It's probably accurate to say that I have never especially cared about anything other than myself.
I discovered my abilities with water at a pretty young age. I was jumping in puddles on my way home from school one rainy day, doing what little kids do best when left to their own devices around anything that can get them dirty. I was having more fun than I had had on my birthday, making sure every last inch of me was drenched, when I saw it. Right in the middle of a busy intersection there was a dip in the road that had filled with the most gloriously inviting puddle I had ever seen. The streetlights glistening in its rain-speckled surface like fairies, begging me to join them and I could already feel the promise of a satisfying splash as large as a tidal wave swelling beneath my mackerel-patterned galoshes.
Luckily my mother had been on her way to meet me and grabbed the back of my raincoat just in time to keep me from being flattened by a semi. As for the disappointment that swept over me, well to a five-year-old it was practically the end of the world and no, the irony is not lost on me now. I was so dejected the entire walk home that I didn't splash in a single other puddle, angrily sulking and glaring at my mother's back all the while ranting in my head about the injustice of it all, that I would be so easily separated from that pinnacle of puddle-jumping, that I had been denied my Everest.
It was several blocks before I began to notice people whispering to one another and double-taking in my direction. At first I self-consciously thought that I had mud on my face, or just looked strange somehow. Perhaps it was even the pink galoshes that people found gossip-worthy. Certainly, I had been teased for them before. At last I realized that it was not me at all that was drawing all of this incredulous attention, but something behind me so I paused and turned around, fully expecting to see some sort of interesting monster, or at least an elephant trotting along home with us.
There, just hovering in the air behind me like some sort of child-size UFO, was a enormous glob of water. I will never forget the way the streetlights shone in it, catching the residual oil streaks and casting gossamer rainbows upon its surface. A drowned cricket floated in its midst, swept along for the ride alongside a few stray leaves. A straw wrapper and what appeared to be part of a ripped pamphlet for an alcoholic therapy group drifted by, adding a little color to the debris. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
"Mama." I breathed in wonder and my mother turned on her over-priced heels with a snap.
"Wha-" The annoyance died on her perfectly lined lips as she too caught sight of the glorious creature.
A ray of inspiration struck me then. "Can I keep it?"
"Keep it?" My mother choked. "What is it?"
"The puddle, silly!" She really could be quite dense sometimes.
"The puddle." She repeated faintly.
"Yeah! It wants to come home with us!"
"Is that so?"
The puddle sidled closer and gave my cheek a sloppy wet nudge and even as I giggled, in no obvious harm whatsoever, my mother snatched the back of my raincoat and dragged me away. In response, the puddle burbled angrily at her, only causing me to laugh more.
Alarmed, my mother snatched me up and backed away slowly. "Shoo." She waved one perfectly manicured hand at it. "Go away."
"But Mama it just wants to play."
"Play?" Her voice stretched thin in near hysteria.
"Yeah, so can it come home with us?"
"Absolutely not! I don't want it anywhere near you, whatever it is!"
A few passersby had paused to watch the spectacle, discretely peeking over newspapers or peering out of the corner of their eyes as they knelt to tie already secured laces.
"Ma'am, do you need some help?"
I looked up at the sound of the police officer's voice and there was a faint popping sound and a half-hearted splash like a fountain running out of water or a hose being shut off. He looked startled by my cry of dismay.
"No officer, there was just a- a stray dog following us. It's gone now."
"Did you see where it went?"
"No, I'm sorry." My mother bowed as I stared sadly at the shine of lampposts on the wet concrete. "Thank you for your concern."
As soon as the man turned away to search for the imaginary dog, my mother snatched my arm and wordlessly we returned home.