Storytime Blog Hop - July 2023 - Pipes
Good morning - or afternoon - or night, wherever you are. It’s time for more free stories from around the world… bite-sized and sometimes poignant, always surprising…
My story this month was inspired by my own brief foray into plumping - replacing the bathroom faucet - and may I just say… NEVER AGAIN. Plumbing always goes wrong for me. Even the “easy” jobs. But, I got a story out of it! Enjoy —
PIPES
Have you ever had a clogged drain come and go with no rational explanation? No plumber, no de-clogger, no drain-snake…? It might not be what you imagined.
The first time my sink drain clogged, I poured a de-clogger down and scowled when it didn’t help any. Then my baby boy wailed from the other room and by the time I had him settled and my phone in hand to call a plumber, the water ran fine. I convinced myself I’d not given it enough time and went back to parenting.
Two days later, the sink clogged again, but I hadn’t sent anything down it but toothpaste and soap, though the boy had managed to tip a whole roll of toilet paper into the toilet bowl and wasn’t that a fine mess to clean up? Between getting him down for a nap and clearing out the toilet and showering myself as I hadn’t yet, and then a bottle for him and three bites of a sandwich for me, when I returned to the sink, it had unclogged itself again. I was too grateful to look at it closely and went on with my day.
The third time—
My boy was overnighting with his grandmother and I decided it was time to clear the pipes. A small screwdriver, several curses, and two screws later, the child-locked vanity door came off. Then I removed and threw away most of what had been in the cabinet under the sink. Then I shut off the water, prepared myself with towels, and unlocked the u-bend. I twisted, curled up, set it in the tub.
Most of the water went into the towels, so that part had been successful. The top of the u-bend had a bit of muck, and the bottom some murk, but less that it should be, for a clogged pipe, and clogged it was—I couldn’t see down into it properly.
I held it with one hand and turned on my phone flashlight with the other, then shined the light down inside. Two dark, glossy eyes blinked at me.
“Eep!” I hurled the u-bend into the tub and backed away. Animal control was not going to be pleased about a ‘gator in the pipes, but I wasn’t going to risk my fingers doing their job. I kept my eyes on the tub in case the beastie tried to escape, so I saw it poke its mottled gray head up and examine me, much more calmly than I examined it.
“Not a ‘gator…” Even on the internet, I’d never heard of an iridescent black-and-gray variety.
It shook its head no, slowly and carefully as if I were a child.
“You… understand me?” Oh dear. I’d finally started seeing things that weren’t there.
Now it nodded yes, and its mouth fell open, a grin with sharp white teeth.
At least my hallucination wasn’t attacking. I set my phone down and let my eyes trace from its black tentacle-like whiskers to its tiny silver horns, down its spiked back, to its tiny black claws… it looked suspiciously like an Asian dragon—as compared to the fatter, winged English cousins—if its creator had leeched all the reds and blues and purples and greens from the painted depictions. But no self-respecting dragon would live in mypipes.
It shook its head again, somehow mournful.
“Not self-respecting? Or not a dragon?”
The creature blinked at me. One silver tear slid down its scaled cheek and disappeared into its whiskers. And now I’d made my imaginary dragon cry.
“But why are you in my pipes?” Drawn forward, I knelt at the edge of the tub, just out of clawing and biting distance. The creature didn’t seem inclined to hurt me, but better safe.
It pointed imperiously to its mouth, then flashed to the u-bend and nibbled delicately at the muck.
“You’re hungry? And you eat… that?”
Again, it nodded.
Even immured to nausea as I’d become, thanks to my son’s diapers and baby-vomit, my stomach lurched. I swallowed. Decided.
“Right. You can eat anything in the pipes—” ew, ew,ew— “and I’ll tell you when I need to use the sink. How’s that?”
The creature nodded frantically, its whiskers tickling my wrists. How did it get into my cupped hands?
Then I eyed the tub drain. “What happens if you’re fed more? Do you get longer or fatter?”
It twisted and turned, giving me the impression of immense length.
Gently, I set it into the tub and pulled up the drain-stop. If it wasn’t my imagination, it could be useful. “Enjoy.”
The pipe dragon paused long enough to bump its head against my fingers, then scurried to the drain.
And so our partnership was born. I’ve become the unofficial plumber for the building in exchange for baby-sitting services, and the creature and I have found three other pipe-dragons clogging up drains. My boy and my creature and I are learning sign language together, so perhaps we can have a real conversation in the future.