When she was ten, she had been the fastest kid on her block. No one could catch her. For capture the flag, she had been first picked. For tag she had been the most feared ‘it.’ She had been popular with girls and boys. She had been quiet and fast, wind-like. Adults and children alike had trusted her, not to talk to, but to do duties, like lead the fire drill line or take the hardest job in a group assignment. That was it, Sonny Crichna thought, I was a dutiful child.
Well all grown up, she was still quiet – so quiet that she could feel the moment her presence was forgotten in a room – but she didn’t know if she was still fast. Sonny could not remember the last time she had run.
She was, at that moment, standing on the sidewalk at an intersection. Anyone who worked near Sonny’s particular corner and happened to have glanced at it with any regularity during the past fifteen minutes would have been hoping she was waiting for more than a clear path across the street. That had come and gone many times now. Part of her wanted to run away.
Instead she stood there still, five feet nine inches tall, thin and slightly angular. She had sandy blonde, sunny hair. She was wearing red, but on her in the hazy light it wasn’t distinguishable as red. Her features were, she had been told, very regular. She thought her nose was overlong, but no one else had ever commented on it. What that means, she thought whenever she stared too long into a mirror, is I’m invisible. What Sonny didn’t know was that everyone else looked exactly like she did. She lived in a realm of invisible people. For instance no one had noticed her there, waiting. But she hadn’t noticed anyone else either.
It was a Friday in the middle of summer, at least ninety-eight degrees. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The humidity was, as usual, high. She was scarcely aware of her surroundings, of the busy intersection, or the glowing neon Supe Up Your Ride sign across the street. Her eyes had passed it over without comment a number of times already. It was mid-summer; it would be light out until nine at least; that sign is ridiculous, she would have thought if she had been in a better mood. She was thinking instead about the person she was supposed to meet.
The more she thought the more she was convinced that the whole day was conspiring to make her as uncomfortable and ashamed and upset as possible. She looked down at her watch again. She stood still and silent, stewing.
It was true that Sonny’s quiet did reign most of the time, but those who knew her well knew there was always more lurking underneath. She yelled. Her friends and ex-boyfriends would talk about how you didn’t want to make Sonny see red. When she was really upset, she screamed. It was almost as if when she got angry, the speed from her younger days burst forth from her as thunderous ire instead of movement. It didn’t happen often. She did not like getting angry. Later on she would always collapse, hurt, in pain.
Sonny could never remember having been as upset as she was right then, but there was no one there to yell at. He was late. She felt like an idiot. He was probably not even coming.
Sonny had been born and grew up in the open country of Idaho, where her family’s cattle lowed low and long, the roads had no speed limit, and she had been able to indulge a serious habit of stargazing. At eighteen she left home to study astronomy at Florida State University. While she was there, the Seminoles won three national track championships, she threw and broke three plates after failing a test for the first time ever, and she changed her major three times eventually settling on hotel management. After graduation she was promptly hired by a large hotel chain’s Atlanta branch. She spent the next eight years or so, moving up in the hotel world of Atlanta, making a few good friends, dating some, and living what she considered an organized and usually not pathetic life. She had recently broken up with a man named Jesse, and after an awkward but not unpleasant attempt to go over to his house and start a friendship, she had lost her purse.
She hadn’t realized she had lost her purse until the phone rang that morning. She had Fridays off (this had been one of the contentious points in her and Jesse’s relationship, couldn’t she get a more normal schedule, it seemed like they never saw each other), so she had still been asleep until she picked up the receiver at 8:30 that morning.
‘Hello,’ said a male voice she didn’t recognize.
‘Yes, who is this?’
‘You don’t know me, but I have your purse. I found your purse, I mean, and I’d like to get it back to you.’
‘What?’
The man had gone on to detail finding her purse, and then asked her to write down an intersection (the corner she was on) and time (twenty minutes ago) where and when he could deliver it to her; he’d be the guy in the green baseball cap. She had been in such shock, she had spent most of their brief conversation nodding into the receiver barely taking in the import of the stranger’s words. She had written down the information though, and there she was. So where, for the life of her, was he?
When she had made herself a pot of coffee and rubbed all of the sleep out of her eyes, she realized the lost purse situation was probably some kind of trick. Probably she had left her purse at Jesse’s, and he had given it to one of his friends and was playing a joke on her. That wasn’t really like him though. Despite being a big city boy, that earnest toothy grin he had really did sum up his character. Then again breaking up made people act oddly, so that’s probably exactly what was happening. It was disappointing, because she liked him and had been hoping they could actually stay friends. Still that had to be what had happened, she decided. It was going to be a long day. No one liked to be made fun of. Unless, the thought just randomly popped into her head, her purse had been stolen and this had nothing to do with Jesse whatsoever. What if that was it, she thought, my purse has been stolen and the little sneak has been struck with remorse. I should probably call the cops and have them meet the jerk this afternoon. But no, he’d see them from afar and just not show up. A thief would be on the lookout for that kind of thing. Being robbed sucks, she thought, though she was glad about Jesse. He was nice and nice people were hard to come by, even if they were kind of bitchy as a boyfriend.
Then while she was brushing her teeth to get rid of her acrid morning breath, she had remembered everything that was in her purse. Her whole life was in there, she thought. This was horrible. She needed it back.
As she left the hotel, she put a small spray bottle of mace up her sleeve, though in her opinion the man deserved a much worse fate than burning eyes for compromising her so cold-heartedly.
So there she was standing on a street corner, waiting for a criminal who probably wasn’t even going to show up. And if he did show up? He would probably try to blackmail her and get even more money out of her. But at least then she would see his face, she thought. She had always figured no matter how smart they seemed, there must be something in criminals that was basically stupid.
He’s not going to come, Sonny told herself again, diving into her anger. It felt powerful.
Why did everything have to go wrong for her? Why did everything about her have to be wrong? That’s why she had broken up with Jesse; he had made her feel like she wasn’t the right person. She knew it wouldn’t be that way if they could be just friends, and she felt like the wrong person enough already. She was the wrong person! That’s why she had lost her purse. That’s why she felt cold in this miserable heat. That’s why it wasn’t going to work out, none of it. Oh, if he doesn’t get here in the next five minutes I’m going to leave, she thought. And I’ll report it to the police, and hopefully he’ll use one of my credit cards and get arrested and thrown in jail for a long time, because I’m sure this isn’t the first thieving he’s done. The sneak thief. No, I hope he does show up. Then he’ll get a piece of my mind. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t need hearing aids when I’m through with him. No, what I really wish is that I could turn into a river. Just as he walked up, I’d turn into a river. I’d turn this whole street into a river of myself and I’d drown him. I’d drown him, and I’d drown my purse and no one would ever be able to take it away from me again. He has my credit cards. It’s disgusting. I’d drown him without any remorse. I’d be moving too fast for remorse. Rivers are always moving. But I can’t turn into a river. She looked down at her watch. It was 4:29. She was giving him one more minute. She wished she could stay longer than that, because if this is the spot he chose she knew it must be a place he comes to. Idiot criminal. He’d show up eventually, and then she’d drown him in her deadly current. She felt like she had the power to do it, too. She was so upset, so hurt, so angry. There was nothing in the world so appropriate to her rage as raging rapids, and she could do it, too. How would he like that?
But Sonny knew she couldn’t really turn into a river. That was impossible. She needed to breath, to think rationally. She’d have to go home and cancel everything and get on with her life. It was unfair, and that was that.
She turned around to leave, and there he was walking toward her just over a block away. It had to be him: an asshole with a green baseball cap. He hadn’t seen her; he was too far away. Sonny had very good vision. What should she do? She only had a minute before they, there was someone else with him, would be right on top of her. She could just feel it: he was the worst type of person. Oh, how I wish I was a river, she thought.
And then all of a sudden she felt wet – nothing but wet.
It was very weird, but quickly Sonny began to adjust. She felt cool. The only direction she could see was straight up. Somehow it was obvious to her that she was water, cool, clean water.
After a moment though, she realized one thing was missing. She wasn’t moving. She couldn’t feel it anyway if she was. She couldn’t be sure though; she had never been water before. She held her breath, and realized she could hear and smell and feel. All of her senses were working normally. As she let out her breath, she heard two voices coming her way.
Then not ten seconds later a taste worse than anything she had ever imagined permeated her entire being. There were four shoes, very dirty, disgusting, germy shoes, planted in the middle of her. After she got over the repulsion, she tried to see the two men the four shoes belonged to. It was an awkward angle though, and she couldn’t tell much more than that one was thin and shorter and the other was thin except for a protruding beer belly and looked taller. At the top of the shorter one, the brim of a green baseball hat stuck out.
For a long moment, she marveled at what was happening. She was a puddle. She had to be, because she was a small bit of unmoving water that could only see this very little bit of the universe. She was a puddle on a street corner, and she was confused. It didn’t hurt to be stepped on or in, but she couldn’t help wondering about the little droplets that splashed away. Would those pieces of her be missing when she returned to human form – if she ever figured out how? Maybe she’d be a puddle forever. She had all the proof she needed that she was not a river. No one was being drowned. She tried to master her frustration and listen to the conversation above her; she might at least learn something important from the thief and his friend. Their voices sounded odd, almost as though she was listening through the wrong end of one of those ear horns that deaf people used in the old movies she had seen as a kid with her grandma. If she concentrated and focused her consciousness just in the middle of where the two men were standing inside of her, she could make out what both of them were saying.
‘You think she might’ve left already?’
‘Probably not. It’s her purse. You’d stick around?’
‘Me? I told you on the way over here I don’t have a purse. Never have had a purse.’
‘Well, let’s give her ten minutes anyway. She probably just had to run off to the bathroom. We’re a little late you know. She had to pee. Or maybe she’s late. Could be.’ Now that she thought of it, she did have to pee. But how could a puddle pee? What would wetting herself even mean?
‘You think she’s this late? Would you be this late if some stranger had your purse?’
‘I don’t have a purse. I have never -’
‘Very funny.’
‘Well and whose fault is it we’re late?’
‘Look, I said I’m sorry,’ the pot-bellied man she imagined to be red-faced said. ‘I still don’t see why exactly I’m here.’
‘Well, it makes things more comfortable, less pressure. You see if it was just the two of us -’
‘No, you told me all that already. I just think you’re kind of ridiculous, but I guess I probably told you that already.’
‘We should have been here half an hour ago.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry, I said. I had Chinese food for lunch. Chinese food always does that to me. Believe me you would not have wanted me to rush and have that happen in your car. It was awful. Diarrhea like you wouldn’t believe,’ he said with a groan, unconsciously patting his stomach. She deeply hoped that she was not being stepped on/in by shoes that had just been on the floor of a public bathroom. She tried not to think about it.
‘Why on God’s green earth would you eat Chinese food, then?’
‘Boss, likes it,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Plus I didn’t know I’d be tagging along on a date with you.’
‘Right, right.’
‘So are we going or what? She’s not here.’
‘No, give it a couple of minutes,’ the green hat said, with a soft kick of the puddle he was standing in. It didn’t hurt her at all.
For a moment neither of the men spoke, waiting. Neither did the puddle named Sonny.
‘So why are we here?’
‘We’re returning Miss Crichna’s purse. Isn’t that obvious?’
‘Yeah, but why all this trouble? Why am I here? And why are you so sure it’s “Miss?”’
‘I told you -’
‘No, I know you told me. That’s not what I mean. I mean,’ the bigger man said, with a big intake of breath, ‘why do you care?’
‘That’s not any of your business.’
‘Well I think it is since I’m here, since you dragged me all the way out here. I don’t live out here. I came out as a favor for you, and I’d like to know why.’
‘Right, well, that’s why we’re late,’ green cap said. Sonny the puddle could feel the dumb gaze the pot-bellied man was giving green cap thief. The perspective of looking at someone from such a low angle was strange, for their knobs and protrusions to be their most obvious features – a belly, a bill of a baseball cap. Sonny wished she could remember green cap’s name, if he had even given it. ‘Okay, well. Right. You see, I just have a really good feeling about this.’
‘Okay, and…’
‘And how often do you meet a really nice woman in this city? I mean a really like compelling, deep woman.’ She knew it. Shit.
‘Okay, and…’
‘Well, Sonya Crichna. She’s one. I want to meet her, but I don’t want her to think I’m a creep. So you’re here.’ He had gone through her purse. The creep! She knew it.
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘I just know okay. I’ve got a good feeling.’
‘How? Why? Come on.’
‘Well, I’ve seen proof of it.’
‘You’ve never met this woman.’
‘Yeah, well, I looked through her purse. So, I know.’
‘I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. You creep. You are a weirdo, Conrad.’
‘No, it’s just. I wouldn’t normally do that, but I had this really good feeling about it. Like I said. I could tell I was supposed to.’
‘You gonna tell her that. Hey, I went through your purse, and I just want to know if you’ll have my babies.’
‘Yeah, I’ll tell her. Of course I will. I am not a creep. And you see, she’ll understand. I’ll be honest. There are things in here,’ he let the purse slide down off of his shoulder into his hand and shook it, so the puddle could make it out perfectly. It was definitely her purse. The creep!
‘Like what? You got one look at the brand of tampon she used, and you knew she was your soulmate.’
‘She’s only got pads in here actually, but that’s not the point. Anyway, I care, because she’s a good, deep person, deep as the ocean. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You’ll know when you meet her.’
‘Well, let me tell you something it’s not going to be today. Let’s get going, huh. I’m taking Leslie to the movies tonight – we’ve already hired a sitter. You can come eat leftovers with us if you want. I made this really good lasagna last night, and now that my bowels are empty I’m hungry. Let’s go. You can reschedule for tomorrow, okay.’
‘It’s a little disappointing, George. You know when things just feel right and then,’ green cap said. ‘Okay, let’s go. I’m going to tell you I’ve got a new appreciation…’ But they were walking away now. The puddle was empty and could not see them, could not hear what Conrad appreciated. Conrad in the green cap. Conrad the sneak thief. Conrad the one who had looked through her purse. Sonny was angry and she didn’t know what else. Hurt, humiliated.
Life was so strange. She was a puddle. She didn’t understand. She tried, but she didn’t. Every second they got further away. Relieved. She also felt a little relieved. It was still in there. Her book of celestial musings, predictions, and poems. It had been read, but it was still in there. She felt so many things all at once; she felt like she would overflow.
Then Sonny was standing up. She appeared to be all there. Nothing felt missing. She felt embarrassed, as though someone might have seen her, like she had been naked and just gotten dressed. For another moment she wished she had been able to drown herself at least. There were many times during the conversation of the two men when she would have. She thought she had tried – though she wasn’t sure – and had come to the conclusion that you couldn’t drown yourself in yourself. That was something she’d never forget.
Anyway she was wasting time. She bet that they had parked in the same garage she had – the only free one in the whole neighborhood. They’ll be at least a block ahead by now, and I need that journal – I mean purse – back, she thought. She would have to see if she could catch them.
***
Anthony Bromberg
Anthony Bromberg currently writes, teaches, and lives in Austin, TX, with his wife and their three cats. He studied creative writing and literature at UCLA. More of his recent short fiction can be found in or forthcoming in PANK, Danse Macabre, and FRiGG among others. He is hard at the delightful work of transcribing the story of his good friend, Sancho Garcia.
