Cannonball! by Lisa Lahey

Cannonball! by Lisa Lahey

“The thing is, if they don’t want people using the swimming pool in their store, then why have one?” Mrs. Lowman insisted to the police at the Codfish Sporting Goods Store on Red River Road in Birmingham, Alabama. As always, she defended her husband’s actions in a feeble attempt to make them seem harmless and to restore her own dignity as best she could. Truthfully, his shenanigans bothered her in the extreme.

Long ago, she had abandoned her cribbage games with friends, stopped volunteering at the library, and, being the target of malicious gossip, left the house only when necessary. When she did, she was acutely aware of people’s whispers, giggles and stares. Although this annoyed her, she couldn’t blame their rudeness. She was certain if she had a neighbour whose husband behaved in such a deranged manner, she too would find it very peculiar.

Mrs. Lowman continued speaking to the policemen. “It’s the store’s fault, if you ask me. Much more than my husband’s. He was misled. They should have posted a ‘No Swimming’ sign like they do at shark-infested ponds and creeks, so people don’t get eaten. For all we know, the store could have had piranhas in the pool. Then who are the criminals?”

Mrs. Lowman referred to the spectacular event involving her husband that morning inside the Codfish Sporting Goods Store. He had stripped nude, and, with a resounding yell of “Cannonball!” leaped into the giant pool for all the customers to see.

Mrs. Lowman was mistaken about two things. First, the store hadn’t installed a pool to entice customers for a swim. It was part of its lovely décor. Second, it wasn’t a pool. It was a large aquarium that stood without fish for the moment as it was being cleaned. Where the fish had been placed and whether they were still alive, no one knew, but today it seemed irrelevant.

That morning, Mrs. Lowman had suspected something was slightly amiss as she sipped her tea during breakfast. It was February and rather chilly outside, yet Mr. Lowman appeared at the table in a pair of trunks wearing a snorkel and fins. His heavy, hairy belly fell over his shorts as he adjusted the tight waistband to allow for more comfort. Mrs. Lowman cocked an eyebrow at her husband.

“Phillip, are you off on another one of your adventures?”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head!” he replied cheerfully which instantly worried Mrs. Lowman’s pretty, little head. Whenever her husband was out to make mischief that was his usual response. Sighing, she cleared the dishes from the kitchen table.

“Phillip, I am not bailing you out of jail this time. You’re on your own. I should have listened to my mother when she said not to marry you. She never did like you. She always preferred Lawrence Rand, but no, I refused to listen. Did you know he owns his own pharmacy now? He and his wife vacation in Rio every January. They don’t even use Air Miles to cut costs, that’s how much money Lawrence makes.”

Mr. Lowman stood up and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Won’t be long, dearest,” he replied.

“That depends on when the police let you out,” Mrs. Lowman snapped. “You’ll have to dig a tunnel and escape this time. I’m not coming for you.”

After Mr. Lowman’s almighty cannonball into the Codfish Sporting Goods Store aquarium, Mrs. Petri, the store manager, sent two security guards to remove the rotund Mr. Lowman from the aquarium. However, it was impossible to nab him without leaping into the pool. One of the men retrieved a fishing rod and threw the line and hook over the glass, hoping it would entangle itself into Mr. Lowman. Being a kind man, he hoped he wouldn’t hook Mr. Lowman anywhere below the waist. Mr. Lowman, however, was far too slippery to be caught.

When the police arrived, Mr. Lowman flattened his flabby, 200-pound body against the glass, legs splayed as he hooted and catcalled the customers. He needn’t have done so. He had gained their attention from the moment he bellowed “Cannonball!” and leaped into the water. Mr. Lowman turned somersaults, displaying his broad, pale behind with pride, and pressed his behind against the glass, parting his cheeks with his fingers.

An elderly woman in aisle six fainted and hit her head on the linoleum floor. After regaining consciousness, she would sue the store for her injuries. Teenage boys stood about filming Mr. Lowman with their iPhones and laughing hysterically. Three feminists with rainbow-coloured hair and nose piercings insisted he was a “woke” member of society but didn’t explain why. Mothers grabbed their children’s hands and ushered them out the door, although two of the women did so quite slowly.

“Out of the pool! Out of the freaking pool!” A red-faced policeman ordered Mr. Lowman. He too made the mistake of assuming the aquarium was a swimming pool.

Unbothered, Mr. Lowman continued doing laps in the aquarium, pressing his rippled belly against the glass and spitting water at the policemen. It was at that moment that Mrs. Lowman rushed into the store. Despite her earlier warnings that she wouldn’t rescue Mr. Lowman from his new adventure, she couldn’t abandon him whenever she suspected police would be involved, and she knew that would be the case. She was oblivious that her role as enabler encouraged Mr. Lowman to continue with his outrageous public behaviour.

A policeman turned to Mrs. Lowman and pleaded for her help. Thinking on her feet, Mrs. Lowman yelled, “Get out of there or no sex for you for a month! And no porn either. I know the password on your computer, and I’ve seen your entire history. When did you start liking broad-assed Latinas? I thought it was breastfeeding milfs!”

“I know you know it! I can trace your clumsy hacking. You’re an amateur! I’m changing it again!” Mr. Lowman crawled out of the water and climbed atop the backdrop. His dingleberries jiggled conspicuously for a moment then, with a whoop, he leaped back into the water. Mr. Lowman landed in a massive belly flop, splashing gushes of water over the sides of the tank and soaking the police officers.

“I mean it, Phillip! No sex for a month! And no Taco Bell. If you don’t get out now, I’m putting you on a diet.”

Mr. Lowman scrambled over the glass and fell with a wet splat onto the floor at the police officers’ feet.

“For God’s sake get the man his clothes!” One of the police officers yelled. Under his breath he muttered, ‘I’m taking early retirement.’”

A teenaged boy named Noah bellowed at Mr. Lowman, “Must be cold in there, eh? Not much to brag about.”

Mrs. Lowman hastened to explain Mr. Lowman‘s miniscule manhood to the police, although they wished she wouldn’t. “Thing is, he has other qualities that I find make up for his lack of endowment. He’s funny. Sometimes.”

“It’s bigger when it’s hard,” Mr. Lowman insisted.

“Sure, it is,” Noah replied, unconvinced.

“You little bastard! Wait until you’re 40 and have high cholesterol!” Mr. Lowman replied, as police led him away.

“I should have married Lawrence Rand,” Mrs. Lowman sighed as she left the store. She would have to disconnect the land line they had at home, knowing reporters would be calling the Loman residence for two days.

The following week, Mrs. Lowman opened an envelope from the Codfish Sporting Goods Store on Red River Road. It listed the prices for the cleaning and inspection services that were done after Mr. Lowman’s remarkable disturbance inside their aquarium.

“Phillip! This one is for $1,980! That’s twice as much as last time!” She yelled upstairs to her husband.

Mr. Lowman stepped heavily downstairs and into the kitchen. He stood in front of his wife dressed in a green Leprechaun suit, a leopard spotted tutu and wall-climbing boots.

“Dear God, Phillip! Are you off on one of your adventures again?”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head my dear,” he said cheerfully and left the house.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Lisa Lahey 2024