My father and I would go hunting for water puddles after a storm. He used to tell me that the reflections were Helens and her dads in other realities looking in on us. I’d make him take me to every last one to say hello.
It rained at his funeral. I spent it chasing puddles. So many dadless Helens. I told every last one that I was sorry for her loss. To this day I chase puddles. And sometimes, I’ll see him, for just a blip of a moment. And both me and the Helen will smile, knowing we’re not alone.