Puddles

Puddles

by Isaac Bouchard

Isaac Bouchard is a writer and junior high teacher living in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. He spends most of his time reading, writing, playing soccer, and catching insects in his backyard. The same description of him could be given for the past two decades, and it likely won’t change much in the future. If you’re looking to find more of what he’s written, please check out “100 Places You’ll Find in the Afterlife: A Non-Biblically Accurate Guide to Heaven” and “Alarik’s Crusade,” his two published books available on Amazon.

 

 

She awoke to the electric sun. It was much easier that way; the real one had the aggravating tendency to stray from consistent timelines. With her new lamp, one that would gradually increase the light as the timer reached 6:00 a.m., she could “awake at dawn” whenever she pleased. It allowed for better scheduling, a much preferable alternative as nature was far too fickle to set a watch to.

She was aware it was still dark outside, but only in the sense that it was before the sunrise. It was never truly dark in the city. There were the streetlights standing as quiet, orange sentinels; there was the bright-white fluorescence from the convenience store across the way; there were the night-owl neighbours with the warm glow of the television or the more personal ones from their phones. It was dark only in essence, through the historical knowledge that ‘dark’ once was but no longer is. It was beautiful and comforting to her. It gave the city a sense of endless restlessness. It was a vast number of tiny stories that kept getting told even when she slept, everyone together but separate just the same.

Her cats purred, reminding her breakfast time was nearing and it was not a solitary affair. Pulling the tie on her housecoat tight, she made it halfway down the stairs to see more of the lights that marked her morning before any of the natural ones obscured them. Yet, the lights that shined through the half-circle window above her front door were expectedly unnatural, but notably unusual. Flashing red, flashing white, flashing red – the lights one saw at 6:00 p.m. on the television rather than 6:00 a.m. outside her door. Curiosity getting the better of her, she went to investigate.

With a start, she found two paramedics were already on her porch, standing on her Three Residents: Two Have Fur doormat. One, a tall, thin woman, looking as if she was doing her best impersonation of a smile, and the other a portly, friendly-faced man just shy of middle age. Before any of the alarm bells began to ring, her first reaction was to feel embarrassed. Her hair was a mess, her bathrobe was old and tattered, and she didn’t have a speck of makeup on. As that moment passed, a flood of other realisations; they hadn’t rung the bell, it’s six in the morning and there’s no emergency, and worst of all, they were on her doorstep, implying there was an emergency and the emergency was in her home.

“Rosalita Perez?” the woman asked softly. “My name’s Annie.”

“Hank,” the man chimed in.

“Would I be speaking to the correct person?”

“I think I prefer Rosie,” came the uncomfortable reply, her jaw running slack with the tumbling of words.

“Rosie,” the woman said, tilting her head at the slightest angle and raising her eyebrows only from the inside. “I regret to inform you there is a minor leak under your kitchen sink, and it has formed a puddle.” The innocuous statement was made with full and dire seriousness, and an unsubtle touch of pity.

Rosie blinked. She leaned slightly to the side and looked past the pair, and the man leaned as well to allow her the view. The word “AMBULANCE” was written in blue across the hood of the vehicle, illuminated as it was by the streetlights and the flashing of the emergency colours. “I’m sorry. It’s very early in the morning,” she said, rubbing her eyes with her left hand, the one she wished was holding a coffee. “You’re paramedics, but…” She let the words hang, shaking her head, shrugging her shoulders and looking outside for their purpose here. “I’ve had everything. I think. My next flu shot isn’t for two months, I’ve been taking my multivitamin, my watch has been telling me I’ve been getting the right number of steps…”

The man spoke next. “Well, we’re here for the puddle. But, as you might guess, it’s a fair lot more than that.” He had the same head-tilt as the woman, but his felt more genuine in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “You see…” He put his hands together with the very slightest bow of his head. “I’m terribly sad to say that you’re going to slip on that puddle, and in the subsequent fall it appears you’re going to fracture a rib. It’s nothing serious, nothing serious at all, a bit of pain for a time. We’ve already contacted your place of employment and told them you won’t be in until Monday, which we believe is more than enough time to recover. They…” He checked a small electronic device he removed from his pocket. “…Wish you a speedy recovery. How nice!”

Annie, her face like porcelain, was beaming at her. Her eyes were like two headlights and Rosie felt trapped in them.

“I can’t…” She went to take a sip from the coffee that still wasn’t there. “I’m sorry again, but I’m going to slip on that puddle? I’ll clean it up.” She looked past the two, but this time neither shifted. She chuckled nervously. “Am I on television? Is this a bit?”

The woman’s face softened further, but she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows just slightly higher. Friendly but forceful, unrelenting but apologetic, just delivering the bad news that was out of her hands. “Hospital staff has already been notified. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”

Rosie didn’t quite know what to say.

The man held up a hand and nodded knowingly. “I understand the problem here. You’re wondering how we ‘know’ you’re going to slip on the puddle,” he said, making air-quotes. Rosie always found air-quotes obnoxious, but she certainly wasn’t in the position to mention that now. “It’s all a part of Claire – the algorithm we use. It’s great, we-”

“Claire?” She thought for a moment. “Wait, who is ‘we’?”

Annie held up her device, scrolling through it with a superfluous little stylus. “We’ve factored in the age of the house, the plumbing issues in similar units, simulations run on the quality and material, and ran it up against your water usage in this section of your domicile. We’ve seen there’s likely to be water damage, and anticipated the likelihood of a slip and the manner in which you’d fall, crossed against your medical records.” She looked up, seemed to recognise the look of dismay on Rosie’s face, and thought to add a softer touch. “It’s all there to help make sure you’re as safe as possible.”

“You have my medical records?” Rosie was suddenly feeling flushed. There was too much, too fast, all of this seeming so wrong.

“We’re paramedics, ma’am,” Hank added.

“And the… geez. You said I’d fall a certain way. And you know my water usage – paramedics don’t know water usage.” She felt foolish for asking. They were professionals, clearly. One doesn’t scam another by stealing an ambulance, and they were clearly there to help. They said so themselves. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking,” she added sheepishly.

“Not a problem,” Hank said. “We know you’d likely fall that way judging from your particular gait, age, and as I said, previous medical history.” He sensed where the conversation was going. “Before you ask, we know how you walk from airport security. Lots of cameras there. Can’t have people sneaking bombs onto planes in their shoes, you know.” He thought for a moment to see if he had covered all the bases. “Oh, and the whole water thing. I mean, it’s all government, we all run it through the same programs.” He let out a slight chuckle. It was obvious, was it not? “We started recording which sectors of the house it goes into for precisely this kind of situation. Helps prevent flooding, damage… Convenient, hey?”

Alright. She was waking up now, and beginning to see the light of day, and slowly gathering the mental acuity to understand the circumstances. And the circumstances did not look favourable. Her brow furrowed and her hands moved to her hips, a firm and strong stance that felt terribly out of place in a bathrobe. “Well,” she said, summoning what dignity she could in the strange and uncomfortable situation, “I’ll take this all into consideration. I should… I should call my doctor, I think he’d…” She wasn’t sure what she’d say. If she fell, how bad would it be? “Maybe I’ll call my physio. Either way, I’ll get back to you right away.”

Rosie moved to close the door to find it only went most of the way. It hit a stopper in the form of a shoe firmly planted by Annie, notable scuff marks already on it in the exact spot it struck. “Oh, dear, I don’t believe you understand,” she said in that sing-song, pleasant tone. “We’re not here just to warn you. We’re here to help you recover from your fall.”

Hank briefly looked perplexed. “Were we supposed to be seen?” he said quietly in an aside to the woman, who still left her foot in the door. “I feel we could’ve just let her slip and helped her once she dialled…”

“She didn’t have her phone on her person,” Annie responded. “The door would’ve been locked.”

“How do you-”

“Monitored phone charges, helpful for those that have their mobiles run out of battery and subsequently need assistance. It’s been critical in rescue efforts for lost hikers and the like.” She looked back at Hank. “We knew she wouldn’t have it on her. Her charge doesn’t lower until later in the morning on the average day. Still read the black and white, hey?”

Rosie patted the pocket of her housecoat, seeing it to be true. If they were right, she would’ve fallen, fractured a rib, and would’ve had to carry herself upstairs to her phone to call an ambulance. She winced at the thought of it. “No. I watch the morning news on T.V..”

“Ah,” the man said with a slow nod. He seemed to understand, even if Rosie didn’t. “Anyway. If you wouldn’t mind…” He made a walking motion with two fingers and gestured towards her kitchen. “Just keep the door unlocked, if you could. I can see your privacy is dear to you, and we want to respect that. We won’t follow you in. We’re not supposed to watch you. It makes people unnatural, apparently. And natural is what you need. Act natural!”

Rosie shook her head. It was all hitting now. “No. No, I’m not doing that, I’m not going to… how do I even fall on purpose that way? I’m not going to go hurt myself because you think I will, and – if I know there’s a puddle why would I slip in it anyway? I’m sorry, this doesn’t make any sense, I think you’ve got to go.” She closed the door more forcefully this time, only to find Annie’s foot again. The woman didn’t so much as wince, but just kept that same disconcerting smile. Perhaps she had steel in her shoes, and it might be because she knew she’d get the door slammed on her. It was an incredibly unlikely idea that seemed all the more plausible with each passing minute.

“Please, listen,” the woman said more sternly. “We’re here to help you. It would be in your interest to fall.”

Rosie’s eyebrows raised up. “My own interest? To break a rib?”

“Fracture. You’re going to fracture a rib.”

“Whatever, just – I’m sorry, did you just threaten me? Is this a threat?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Hank held his hands up. “Let’s all calm down here. Look, lady, we know about your fall, and we know it’s best for you, because if you don’t, well…”

“Shh,” the woman urged. “No.”

“Nah, she won’t believe us otherwise!” He turned to Rosie. “Look, we know your car’s history and the traffic reports, okay?”

The woman shook her head and closed her eyes. “We’re not supposed to speak of this,” she muttered in warning.

“The glint off your windows – which aren’t clean by the way, we see it in the traffic cameras, you should really clean those – will be really strong in the coming days when the sun rises at the hour you’re driving to work. That’s basic stuff, it’s just measuring the angle of the morning sun and parsing it with the blindspots on the car you drive, and… looks like things won’t go well.”

“…won’t go well…” Rosie mused quietly to herself. “Wait, what doesn’t go well? What happened? Happens…”

“An accident, but that’ll all be avoided if you just slip, and-”

“An accident!”

“-this is the least damage to yourself that could possibly be incurred. As I said from the beginning – this is in your best interest. We’re looking to keep you safe.” Rosie couldn’t respond. It was all too much. She just sat there, mouth agape, fully stunned by the absurdity but seeing the strange logic in all of it. They mustn’t have come here with nothing. There must be a rationale. “Trust us, you’d much rather slip now than be fine and drive, considering how things go. Blame the sun, eh? Now please. Just go back in, you’ll see the puddle, and just…” He made a slipping motion with his hand.

“That’s…” She rubbed a hand across her face and found that she was sweating. Perhaps it was the morning breeze running along her bare legs, but she felt a chill at the thought of the accident she avoided, or didn’t avoid, or will avoid, or whatever one called such things. “What you’re saying, it’s not… I could just choose not to drive that day.”

“Ahh, but that’s the thing. You going to the hospital today might be important for someone else – like, maybe someone hears the sirens and gets off the road for a moment which avoids a crash, or maybe a doctor changes their patient which saves a life, or, honestly, even I don’t know all the machinations, but you’ve got to trust the system, eh?” Rosie still had the same stunned expression. No explanations seemed plausible, but yet felt vaguely possible. “You wouldn’t want someone else hurt, would you?”

“This all feels so wrong,” was all she could mumble. She felt so helpless, like an infant in her mother’s arms, but without the warmth and love.

“Yeah, well…” He reached his hand out and pushed gently on the door. “Just keep it unlocked for us, okay?”

“You’ll be perfectly fine,” Annie said, warmly and unconvincingly.

They closed the door on Rosie, the bridge of her nose right up to the wood, leaving her to make her decision alone. When she turned around, her house didn’t quite feel the same, as if she was suddenly stepping over the threshold into someone else’s. The pictures were hers, the papers carried her name, the temperature was set low the way she likes it in the morning – they almost certainly knew that, too – but it felt suddenly intrusive, as if she had lost ownership of it.

From just that short conversation she became acutely aware of every piece of mechanical or electronic item in the house. She had a timer set on her water heater to brew coffee in the morning – she could hear it set in the kitchen – but was that in their knowledge as well? She thought to get her phone to dial a friend, but those were monitored too, almost certainly. For her safety, for her self interest, they’d undoubtedly claim. But she liked it all. The coffee was ready in the morning, and that eased her nerves; the temperature changing to her preference allowed her to wear her old fuzzy pyjamas without getting too warm; the news had shown her countless stories of phone scams from nasty criminals, and she would want there to be safeguards to help her.

Still, the sheer pervasiveness was suddenly overwhelming when realised at once. The hum of the air conditioning, the buzz of the refrigerator, everything but her cats’ meowing all felt controlled; a zoo exhibit, and a boring one at that. She began to understand, albeit slowly, having a lot to take in before the light of dawn made its way into her home – the real dawn, that is, not her silly lamps they’d certainly known the schedule for. To slip, accidentally and yet on purpose, would be to acquiesce to their whole system. That felt wrong for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint, and she wasn’t sure if there was much of a cause to feel that way regardless. She wished she’d had her phone to check if anyone else felt this way, or if she was all alone.

She looked at the quiet little puddle that seemed to have far more depth than it let on, wondering if she had the ability to clean it up. She reached for the paper towel, holding onto it tightly, hoping she could, wanting to be able to. Instead, Rosie froze, the whole scene becoming an absurd tableau and a humdrum act all at once, a picture of abject terror in simple housework. The puddle was simultaneously dangerous to clean, terrifying to leave alone, and almost entirely innocuous all at once.

Then that water heater started to whistle, and the fridge seemed to buzz louder, and the air conditioner kicked in, and she just wanted it all to stop, just for a moment, just long enough to catch her breath and think about things, but atop the whole boring cacophony came a knock at her door again.

“Ma’am?” The woman’s voice, far too sweet. “Ma’am, have you fallen?”

“No. Don’t come in.” She hesitated, wondering if she should put the paper towel back. Perhaps they knew best. They’ve been right about everything they’ve said so far, so just trust them, and everything’ll be fine. It seemed safe. Fracture a rib.

A knock again, more urgent. The hot water heater had reached its peak, whistling its song at full volume. “Ma’am, we’re on a timeline!”

She closed her eyes and placed a foot in the puddle, the water soaking through her pink slipper. They were old, the bottoms worn down and smooth on the bottom, comfortable and snug the way only old slippers are. Did they know she hadn’t bought new ones in years?

“Ma’am!” the man’s voice came. It was more forceful than before. “You’re out of time! I’m sorry, I truly am, but I’m coming in! We only want to help you!”

“No,” Rosie said, but it was meek now.

She heard the knob turn and saw the pair enter her home. Their faces, too kind, too friendly, left her thinking it would have been better to see the opposite. She’d rather they burst in, terrifying her, rather than this strange, aggressive benevolence. Uncomfortable, even fearful of them now, she straightened and stepped back. Inadvertently, she placed her slipper in the puddle, forgetting the old danger in lieu of the new one. Her foot went out, her leg stretching awkwardly, her back wrenching in the effort to stay upright. It was no use. Down she went, smashing her rib on the kitchen table on the way to her floor.

—

“Stay on 178th,” the woman suggested. “Fewer potholes. It’ll be less of a bumpy ride for Rosalita.” Turning around, she flashed her familiar smile to the back of the ambulance, but Rosie didn’t notice.

“178th,” the man repeated softly. He wished there was more of the idle radio chatter from other emergency vehicles, but this morning was a quiet one. It would’ve filled the discomforting, empty air during the trips he had grown to dread. The conversation – was conversation the right word with something like this? – never quite flowed between the two of them.

“So,” he started hesitantly, “the whole, ‘make sure you fall in a way that isn’t on purpose’ deal, there.” He cleared his throat, hushing his voice further and taking a glance back at Rosie. “She certainly didn’t mean to. That’s good. But, was that… planned? Did Clara know that it would’ve gone down that way?”

The woman tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “You showed you’re quite impulsive, from telling her the information about the algorithms, to opening the door before she fell and called for help.”

“And?”

“Well, we’re all part of it. Every last one of us.” She reached over and patted his shoulder. “It all worked out nicely, didn’t it? Safe and sound, that’s what matters.”