Page 32 of Error Handling

I run out the back door. The crawlspace access is a quick turn to the right. Rotting wood doors open to gaping darkness.

“Are you okay?” I holler. I can see his phone’s flashlight bouncing throughout the narrow space.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Now.”

“Get out of there. I don’t want to have to call animal control if you get trapped!”

He makes random guttural sounds resemblingugh,ack, andick. “I think I found it,” he says, finally.

I hear metallic squeaking.

“Okay. Go inside and see if the water’s off.”

“Get out of there,” I holler again, before running back inside. And that’s my mistake. Running.

I hit the kitchen at a fast clip and lose my footing on the slick vinyl. My butt splashes against the floor, followed closely by my head. A spray of lights explodes behind my eyelids.

“Ow,” is all I can manage while waiting for my sight to return. Adding insult to injury, I can still hear water gushing from the busted supply line.

“Are you okay?”Thump! Splash!

Christopher lands on his back beside me. Displaced water splatters onto my jeans and moto jacket. I’m soaked.

He groans.

“I’m fine,” I manage. “How are you?”

Christopher groans again.

I prop myself onto my elbow and look down at him. Black mud covers his pants, shirt, and face, and his backside is drenched.

“Do I need to call 911?” I ask.

He raises a dripping hand to indicate I do not. “That hurt.” He rests the back of his hand against his forehead and opens his eyes. His forehead was the only part of his face not tainted by ninety-year-old sediment, but now it’s smudged.

A laugh tickles my stomach. It travels up my throat and erupts through my lips. “You’re a mess.”

He looks at me, moving only his eyes. “It stinks down there.”

His comment sends me into hysterics. “The water is still on,” I say breathlessly between full-body laughs.

“Oops.”

I laugh harder now.

Christopher sits up and peers down at his soiled jeans. “I need a shower.”

“I have one under my sink,” I squeak.

This sends Christopher into a fit of laughter. He scoops water from the floor and dribbles it on his jeans, trying to wash them.

“Here, let me help.” I swipe my hand along the floor and send a wave toward Christopher.

He returns the favor. Water sloshes onto my already saturated jeans and splashes onto my face.

“Too late, I’m already wet!” I say.

I lie back and make water angels. Christopher leans over with his fingers like a spider and lets the water drip on my forehead.