I’m lucky that most of these backyards have pools of some kind. Yuppies.
I stay under the surface, eyes open – the chlorine burning, to watch the lights of the house wink on. They always do.
It happens like clockwork. The door, wavy and garbled through the surface of the water, opens and from inside emerges a sea monster. I tilt my head back to pierce the surface of the water with my lips and take a deep breath. I stick close to the wall of the pool so I am entirely hidden from view. For some reason I have yet to have someone come and explore to see what was up. Maybe we are all a little afraid sometimes.
“Whaa whaa waba whaare,” says the sea monster. I don’t understand its primitive language. The lair swallows the beast and I’m free. I let my head break the surface of the water and take a deep breath. You might find it hard to believe but this ritual calms me.
I savor the slow walk home. I try to make patterns with the water pouring off of me. It eventually slows to a steady drip and then nothing at all. I feel weighed down with more than just water. The night is cool and dry though; I’m shivering by the time I get home but my clothes are already almost dry. I made it far tonight.
As I make way to the front door of our home a rogue droplet of water rolls from my hair down my nose. With a small puff of air it spray to into the air grabbing for the door knob.