Alex Herrera, “Untitled”
I was eleven the first time I heard about the Waterman. According to the locals, he’s a humanoid creature, covered head to toe with scales all across his lanky body. People say they hear screaming late at night near the old water tower at the edge of town, and by morning, the ground around it is littered with torn scraps of paper. Some of the things that people say they see on the papers include cryptic drawings of lizard men, eerie poems scrawled in shaky handwriting, and crude drawings of the tower itself. Honestly, it was the perfect kind of story for a Texas summer in 1998, where every kid’s skin was kissed by sweat and glazed with mischief. Now, I’m back beneath those same faded letters that say “Welcome to Alpine, Texas!”, painted on blue metal that groans when the wind decides to be mean. It’s strange knowing that people still talk about the damn thing.
Jamie, Roman, Sophia, and Milo. People said we were inseparable. No matter what life threw at us, we stuck together, no matter the distance, no matter the shift. We were the ones that climbed that old water tower; every Friday at dusk we’d howl like wolves from the top while I tore pages from my notebook and let the wind carry them, almost like little paper offerings. Sophia would shoot me that strange, warm look; it was one I had always hoped was just for me. Roman usually rolled his eyes every time I ripped another page, but Milo loved it. The bastard still feeds into the legend, even now. He still wears that beat up Mothman shirt with his cracked leather jacket and (sometimes) even his black cape with “Believe Everything” scrawled across in red paint like dried blood. We used to wonder if he just wore the cape as a joke, but deep down, I never really thought that Milo was pretending. I was just amused back then; I’d sketch those lizard people in my notebook after watching those late-night shows that flickered through the static of my bedroom TV. Adults never really got the legend, they didn’t understand the inner lives of kids who were raised outdoors, their faces covered in dust and their tone always with a sense of curiosity. They just turned our imagination into something scary, but we loved it. We loved the outdoors. We loved trouble. Most of all, we loved making up stories, especially the wild, creepy, and unbelievable stories. People believed them. Now, I’m sitting at the base of the tower again, and the same old tightness starts to curl in my gut. This year feels different.
Roman had been missing for a couple of days when I got back from my summer long road trip across the U. S. No one knew exactly where or how he went. Sophia figured he just moved on. He’d gotten into some pretty prestigious university in Boston, and maybe he had just decided to leave everything behind, which also included us. Milo, of course, had other theories. He claimed that Roman vanished into the Gulf of Mexico one night and just never came back. I didn’t know what to believe. Maybe he left, or maybe he just forgot to say goodbye, but that didn’t sit right with me. We were too close; all of us were. Him just disappearing without a word or even a trace of him made the hairs on my wrist stand up. I could tell that our bond as friends was slowly fracturing, especially with Roman’s absence adding fuel to a burning house. Sophia grew quieter than usual after Roman missed our monthly hangout. Milo tried to stay upbeat about it, but still, he couldn’t cut the tension in the air that night. I wanted to shut down, to curl into my room and do nothing but sleep until college started so I would be able to forget everything. I missed Roman. I think we all missed him in our own ways, but deep down, I missed him the most. Now I look up at the tower. Its rusted frame stares straight to the sky like it’s still trying to touch something it could never possibly reach. I wonder if it always looked this tall, or if I’ve just gotten smaller. Somewhere off to the side, I hear laughter, and I turn my head to see two middle schoolers crouched near a tree, holding a piece of paper. It’s one of my notebook pages, still dirty from the wet soil. I never really did keep track of how many I tore out.
The only reason I was here again, sitting at the foot of the tower, was because of Milo. He had called yesterday and proposed an idea: do one last “ritual” before we all head off for college. I was hesitant at first. To me, it felt like a desperate attempt to recapture something that we had already lost. Still, when Sophia said she’d come, I eventually caved. I hadn’t seen either of them all summer. That was reason enough to show up. I’m sitting on the cool concrete base that holds the tower in its permanent stance, and I’m writing a note I never intend to drop. It’s supposed to be about something I want to forget, something I want to leave behind, but I don’t know what that something is, yet. By the time Milo and Sophia arrive, I’ve almost finished writing. I quickly tuck the note into my backpack and run to meet them. I hug Sophia first. She smiles softly, and her head tilts in that familiar way. Then, Milo comes barreling into me, and I squeeze him in return until he groans and pushes me off.
“I missed you guys,” I say.
“Aww, I missed you too, bro!” Milo says, grinning. “That road trip was a lot, huh? You came here looking like you just got out of prison or something.”
I laugh and clear my throat, already feeling the allergies kicking in. “Yeah, the road trip really was a lot. I haven’t seen you guys in forever, especially Sophia.” Milo rolls his eyes, while Sophia laughs lightly, and there it is, that strange same warmth in her eyes.
“We all missed you, Jamie. I missed you a lot, though.” Her words knock the breath out of me. Maybe it’s the heat. I’d been waiting here for thirty minutes at this point. Milo jumps in, as always.
“Yo, Jamie, while you were gone, I swear, I walked past the tower one night and it felt like something was watching me.” I give him a sideways look. “Come on, Milo, you’re just trying to freak us out at this point. I’m sweaty, I don’t got time for this.” He shrugs. “I’m serious, man. Sometimes I think…what if the Waterman was real?”
As we approach the ladder, I glance up at the tower, and everything feels still. The dusk sky hangs frozen over the horizon, like time decided to pause just for us. Maybe time is folding it on itself, past and present bleeding together. It feels too quiet. This time of year, you can usually hear the constant buzz of cicadas roaring, but now there’s nothing. All I hear is the soft sound of leaves deliberately crunching under my dirty boots. I grip the ladder. The rusted metal is too warm. It’s not like it had been baking in the sun, but like someone else touched it moments ago. Maybe some neighborhood kids climbed it earlier, but I can’t shake the feeling that the warmth doesn’t belong to them. I start climbing. With each step, the town below looks a little more distant, a little less like how I remember. It’s like I’m rising above reality and into some strange alien version of Alpine, one I both recognize and don’t. Flashes of memories return to my head. I hear our laughter, our howling, my sketches of the Waterman drifting in the wind. I can see that lizard’s face in my mind now, clearer than ever. If you handed me a pencil right now, I could draw him from memory without a second thought. Roman’s obviously not here, but to me, it feels like he is. I can sense him in the air now, in the warmth of the metal, in the strange pull that keeps my feet climbing higher and higher. I swear I hear his laugh; sharp, confident, familiar. I glance up. A shadow lingers at the top of the tower. I don’t even know if Milo and Sophia are still behind me at this point. I’m too lost in the feeling that Roman is somehow here.
When I finally reach the top, I glance back and see that Milo and Sophia are indeed behind me. There’s something in their eyes, a mix of concern and confusion that sends a chill through my spine. Did they see the way I zoned out? Did they see the way I climbed like I was chasing something? Before I can say anything, Milo brushes past and heads straight to the edge of the tower. The safety railing hums faintly as he leans into it. Sophia and I follow. We all stare out at the sunset, its dim and ghostly light slowly sinking like it was being pulled by an invisible hand.
“We finally made it,” Milo says, smiling faintly. “Isn’t it beautiful being back up here?” I laugh, awkwardly. It’s the kind of laugh you give when you’re trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat. This place, our old hideout, is not just a memory anymore. It’s here, and we’re all saying goodbye. Milo turns around. I see that his face is pale, almost like he’s been holding something in for too long.
“I’m moving,” he says. “After summer. I enlisted in the military.” His voice cracks. “I should’ve told you earlier, before summer even started. Maybe we could’ve done more together. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
“It’s okay,” Sophia interrupts. I look at her. Her eyes are glassy with tears, but her voice manages to remain steady. “Let’s just enjoy this moment, please. It’s all we have right now.”
Milo nods, swallowing hard. He pulls out a note from his backpack, probably one of his own, and hides behind it a second like it was his face armor. Sophia and I step up beside him on the railing, and all three of us link hands. Milo clears his throat, while Sophia breathes in. Then, together, they let out loud, ridiculous, joyful screams. It sounds like gibberish, absolute nonsense, but my eyes well up knowing that the spirit that brought us here was alive. I open my mouth to join them, but nothing comes out, not even a whisper. All I can do now is hold Sophia’s hand, feel the warmth from her palms, and listen for the amazing sound of the Waterman in the wind.
We climb down slowly, the three of us silent, as if speaking might break the spell the tower had cast on us at that moment. The metal creaks under our weight, and for a second, I imagine it groaning in protest, like it maybe doesn’t want us to leave yet. When my feet hit the ground, the warmth from Sophia’s hand still lingers. I turn to see her, and she steps in close, wrapping her arms around me.
“I’m really glad we did this, Jamie,” she says. Her voice is quiet, almost swallowed by the incoming cold. She kisses my cheek. It feels soft on my skin. I get that all too familiar feeling in my stomach.
Then Milo’s arms are around me too, hugging me tight in the way that he always does, like he’s trying to hold on to his horse at a carnival ride. I watch them disappear in the trees, their silhouettes shrinking into the black leaves. I don’t call out for them, or move to make sure they get home safe, I just stand there. That’s when I see it. A piece of paper, fluttering in the wind a few feet away from me. It’s half buried in the now wet soil beneath the tower. I walk over and pick it up, and my breath suddenly begins to catch. It’s my note; the one I never meant to drop. The words look smudged now, a few letters are blurred by moisture, but I remember exactly what I was trying to write: something to forget. Now that I hold it, I realize. I never wanted to forget any of this. Not the tower. Not Roman. Not Milo and his ridiculous cape. Not the warm feeling that Sophia gave me every time she looked into my eyes. I look up at the tower one last time. In the fading light of the evening, it seems taller than ever, almost impossibly tall. And maybe for just a second, I swear I see someone at the top, waving.