THE GOLD FISH: The Pool (1.4)

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Mr. Charles watched Barbie race up the porch stairs, throw open the screen door with a BANG, and disappear inside.

The closing mechanism on the Ward’s screened door had long since given up the ghost, and whenever anyone entered or exited the house without manually easing it closed, the door slammed back into its aluminum frame with an irritating thunderclap. It put Mr. Charles’ own teeth on edge and comparatively speaking, he was a patient man full of forbearance, if he did say so himself.

“Oh boy,” he thought. “Hope Joan didn’t hear that.”

It wasn’t the only hope Mr. Charles had for Barbie. He had many hopes for her, and like she for him, many worries... some big, some small. The unreasonable wrath of Joan over ridiculous things like mess and noise being only one of them.

Mr. Charles drifted over to the fence to keep said eye(s) on The Belle and pulled out his tobacco pouch. He repacked his pipe, set it alight, and drawing smoke into his mouth, did what he often did. He pondered.

Now he would be the first to admit he wasn’t a parent so shouldn’t have opinions on occupations with which he had no practical experience. But it perplexed him just the same how any thinking adult could bring a child into the world and expect said child to be quiet, neat, and well behaved. It made no sense. Children simply weren’t built for it. It would be like expecting a puppy not to tear up the sofa cushions or piss all over the floor. He looked over at his beloved Trixie, her tongue lolling in the heat. Despite his devotion to her, he had no trouble recalling the yellow puddles she used to leave for him across the kitchen linoleum. Yessir, puppies piss and kids mess. That was the way of the world. Expecting anything else was just asking for it.

But as Mr. Charles turned his focus back to The Belle, he could see that at that very moment, she played quietly and neatly, perfectly content with her own company and defying his heretofore stated logic.

“Exceptions make the rule, I guess,” he muttered. The minute he thought he knew anything, the world was there to contradict him. The thought made him chuckle.

In response, The Belle waved her plastic shovel, spraying a wide arc of sand across the grass, and giggled along with him.

The screen door flew open again and out came Barbie, followed by another BANG.

Jesus H. Christ, thought Mr. Charles, his teeth rattling in his head for the second time in minutes, and cursed Don’s negligence. For godssake, the closing mechanism on that door probably only needed a quarter twist of a screwdriver. He’d be happy to march over there right now and fix it himself, if not for... well, the social conventions that prevented him from doing so.

Instead, he took a deep, calming breath and watched Barbie head towards the small round picnic table in the center of the yard.

“Thanks Mr. Charles,” she shouted as she tossed what appeared to be a roll of black electrical tape and a board game onto the table.

Mr. Charles nodded, tipped his bucket hat to The Belle, and returned to his tomato plants.

But his curiosity was piqued. What the devil was she up to, he wondered. He re-lit his pipe, and from underneath the brim of his hat, watched as Barbie pulled the four benches from around the picnic table, turned them onto their sides, and placed them on the grass, seats facing inwards, to form a neat square. Next, she stepped back to assess the arrangement.

The bench’s seats, crafted in a sort of concave/convex shape to better surround the round table, seemed to be presenting a problem for her. They wouldn’t lie square to the ground. Placing the concave side down left a little gap in the center and placing them convex side down left gaps on either end. After flipping them a few times -- the girl was thorough, Mr. Charles had to give her that -- Barbie seemed to settle on convex side down.

Next, she opened the game box. Twister maybe? Mr. Charles thought so, but he couldn’t be sure. After all, what the hell did he know from games that favored the long limbed? Whatever it was, Barbie tossed a game spinner aside, and shook out a large, vinyl polka-dotted tarp.

Much like a baker might lay a pie crust in the bottom of a tin, Barbie placed the tarp into the square, before securing the edges to the benches with strips of electrical tape. Next, she retrieved the garden hose and filled the structure with water, all the while monitoring each corner for leaks. Miraculously, it held.

Once filled, Barbie threw the hose aside, stepped into her creation -- now revealed to be a tiny, makeshift swimming pool -- and lowered herself, contorting her gangly limbs to become fully submerged. Waves of water splashed over the structure’s side.

Mr. Charles barked with laughter. “Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch.”

Next → Agony of Defeat (1.5)