Through the Storm Drain

Edgewood Creek swelled quickly when it rained, pooling into a swirling pond at the opening of the double culvert that fed the network of tunnels providing drainage to the sprawling sleepy suburban neighborhood of Jack London Park. During the summer it became a dry creek, its bed lined with cement-bag-shaped stones and surrounded by a heavy grove of poplars, cottonwoods, oaks and privets. 

The two culverts laid side-by-side, each three feet high. The face of the bridging walkway passing over them was painted with both vulgar graffiti and cute chalk drawings. The heavy rains during early spring had washed the bulkier debris to the mouth of the culverts, building a perimeter of tall berms that surrounded the alcove, creating a classroom-sized clubhouse. 

  The wind outside faded to a faint breeze as it whispered through into the interior, the duff of the cotton trees falling slowly, glinting as they floated through the rays of the dappled light. Small murmurs of finches jumped from branch to branch and fluttered through the alcove before venturing further through the canopy of the grove. 

A blue-bellied fence lizard emerged from underneath a thick stump, paused to lick the air. It glanced back and forth and readied itself to dash across the cement stones to warm himself in the noonday sun. A crack and snap of breaking sticks and the heavy rustle of a group pushing through the bush. The lizard hunched, twitched, and skittered away.

Matt pushed through the treeline first, almost shouting as he defended himself. “It’s not eavesdropping if they’re yelling.” He shrugged, the branch he had been pushing out of the way slipping from his hand, giving him a light slap on the side of the face as he glanced back. He barely noticed. “It’s not like I had my ear to the wall, or anything.” He threw his hands up in conclusion.

“Yeah, whatever, dude. No one cares about your sister’s boyfriend.” Mark broke through next, holding his arms out as he negotiated his footing on the lumpy creek bed. 

Kyle, Brent, and Adam poured into the opening after him, argumentative tones under their breath as they brushed themselves off. 

Our conversation died down as we coalesced into a group squaring off with the mouths of the two tunnels. We exchanged glances, clearing our throats and kicking at duffs of grass. Matt was the first to pipe up. “Whose gonna go?”

“Why don’t you go?” Kyle blurted. Probably the best comeback he could have thought of. 

Matt scoffed and threw his hand up and looked around for help. We all shrugged back at him. He sneered and turned to the tunnels. He stiffened his posture, wrung his fists, and lowered his voice. “Who’s meeting me at the grate?” 

We looked at each other, and looked away.

I raised my hand. “I’ll meet you.”

Matt gave me a nod. “At least one of you guys isn’t a chicken.” He glanced over the rest of the boys. They shrugged shamefully. Not that it took any guts to go up, streetside, and call down through the storm drain. We did it for two reasons. First; to prove you made it that far, and second; it was pretty cool. 

I aped his gesture of disappointment of the others. And turned to Matt with a super nonchalant nod. “You ready?”

He put on a tough guy face and blew a raspberry. “Let’s do it.”

He turned to face the tunnel.

I hustled into the brush and up the overgrown path.

It was a quiet sunny afternoon on Klondike Court. The older residents were working their yards, the smell of barbeque on the warm breeze. The cries and gleeful screams of children could be heard from some of the busier streets beyond. Up the block mister Thompson was mowing his lawn, his wife bent at the waist working beds of azaleas, across the street a blue moving van tucked under the shade of the elms, down the road the Kettering kids played in the front yard under a great oak. 

I stood next to the storm drain, hands in my pockets, rocking back and forth from heel to toe, whistling a toneless tune. Basically, looking as casual as I could. The coast was as clear as it was gonna get. I stood there for what felt like forever. I took a final glance around before crouching and listening at the opening of the drain. It was hard to hear over the hum of the neighborhood. I called down into the drain with a shouting whisper, “Matt?”

I listened. No response. Then the tiny echo of a rock against the cement sides of the concrete catacombs. I called again.

“Shhh…” a hiss drifted up through the leaf-littered grate.

“Matt?” I don’t know why I called again despite being hushed.

“Stop calling my name, dude.”

“Sorry.”

I knelt there for a few minutes more, listening to the bouncing reverberations of his footsteps.

“Hey.”

I crouched closer and matched his tone. “What?”

“Get down here.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, then, “Just get down here, chicken.”

I wasn’t going to just let him bully me into coming down there, but on the other hand, I wasn’t a chicken, either. “Alright, fine.” I said it at full volume.

“Shhh.” 

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. I pushed myself up and dusted off my knees before heading back down to the gully. By the time I got back to the hidden alcove the other guys had lost interest in Matt’s adventure. They were, all three, sitting side by side on one of the larger logs jutting from the eastern berm. They were comparing baseball cards, positing ridiculous trades that had no chance of any serious consideration. 

Kyle looked up and gave me a nod before shooting a glance to the tunnel Matt had gone into. “What’s he doing down there?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He told me to go meet him.”

The other two regarded me, impressed and suspicious.

“You’re going in there?” Kyle asked. 

In our group I was widely considered the least daring. I gave him a casual wave as I jumped from stone to stone. I paused only for a moment at the mouth of the tunnel. It took all my willpower not to look back at them before plunging into the gloomy shaft.

I dragged my hands along the side, stepping awkwardly high to either side of the small trickle that ran through, as I made my way deeper into the abyss. I saw the blink of Matt’s flashlight ahead. He had walked halfway back to meet me. “What’s up?” My voice bounced around.

“Shhh.”

I rolled my eyes in the dark and pushed forward toward him. A few more steps and I was able to make out the faintest lines of his silhouette, a few more and I was right behind him. I whispered this time. “What’s up, man?”

He whispered back at me over his shoulder. “Come on.” 

I couldn’t see him wave me forward but I’m sure he did.

We stepped along in silence, the reverberations of our scuffing feet trailing ahead. We came to the light of the first storm drain and I was able to see him clearly for the first time. We paused there and he turned to me and hunched as if hiding. “Let’s go up to the second one.” He pointed further into the tunnel. I squinted as I peered ahead into the gloom. I wasn’t able to make out the light of the next storm drain, but I knew it was there. 

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, chicken.” he started making his way without waiting for me, then paused and whispered back to me. “And be quiet.”

I sighed and followed. Even though the next storm drain was only twenty feet, or so, further, it felt like a mile. We made it and wordlessly stood next to each other under the grate of the drain. 

“What are—”

He put a hand on my shoulder and a finger to his lips. He tapped his ear and pointed up. I nodded that I understood. We both hunched next to each other listening.

At first I couldn’t hear anything but the faint hum of the neighborhood, a mower in the distance, the muffled whooshing of cars passing intermittently. As I strained to listen the voices became clearer. Both gravely and deep both speaking in, not whispers but hushed tones.

“Is she gone?”

“She’s leaving now.”

“Took you long enough.”

“She’s a long winded old bag, I’ll tell you that.”

“What about the little yapper?”

“I slipped it a little something.”

“Good.”

They were silent for a few moments. Matt and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could Matt held a finger to his lips again and slowly shook his head. I nodded. He was, of course, right. We hunched there, frozen, waiting, like subterranean gargoyles. Time passed slowly, after a while I figured they must have moved on. Just as I was about to give Matt a tap to go 

“There she goes.”

The distant rattle of an engine.

“It’s about time,” the deeper and even more gravelly voice said. “Get your tools.”

“Alright. Pull around back and I’ll let you in.”

A car door opened. Tools clattered. The door closed and an engine that sounded like it was right on top of us started with a growl and the screeching peel of a worn belt. It idled for only a moment before rumbling into the distance. Matt and I locked eyes in the dim light. Even though I was sure they had moved on I still didn’t want to break the silence. Matt did it for me. He gave me a slap on the shoulder as he squeezed by me, leading the way. “Let’s get out of here.”

The trip back always felt way quicker than heading in. Almost too quick for how far it had originally felt, so much so, that it made you feel silly for getting scared in the first place. We pushed our way out of the tunnel into the bright noonday sun shining into the grove. We both blinked and squinted and guarded our eyes, before trodding over the grossly oversized concrete cobbles of the creekbed. 

Only once we joined the other fellas did I notice that Kyle was gone.

“Where did Kyle go?” I glanced around the alcove, searching for him.

“What do you mean?”Brent asked.

“Yeah, he went up to meet you guys at the grate.” Adam pointed toward the street.

They had moved on to cards and returned their attention to their game of go fish.

“Do you have any…” Brent scratched his head and jutted his chin. “...twos?”

“Go fish, sucker.”

Matt stepped in and interrupted their game. “Guys, I think old lady Miller, across the street, is getting robbed.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Brent ignored him as he drew cards from the precariously balanced deck, his tongue jutting from the corner of his mouth in concentration. 

“We heard some guys talking about it when we were in the tunnel.” Matt turned and slapped me on the shoulder. “Right?” He pointed at the other fellas. “Tell them.”

I nodded vigorously. “Yeah. We heard some guys.”

“So. What did they say?”

I shrugged. “It sounded like they were waiting for her to leave.”

“That’s no surprise.” Adam considered his hand. “I bet everyone waits for old lady Miller to leave.”

“Huh?” Brent finished organizing his ballooning hand. He looked up and back and forth between us. 

“Guys,” Matt seemed to be trying to restrain himself from shouting. “We have to tell someone.”

Brent wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

“You did. You told me.” Adam returned his attention to his hand. “Do you have any…”

“We have to tell an adult,” Matt all but shouted.

“What?” Brent asked, still apparently confused as to what we were even talking about.

I heard someone trudging through the bush toward us.

Matt was objectively shouting now. “Old lady Miller’s getting robbed. We have to tell our parents.”

Kyle came through the treeline. “Tell them what?”

“There you are. Where were you?” I asked, a tone of concerned interrogation.

“I was up at the grate.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder as he took loping steps across the stones toward us. “Did you guys even go down there?”

“We were down at the second one.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows, a look of impressed surprise. “I didn’t want to go over there.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“There were some worker guys standing around over there.”

“That’s them,” Matt exclaimed.

“That’s who?” Kyle.

“The guys who are robbing old lady Miller.” Matt said it slowly, clearly frustrated. He turned to me and grabbed me by the elbow. “Your house is the closest. We have to tell your mom.”

I looked at him like he’d gone crazy, and frankly, it kind of seemed like he had. “What are you, crazy?” I pulled my elbow from his grip. “My mom will kill me.”

“We won’t say we were in the tunnel or anything we’ll just say…” He held a finger to his chin and looked off as he crafted the lie. “We’ll just say we heard them on the street.”

“From across the street? That’s impossible.”

Matt threw his hands out. “What, are we just supposed to do nothing?”

I rubbed my neck and switched back and forth between nodding and shaking my head. “No. I guess not.”

Kyle interjected. “You think those guys were robbers?”

“No,” Matt corrected him. “They are robbers, and they’re robbing right now.” He turned to me and took a stumbly step toward the trail, waving for me to follow. “Come on.”

I sighed and followed, slowly. “Why don’t we tell your mom.”

“My house is like ten minutes away. Besides, I don’t think she’s home, anyways.”

We pushed into the trees and up the path, Kyle trailing after us. “They did look pretty scary.”

We stood in the kitchen side-by-side, hands clasped together contritely, heads hung, as my mother berated me.

“You are so grounded, mister.'' She turned from the sink, whipped the dish towel over her shoulder and put her hand on her hip.

I turned a bleary eyed plea up to her. “But, mom. They really were robbers.”

“Not another word.” She pointed the finger of finality at me.

I turned my eyes to the floor.

“You two go home. I’ll be calling your mothers tonight.”

They groaned.

I peeked up, watching her settle a stern gaze on my friends.

“Yes, ma’am,” they echoed each other, and left, wordlessly shuffling out of the kitchen. 

My mother watched them go. I was looking at the floor again but I could feel her exasperated gaze settle on me like a laser beam. She let me squirm for a minute. “As for you, young man. Up to your room.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes as I turned to go.

She called after me. “And when I come up there your room better be spotless and all your homework better be done.”

“My homework’s already done,” I whined as I lied.

“Mike, I swear to god,” she snapped impatiently. 

“Alright, sorry” I hightailed it out of there before I got in more trouble. Besides, I was pretty far behind on my homework. 

That night at dinner I poked at my green beans, slouching and resting my chin on the heel of my hand.

“Mike, elbows off the table,” my mom scolded, casually. 

“Sorry,” I moped. 

My dad narrowed a stern gaze over the wire rims of his spectacles.

I fixed my posture and stabbed a bean onto my fork.

My father nodded, satisfied, and turned his attention to my mother. “I heard some pretty troubling news today.”

“Oh?” My mother asked. “Do tell, darling.” She popped a forkful of loaf into her mouth and chewed as she listened attentively.

“As I was coming home I noticed both sheriff’s cars parked in front of Mrs. Miller house, down the drive. You remember Mrs. Miller, the old widow from church.”

My mother nodded slowly as she listened, placing her fork on her plate with a tink. “Yes. Gladys.” 

“Well, I saw George Winslow standing out front, so I pulled over and asked him what was going on.”

My mother put her hands in her lap and turned her attention to me as my father continued.

“He said the poor old lady had been robbed. I said that there must be some sort of misunderstanding. Things like that just don’t happen in our neighborhood. He said there’s no misunderstanding about it. The old lady came home and found her place cleaned out. Can you believe it?” He stabbed a chunk of loaf onto his fork. “What’s the world coming to?” He popped the it into his mouth and returned his attention to his neatly folded newspaper.

I looked up to find my mother staring at me. She wasn’t wearing an apologetic expression, not exactly, but something in the lines of her forehead told me that I was in at least a little bit less trouble. A stern, thin lipped smile pulled across her face. “Michael?”

I raised my chin obediently.

“Do you have something you would like to tell your father?”

I nodded.

“Oh?” He turned his head, his eyes still scanning the sports. “Not getting into trouble again, are we?” He settled a patient eye on me and leaned back in his seat.

I glanced nervously at mom.

She returned a coaxing nod.