A Mirror Floating in Water

The screen had been there for a long time. It hadn’t come with the house when it was first sold, so the new owner’s husband had to go to the local convenience store and buy one. His wife would sit at home, expecting at any minute to hear the truck roll into the driveway and to see him at the door carrying in pieces of the screen. She had always loved watching him in his overalls and truckers hat setting it up and organizing the porch around it. She loved seeing him handle the work so professionally, with his red tool box and hammer, pounding in nails and bringing each screen together. After meals he would go back to work and she would carefully slide open the porch door and quietly sit down on one of the stools by the bar and watch. She loved watching his hands, sturdily clenching pieces of wood, muscles straining, sweat he would casually wipe off his forehead and continue working. It was as if, he was the architect of her castle, of their eternal fortress together.

The architect of this screen, now weary, walked out onto the dirty old porch. His feet were cautious and wary, as if stepping out onto some stage. He looked into the pool that he had built so long ago. Remembering those breezy, sunny days, in which the sunlight would reflect itself in the pool, and how if a cloud would come over during a game of volleyball, everyone would run out once the thick heavy raindrops started pouring through the roof of the screen; but only for a minute, for then the sun would come back out and everyone would jump back in and continue with the game, the children being the only ones noticing that the pool had gotten deeper.

He walked up to the pool and saw his reflection in the early morning sunlight. He carefully dipped his foot into the water. Shoving it back out, shivering, remembering that it had been years since he had touched pool water, the crisp clean chlorine smell now made his nose tickle and his sinuses flare. He looked deep into the pool to the very bottom and saw the little automatic pool cleaner crawling about, as it had done so for years. It wandered about like a little dog, sucking up scum and dirt for the pool, merely to keep up appearances.

There would be times in which he would lie in bed and know that the cleaner needed charging, or that the dishes needed cleaning, or that there were cockroaches and ants infested all over the cabinets in the kitchen, and he would just close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

He had bills for DIRECtv that he would forget to pay, he had unopened social security checks laying on the kitchen counter and filling up the mail box. He failed to attend appointments, and his body could’ve died on him around all of the decomposition. It didn’t.

He would wake up late in the morning and go to bed at an early hour, in the same clothes, with the same grey hair, as if never having gotten up. One day he had thought about writing a novel. He had risen out of bed and walked into his office to his IBM desktop that he had bought in the eighties and turned it on. The screen lit up and the green text shown out bright lights. This nauseated him a bit, but he went on and began writing. He had thought he had known what it was that he wanted to write, but once his fingers had touched the keys, he had become completely apathetic. His mind had become an empty void of nothingness and he stared blankly at the screen. He pressed a key and out came an on-going string of g’s. Multiplying, growing. And the more they took over the screen, the more disgusted he became. He then slammed his fist across the mechanic keyboard and started fidgeting with the keys. He pressed the forbidden ALT key and held it down as he strummed his index finger across the board. This created a forewarning beep from the computer, and what would’ve shocked and terrified him only sprout a hedonistic pleasure in him as he mutilated the keys, biting his tongue between his lips like a mischievous little child.
He then lost all his temper and swung out at the computer and slammed his hand against the monitor. The little box fell sideways between the desk and wall, its cords still holding on, and shut off with a silencing beep.

He sat there petrified, shocked. It was dead.

This shock turned to anguish and he got up, tripping out of the room, then collapsing onto the floor.


He heard the splashing and playing of children in the backyard pool. He had been awake this whole time, but it was this presence in the house which had awakened him to a whole new level of vigilance.

He had heard at first a loud and stern knock at the door, then a demanding yell. Then silence. He then heard the sound of the door from the garage turning and an air of feet stepping in. Some were wild and running, voices excited and scampering to the pool. Two, more authorative voices spoke softly and quietly.

He then heard one of these voices cautiously entering his room.

“Dad?”

He lay there, staring at the television.

“Dad?”

He curved his head across the pillow without leaving it and looked up at him like a neglected puppy.

“Hey Dad, it’s me. Diane and I have come with the kids. You’ve seen Diane right? Remember, the photos I sent you from the wedding?”

A strange figure entered the room, nervously standing at the entrance, with the first figure kneeling by the side of his bed.

He had gotten used to this kind of behavior coming from his family and reacted indifferently to her uneasiness.

“Okay honey, go see the kids,” he said, waving her out. Once she left the room, he turned back to him. “So how you doing pops?”

He enigmatically looked up at him.

“Yeah well, I heard about the fall. You okay?”

He made an ambiguous movement, communicating his wellness.

“Well, Sheryl told me that the doctor said it was a faint of nausea from your prostate problem,” he paused thoughtfully, “have you been seeing your doctor?”

He answered silently.

“Yeah well, that’s what he told me. Told me that you’ve haven’t gone in for a checkup in a month. A month. What’s wrong pop? What’s the matter with you?

“I heard about how, you know, the maid had left you. The health department’s been over here and gave it an even worse rating than before. They say if you don’t get some help or move in with Doug or someone, we’re going to have to send you, well, you know. And I don’t want that to happen. So come on pop, what’s eating you?

“I mean, I know since Mom died things haven’t been that good and. . . . .” he hesitated. “But we’ve just got to put our trust in the Lord, don’t we pop?” speaking as if there was nothing else to say.

A silence filled the room. The children could be heard playing and splashing around outside. Their voices and screams traveled their way into the still house.

“Well Dad, Diane and I have brought the three kids to hang out here for a while. We’re all going to be here, okay?”

There was a silent awkwardness which ended the conversation and led the son outside. The old man sat there, hearing the son open the sliding door and jump into the pool along with the children.

He got up and closed the curtains.