(A short story.)
The Pothole family was so excited now that spring had finally arrived.
“No more hiding,” grumbled Mr. Pothole as he stretched and struggled to survey his surroundings since the snow had melted.
“I know, Dear,” Mrs. Pothole sighed enjoining her creased, craggy and gravel crusted body with that of her husband. “It has been a long winter, I agree. They even tried to kill us once putting that temporary tar all over the entrance. Thank G-d it rained and hailed the next day. So much run off. So much mud. We were able to spit and wash away within 48 hours that ridiculous murderous attempt on our right to exist. And look what we gave them in return, Honey.”
Mr. and Mrs. Pothole looked out over the side road that led to a yoga studio, a bank, not to mention a small parking lot. They rejoiced. As if overnight, several smaller Potholes had sprung up, or in this case, sprung down. Their little family made this entry way from the main road almost impassable. It would be a feat of outstanding maneuvering for a car to manipulate the turn from the main road through the Pothole family and into the public parking lot without breaking an axle.
“Yippee,” shouted Mr. and Mrs. Pothole, “we have done our job.” All the little Potholes were happy, too. They knew that they would be able to slow those cars down right as they turned off the main road and this would back traffic up to a fare thee well on the main road. They were sure of that. And that was their job – to slow everyone down so when they got to Mom and Pop Pothole, the right car would just fall right in – clunk – and something would break. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Just then Tiny Pothole started to scratch, skidding rocks all over the little bit of asphalt that was intact and into the holes of some of his Pothole siblings. “Listen you Potheads,” Tiny Pothole admonished. “Don’t you airholes understand that if we get too good at our job, someone might get hurt and then they might rip us up and fill us in for real!”
For a moment, all got quiet at the entrance. Not a car moved in or out. Not a person crossed the street. Even the air was still. But then, suddenly, a faint eddy of swirling dust and rocks began picking up speed and debris as it moved to the sound the Potholes crackling and cackling.
“Ha Ha Ha, that’ll never happen,” laughed all the siblings, and Mr. and Mrs. Pothole chortling and guffawing, had to agree. The people responsible for the entrance road didn’t care if traffic backed up on the main road. They didn’t care if businesses lost customers because people couldn’t get onto the side road. They didn’t care if people had expensive car repairs. They didn’t care if someone got hurt. Mom and Pop Pothole knew their family would be safe at least for now, at least until someone sued.
05/14/25
Addendum:
Ironically after writing this piece for Lovers of Words, I drove by the side entrance only to find Ma and Pa Pothole had just that day been filled in! Of course, many of the Pothole children survived this paltry attempt to subdue such an adversary as the Potholes. Rain is forecast for week or so, the farmers market is in full-swing, and Memorial Day is on the horizon. I predict Ma and Pa Pothole will rise, or lower, so to speak, again. Until then…
Feldman lives in Moretown
