L'aura del Campo

That's what I told them.

That's not what happened.

I love rain. I love puddles. As a small child I jumped into every one I could find. Slushy in winter or frog-filled in Spring. Didn't matter. I jumped. They splashed. I got yelled at... every time.

But not yesterday. I was wearing my new tennies and a good pair of jeans. I was on my way to school with Puddles (that's my puppy; she always follows me as far as I let her).

It had rained overnight and the streets were puddle-luscious. I was careful. I really was. I skipped around them, jumped over them. No problemo. I was in a good mood as I came to the corner of Cameron and Colorado. There was a small puddle. I looked both ways and jumped.

And... that's when it got weird. I was mid-air when a hand reached up and grabbed me, pulled me into ocean depths until I felt like I was drowning. Fish were ogling me and a frog mouthed my name and then... then a merman grabbed me and dragged me into his cave. He served me sushi and lukewarm tea while he lectured about global warming... as if I cared. "You'd better", he warned me.

Then... I dunno... I came to, completely soaked, spitting out water as Puddles barked at... nothing. There was nothing in the 2" deep puddle. Mrs. Janicki came by, asked if I was okay and helped me up. I thanked her then told Puddles to go home in spite of her whining.

I grabbed my book-bag. It was soaked too. At school, my English teacher, Miss Mueller, was not amused with my soggy essay on local myths. So I told her, "My poodle made me drop my paper in a puddle." I mean... "I was grabbed and almost drowned by a mermen" just didn't sound right. So I blamed Puddles. She won't mind.

© Kåre Enga (11.juni.2017) [174.131] /30:11.1/