence. Eric never really liked Clarence, so splitting it open and kicking away some of its water didn't bother him. In a way it even made him feel better.
Mom was sick. Eric understood. But he didn't like it. The eight years she had been leapfrogging into oblivion, Eric had tried to be helpful. He got the job and did the things that needed to be done. His mother had gotten the virus when he was just reaching puberty. His mom didn't tell him much; but after a while he figured things out. So when she started getting sick he took her to the clinic and the doctors. But he tried to avoid days when it was raining. It wasn't that he was ashamed that his mom had AIDS; it was that the puddles would ask him questions. They wanted to know if she was going to die, and if so, where she was going to wallow away her time before the rains pulled her back to life again. Their concept of death was a tenacious glitch that sooner or later would resolve itself. But for Eric it was a painful topic that made his head swim and his stomach cramp. So he tried his best to keep mom inside on days it was raining. That kept it simple… and on some days painless.
Thomas was lying under the towering maple. The puddle seemed larger than normal, but Eric put it off as a menagerie of tricks from shadow and light. The sun was moving quickly into its nightcap and Eric could feel the quick bite of autumn air. The two-bedroom bungalow was to his left, its windows dark and foreboding. Eric hated going into a darkened house. It made him feel vulnerable and afraid. He wasn't sure if it was the unknown that frightened him or what he knew would be waiting for him inside.
The quick dusk also reminded him that winter was quickly approaching and snow and biting winds would keep his friends away. He supposed he was just feeling down because none of them wanted to play with him.
He meant to turn on a light when he had left to go to work in the morning, but he was in a hurry to catch the bus and slipped out before kissing his mom and hitting the switch in the living room. His mother probably was lying on the coach, the medication pulling in overtime. So it probably didn't matter one way or the other.
He walked around Thomas, figuring it wasn't in a playing mood either, when he saw something floating in the puddle… an Image. He stared at it for a few moments before realizing what it was. He could see the outline of a nose and the tussle of un-kept hair. The face seemed to be looking directly at him. The features were angular and bruised. But it was the eyes that made Eric gasp. The eyes belonged to his mother.
If there was sound, Eric didn't hear it. His booted shoes carried him through Thomas and several other puddles without notice or care. He found the front door and fished deep in his pocket, digging hard and deep with a shaking hand. A moment later the key slid and turned as Eric pushed against the heavy door. It slowly swung open into darkness. His hand reached… searching the wall. The light flickered and then glared into life.
"Mom!" he shouted.
He found her on the floor… eyes open but not seeing. She had died alone in the dark and Eric knew what had to be done.
Eric still visits his friends when it rains, though things haven't been the same since that day. Maybe they knew what was coming and were afraid to tell him. Yet, he didn't feel like spending rainy days with them anymore, though he still managed to kick Thomas around a bit. Some friendships are made to weather anything. Eric was glad for that. But instead of catching the bus home after work when it rains, Eric takes the loop out to the ballpark, which is close to the city cemetery.
The plot for his mother is real nice. And with the large stones sitting across the grave, the depression is right for catching rain. Eric likes to sit in the puddle when he visits. He kicks and splashes, sending the water into the air like small rivers. Only this time his mother doesn't mind.
The End