I was in my bedroom, but I heard my mother and father arguing. It was about money, as usual. My father was laid off shortly after the pandemic began. My mother also lost her job as a waitress when the restaurant she worked at was shuttered. They were discussing how they were going to make ends meet, which I think means having enough money to pay for what we need, like food and clothes and stuff.
Then I heard my mother say something that really upset me. She said to my father, “Maybe we should sell the house.” I have never lived anywhere but in this house. The thought of selling it and moving somewhere else shook me up.
But then my father said something that really shocked me. He told my mother that our house was underwater. I looked around, half expecting to see a rising level of water flooding my bedroom. But everything was dry. I got off my bed and walked into the kitchen. My mother was seated at the kitchen table crying and my father was standing over her trying to console her.
“Are we going to have to move!” I asked. “I don’t want to move. What can we do to stop the flooding?”
My father gave me a quizzical look. “What are you talking about, Billy?” he asked.
With both of them looking at me with what was either a look of love or pity, I said to my mother, “I heard Dad tell you that our house is underwater, but it seems dry to me.”
My mother smiled and beckoned me to come over to her. She lifted me up and placed me on her lap. Then my father said, “Billy, underwater is just a figure of speech. It means that we owe more money to the bank than what our house is worth, so if we tried to sell it, we’d have to give the bank more than we’d get from selling the house. So don’t worry, son, we’re not going to sell the house or move.”
“That’s good,” I said. “And don’t worry about me, Mom and Dad. I don’t need any presents for my birthday or for Christmas. I’ve got everything I want and need just being here in this house with the two of you.”
Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver prompt, where we are asked to compose a tail that involves “underwater.”
Danielle arrived early every morning. She swept the floors and wiped down the plastic tablecloths. She set up each table to be ready for the morning rush. Creamer, sugar, and artificial sweeteners for coffee. Salt and pepper for eggs. Syrup for pancakes. Butter and jam for toast.
Isaac took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He stood up and walked into the kitchen where Hillary was preparing dinner. He knew what he was about to tell her would upset her, but he also knew that he couldn’t do what she had asked of him.
“Are you sure about this?” Michelle asked as she and Doug walked down the dirt road toward the tents set up in the distance. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”
I was so used to being romanced, if you could call it that, by bums and ne’er do wells whose only interest was to get in my pants that I was shocked when a man I only just met at the grocery store — his name was Joseph — asked me if I’d be interested in joining him as his “plus-one” at an invitation-only exhibition at the local art museum. He said that I had the appearance of a refined, sophisticated lady and a woman with good taste. He was quite handsome, well dressed, well groomed, and he smelled good, too. So I thought why not and accepted his invitation.