A Moment Something Happened, What Happened, Where It Happened, But Maybe Not Why It Happened

(This was one of my earlier attempts at implementing strategic ambiguity into a story. Please feel free to provide feedback on what works, what subjective interpretations are possible, and what could be improved upon. I thrive on feedback. It is my melange; the spice that makes it all possible.)

Dedicated to Joyce Carol Oates

The town of Bellevue was nothing new or unique. The downtown library was filled with the same books that have been rented and returned generation after generation while the school had the same paint job since the principal was a third-grade student there. The mayor sat at his desk, mostly napping during the day. In the center of the town plaza, by the park named after a Union soldier nobody had heard of, was a large fountain that had been dry for as long as anyone could remember.

People passed the fountain day after day, often forgetting it was there, accumulating no coins or wishes, and blended into the background like scenery in a middle school play. It had become the decrepit relic of a forgotten gothic tale - chipped, dirty, and haunting the same spot forever. Then one day, something happened. Water began to flow from the fountain again. A clear crystal liquid flowed like a gentle memory of long-lost times, creating a shimmering pool. It was Henry, the town mailman, who first noticed this phenomenon. It was his day off and he had just bought a lottery ticket alongside a black coffee and a bagel by the plaza. He stepped forward when he saw the gentle reflection of the pristine water. Within the hour, many of the townspeople surrounded the fountain. The water sparkled a bit, cleaning the fountain upon contact. Everyone stared for a while, not knowing if they should get closer. Eventually Henry leaned over, his reflection appearing in the silent liquid. He stared, unmoving. For a moment he patted the pocket where his lottery ticket rested. He suddenly screamed a strange yelp and stepped back, smiling and shaking. A couple of people grabbed his shoulders, thinking he was about to fall.

“The image…it wasn’t me…I mean, it was me, just…not here, not now.”

The crowd gasped, much talking ensued.

The mayor, in his office across the street and having been woken up by the commotion, left City Hall and approached the crowd at the plaza.

“What is going on here?”, asked the mayor, a bit groggy.

Henry told the mayor what had happened. The mayor, now more curious than tired, glanced into the reflecting water himself. The townspeople stayed still as he stood there, looking down into the mystery. He then gasped and stood back. He looked at the curious crowd, who were awaiting any words from him.

“I saw…I saw my future, retired. No longer a mayor, but relaxing at a beach with a mai tai. It was nice.”

“What does it mean?”, asked someone in the crowd.

The mayor took a breath and said, “Well…uh… I do want to retire. But how can I? Nobody else ever runs for mayor here.”

Some murmuring.

“Can someone else please run for mayor? I’m really quite tired.”

Everyone looked around.

“I’ll do it”, said Mr. Bartleby, a paralegal.

“Good”, replied the mayor. "Why haven't you run before if you wanted the job?"

"I didn't want to run against you and hurt your feelings."

“Uh...okay...Well, you’ll be on the ballot instead of me then. Now, what's your economic policy for the town?”

“Uhm…to have one?”

“Good enough for me. I’m shopping for Hawaiian shirts now.”

As the mayor left, the townspeople mobbed the fountain, each of them gazing at the mystical water. Some were happy at what they saw, others afraid, some miserable, a few ecstatic. The librarian yelled out, “Yes, new books!”, just as the school principal exclaimed, “Finally, a new coat of paint!”

Only one person did not want to take a look, Mrs. Beck, the wife of Henry the mailman. She had been waiting for her husband at the church, and when it took forever for him not to return, she grabbed her cane and began walking towards his direction. Now at the plaza she was shaking her head at this sight. She stood holding her cane tightly, her knees weak. She had struggled with her health for many years, having had more medical bills than checks in her checkbook.

Henry approached her, “Dear, you must do it. You must.”

She shook her head. “No. That must be of the devil. I’m not letting my soul stare into that strange water.”

Henry put his hand on her shoulder. “I saw something when I looked in there dear. I think you need to look as well. Trust me. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I thought it was bad.” He caressed her hair, running his fingers across her pearl necklace like rosary beads. “Please dear. You know I’ve always wanted what’s best for you. I’ve always wanted to do so much for you. Give you more hope.”

“I know you have. I know, dear.”

“This water, whatever it is, I think it wants to do us good. I can't explain it. But I really think so.”

“I….I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t trust it. How long have we been together, my dear?”

“Twenty years”, she whispered, looking down.

“Twenty wonderful years.”

He lifted her chin up, her moist eyes meeting his smile.

“Trust me, my love. Please.”

Mrs. Beck took a breath, shrugged, and slowly walked over to the water. The townspeople stood a respectful distance, watching in silent anticipation. She carefully leaned forward, her reflection emerging as if lifting its head to face her. She stared. Silence. Henry tapped his pocket again as his wife gasped and turned her eyes to him. Her skin was tingling, her breathing hard.

“Really?” she asked her husband. “Really?”, a single tear formed.

He nodded his head. “Yes, yes. No more of it. No more.”

He tapped his pocket again, smiling.

She rushed up to him as best she could, embraced him and kissed him.

Everybody cheered.

The next day the fountain was dry again, but it didn’t matter. A new chapter started for the residents of Bellevue. People passing through the town (as few as there were) were told of that day, but they brushed it off as a local folk tale. The only people who never talked about it were Henry and his wife. Oh, one last thing worth mentioning, Mr. Bartleby turned out to be a fine mayor after all. He even developed the new town motto - Bellevue, The Town of the Future.