The Reservoir
By Matthew J. Andrews
It’s the same routine every morning: at first light, I walk out of the house that has been in my family for generations, hike the trail that circles the reservoir, stop at the cemetery, and head home. I have done it so many times the dirt path has hardened with the weight of my steps.
This morning was particularly pleasant, with a warm sun and the wind so still I could see myself in the placid water. When I reached the parking lot that marked my detour, I saw an old truck with faded paint, bald tires and a sagging chassis. Any vehicle at this time of morning was a rare sight, much less one that looked like it was going to collapse and break apart.
And then out of nowhere, there was a thrashing under the surface of the water. I looked into the reservoir and saw a man emerge, rising taller with each step towards the shore. He was fully dressed in scuba gear: thick goggles, tank sagging his shoulders, mouthpiece shrouding his face. When he was fully on shore, he shook the sand off his flippers and removed the items from his face. He noticed me and gave me a quick wave. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
I know I should have responded just as politely, but I didn’t say anything; I just stood there with eyes raised in puzzlement. The man seemed to sense the awkwardness, so he added, “Nice morning to be outside. Have a good walk.” He took slow, lumbering steps back to the truck.
“Sorry,” I finally said, “I was just surprised to see a diver out here. I’ve never seen one before. What do you do down there?”
He smiled as he took off his flippers and tossed them in the truck bed. “Don’t be sorry. I know I’m an odd sight. I was just visiting my mom. She gets cranky if I don’t come and see her every so often.”
“Your mom?” I asked as I shifted my gaze over to the water.
“Yeah, she lives in a little place on State Street, right near the center of town.” He shimmied his shoulders out of the straps and loaded the tank into the bed.
I stared at him for a moment. “In town?” I finally responded. “Down there?”
He chuckled. “Wild, right? She loves that house so much she will never leave it. Even when everyone else left and they flooded the town, she said she was going to stay put, and by God she did.” He sighed as he took off his wetsuit. “They sure don’t make people like that anymore.”
I studied him for a moment. “You’re joking, right?”
The man’s face sharpened. “Joking about what?”
“About your mother living in an underwater city.”
He forced a smile and exhaled through his nose. “Look, I know it’s weird, but since I can’t make her come up here with everyone, I have to be a good son and go see her.” He opened the passenger door and started loading gear onto the seat, no longer looking at me as he spoke. “My siblings won’t go. None of her friends will go. She’s just there all alone and someone has to keep her company. Guess it’s got to be me!”
The man forcefully shut the door as he finished speaking. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled softly again as he opened them. “Sorry to keep you. Enjoy your walk, ok?” He turned and walked to the other side of the car, got in the driver’s seat, and drove away. I watched as the old truck turned out of the lot and diminished as it wound its way through the hills.
It was a long time before I moved again. When the truck disappeared, I looked back into the water, now rippling with a breeze that had picked up. I imagined a house caked with algae and an old woman floating from room to room, her body a pale white and her hair matted and tangled. I imagined the man putting on his gear and descending into the dark water, groping his way along the mud until he found the house and then holding her limp body tight in his arms.
When I finally felt the urge to move again, I walked straight home.
Matthew J. Andrews is a private investigator and writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Orange Blossom Review, Pithead Chapel and EcoTheo Review, among others. His debut chapbook, I Close My Eyes and I Almost Remember, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He can be contacted at matthewjandrews.com.