Watching the Waves
Matthew Ryan Fischer
A flood of water, rushing down the street, overflowing the gutter,
pooling around car tires, backing up into the first few inches of driveways along
the way. The hard PVC tube hastily attached and clamped onto the end of the plastic
hose. How many gallons, just flooding away? What a waste.
Alan sat on the edge of the swimming pool, legs and feet dangling
where there should have been water. There was still a foot or more of water in
the pool. If he fell off the edge, would he sprain his ankle? Slip and fall?
Could he drown in that much water? Of course he could. But only if he was
unable to stand. It could be easy. Close his eyes, push off, head first, see
what happens. Or more accurately not see what happens.
It was cool. An overly hot summer turned into an overly hot autumn,
but then overnight it was nearly freezing. Expectations were there would be
snow for Thanksgiving. Alan didn’t know about all that, but he did know he had
to put on a jacket and long sleeve shirt. He had had weeks and had intended to
go for a final swim of the year. Or at least a final hot tubbing. None of that
would happen now.
Minutes had turned to hours. The pump chugged along; unaware it
was being watched. Out front Alan had swept as many leaves and twigs and dirt
as he could into the flow area of the drain flow. A children’s game, perhaps.
Building piles in the sand and mud to see which way the water would turn. The leaves
didn’t stand a chance. Long gone now, the outline of a few scattered berries
and rocks remained on the outskirts of the main water thrust. A sad reminder of
the failure of his massive construction plot.
The remaining pool water was strangely calm and still. Alan
thought it would move more with the suction of the pump. Minor waves or
something. He could hardly tell anything was happening. He could still smell
the chlorine. He wondered about the water going down the drain and what extra chemicals
would have to be wasted to purify his waste. There were leaves and bugs growing
more and more apparent in the bottom of the pool. He would have to clean it and
let it dry before covering it with a tarp for the winter.
Why was he doing this, minute after minute, hour after hour, year
after year? The pool hadn’t been for him, that was for sure.
Winter came early - it would be a long, cold one.
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