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I crossed the sea to get away from those pools. Those deep cauldrons, bubbling and boiling like a woman possessed. I remember the first time I saw them, sparkling in a summer morning. I was walking in the meadow, they were under the willow's weeping tresses, as I suppose they have been since the beginning of time. Side by side, beautiful and sparkling, I sat by them for the rest of the afternoon, plumbing their depths for the secrets they so obviously held. When I finally got home, they were still there in my mind, their beautiful shimmering surfaces catching the light of the world and reflecting it back into my soul.
I visited every day after that. For a full season, I swam daily, immersing myself in divine beauty and crystal purity. I lost my job, I lost my friends. My mother, as always, was just happy I was happy.
One morning on my way to the grocer, I happened to look down. Two little puddles on the street, with the same penetrating reflection. Dead in my tracks, I was nearly run down by traffic. In a way, I told myself, I was glad my mind was finding a way to see this beauty even in the mundane city center. That evening, I returned to the pools under the willow and swam for hours, with only the moon to watch.
The next day, they were there in the street again. On my floor, in the shapes of the shower drips. In the pub, on the bar table, made from some drunk's spilled pint. I poured my vodka over the top of those, and they disappeared in the changed surface tension of the alcohol.
After six months, I had grown to live with it. The pools were still beautiful and I've never felt peace like floating there, surrounded by that depth and clarity. I still saw them in every piece of liquid, in every drop. Rainy nights were unbearable. To tell the truth, I was never sure if I liked it or not. I had few friends, and I was quickly losing the rest with my insane ramblings about "pools, everywhere." I wrote poetry, I sang songs. No one understood, but they didn't have to. The beauty I saw there would shame me to repeat here.
Then one night at the pub, I noticed the man next to me staring at the same couple of drops. Astonished, I gazed up. He laughed the obscene laugh of drunks the world over, never moving his gaze. Then he reached out... and touched. I was repulsed. I ran out to the street, and though it was a rainy night, there were no puddles, not one the whole way home. The next morning, there they were in the shower again. The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I was still crazy. The phase I was going through hadn't left after all. I screamed, I swore, I ranted and tore my hair. When I realized I was yelling at my shower floor to "just leave me alone," I stopped and took a good look. Those "same shaped drops" were streams of water, nothing more. Little divots with water running out of the corner. I laughed, glad to be free.
About a week went by, and I felt free as a bird. The pools that had haunted me were gone. From time to time, I missed my "constant companions," but it was a small price to pay from my sanity. On Saturday, I felt good enough to take a walk, the first in several weeks. Against my will, I found myself drawn to the meadow. The pools were there, of course, still resplendent. I stared, and stepped in. As quickly, I stepped out, choking. Whatever underground spring fed them had gone rancid. They were full of sulphur - apparently the pleasure of my swimming was now barred.
I couldn't get that image out of my head. As bad as before, my pools followed me. In the pub, in the street, in the store, everywhere. Worse, even, because I couldn't stare. As soon as my glance settled, they would be gone. I was tormenting myself. On the way home one night, I ran to the meadow. The pools were bubbling, boiling, and frothing from below, with their foul stench. Now, that memory was in my head, even the beauty ruined for me. Finally, I pooled my mediocre savings and left. Left the country, left the continent, just to get away. Who knows if it will work? Maybe so. Maybe someday I'll find another girl with eyes like that.
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