Puddle Reflections

Maria’s heels clicked a tired rhythm against the wet pavement, a sound swallowed by the steady pour of the night rain. Her umbrella, a cheap thing from the corner store, fought a losing battle against the wind, droplets still finding their way to her shoulders, cold against the thin cotton of her uniform. Another double shift, another greasy grill cleaned, another stack of diner plates scraped. Her back ached. Her feet felt like lead. The city hummed around her, a constant, grimy lullaby, punctuated by the splutter of old taxis and the distant wail of a siren.

Neon signs bled into the puddles, fractured reflections of red, blue, and sickly green. The liquor store’s 'OPEN' sign shimmered like a wound. The pawn shop’s 'CASH FOR GOLD' sign pulsed, a promise and a threat. She stepped around a particularly deep puddle, saw her own distorted face staring back, weary, the lines around her eyes etched deeper by the harsh glow. She was thirty-seven, felt sixty. The smell of fried onions and stale coffee still clung to her hair.

Her mind drifted to Leo. Fifteen. A sullen quiet had settled over him lately, a thick fog she couldn't pierce. He wasn't bad, not really. Just… gone. Into his phone, into his headphones, into some world she wasn't invited to. She knew what it was, or thought she did. The cramped apartment, the late nights, the constant worry seeping into every crack in their lives. He felt it. She saw it in the way he chewed on his lip, the way he avoided her gaze when she asked about school, about friends.

She turned down their street, the neon less aggressive here, replaced by the yellowed glow of streetlights. Her building, a five-story brick monstrosity with peeling paint, loomed ahead. Then she saw him. Hunched on the stoop, right outside their door, not under the overhang. Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. Head down, earbuds in. No backpack. Just him, a crumpled shape in the dim light.

A sharp, cold knot twisted in her gut. He said he was at Mike's. He said he'd be in by eleven. It was past midnight. She closed her umbrella with a snap, the noise loud in the relative quiet. He didn't stir. She walked closer, her wet shoes squeaking. "Leo?"

He jumped, a jerky, startled movement, pulling one earbud out. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, flickered up to hers, then down to his lap. "Ma. Didn't hear you."

"I can see that." Her voice came out sharper than she intended, an edge of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated fear. "What are you doing out here? It's pouring. It's past midnight. Where's your backpack?"

He shrugged, a small, tight movement. "Just… chillin'. Thought I'd wait for you." The lie hung in the air, thick and damp. He never waited for her. Not like this. Not out in the rain.

"Waiting for me? Leo, don't lie to me. Where were you?" She crouched down, her knees protesting. Her gaze swept over him, looking for any sign, any trouble. He looked pale, almost translucent in the dim light.

He finally looked at her, his eyes dark with something she couldn't quite decipher – defiance? shame? just plain tired? "Nowhere. Just walked around a bit." He kicked at a small puddle forming near his worn sneakers, sending up a miniature splash. The blue neon from the bar down the street painted fleeting stripes across his face.

"Walked around? For three hours? In this? Leo, we talked about this. You can't just disappear. I worry, you know? My heart stops every time you're not where you say you're gonna be. What am I supposed to do? I work my ass off just to keep a roof over our heads, and you… you pull this." Her voice cracked on the last word, a raw, ugly sound she hadn't meant for him to hear. She hated that sound. It made her feel weak.

He flinched, pulling his knees closer to his chest. The defiance in his eyes softened, replaced by a flicker of something close to pain. "I just… I didn't want to be in the apartment alone anymore. It feels… quiet. Too quiet." He looked at the puddle, at the distorted blue and red reflections, as if seeing an answer there.

Maria looked too, at the swirling colors, at the cracked concrete beneath. It was quiet. Too quiet. She was so often gone, working. He was often alone. The thought settled heavily in her chest, a colder, deeper ache than her back or her feet. She hadn't seen it, not really. Not the way he felt it. She’d been so wrapped up in the doing, she’d forgotten about the being. She reached out, her hand hovering, then gently, tentatively, rested on his wet hair. It felt soft, cool. "Alright," she murmured, her voice rough. "Alright, mijo. Come on. Let's get you inside. You're soaked."

He didn't pull away. Didn't say anything, just let her hand stay there for a moment longer. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up, his shoulders still hunched, but his eyes meeting hers, a silent, fragile truce passing between them as they turned towards the dark maw of their building. The city's broken lights shimmered behind them, reflecting in every ripple of water, a million fractured promises.