Gone
The pond drained down under the highway. The water rushed into the darkness as cars did overhead. I saw a mother duck and her six ducklings feeding in the current. One duckling was further downstream then the rest, closer to the dark.
The rubble crushed beneath my feet, the disregarded furniture entangled with debris and mud. A shiny black pickup truck pulls up next to the pile, and from the tiny window a man in a jean jacket pokes his head out.
Man: “What are you doing?”
Me: “Walking”
My reply felt silly. ‘Walking’ felt silly, old, even stupid. He stared at me for what felt like hours, my glasses started to mist. Cars whizzed by us on the nearby highway. He shook his head and started to retreat into his cave.
Me: “You ever notice that there’s no sidewalks around here?”
Man: “What?”
He put the car into gear and drove off. It was a stupid question.
I returned to the pond. I counted five ducklings.
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