Jeffy and the Water Beads

We needed those stupid water beads. All the other moms at play group had them; they did something for sensory development. I didn’t know, nor did I really care, but I cared about my kids having them. Since, “All the children need a sensory bin at home that includes water beads, and little Rachel here told me you still have yet to get one,” Molly Macker said to me one day with a concerned face. I smiled and grinned, hoping to fit into this new town and school that was already slipping out of my grasp.

So, I went on a hunt, realizing the toy store in town didn’t carry them. Then I went to the multiple toy stores in the city nearby, but still I couldn’t find them. I started checking super stores, grocery stores, craft stores — all out of stock. Either the people around here were very serious about their water beads, or there was a supply problem. What was so amazing about little beads that when put in water became inflated gelatinous marbles?

In a last ditch effort, after a tiresome day of pulling my kids around the city, I went online. An older millennial like myself knew how to navigate the internet just fine, but buying anything online still felt wrong. But here I was on Amazon. The beads I needed came up in an instant with one day shipping. They make it that easy. So I just had to wait, and hope none of the other moms would notice us for the next couple of days. Until I got this ridiculous sensory bin set up, then we would finally blend into this place. Laughing at that thought, knowing all too well it wasn’t true. Social climbing was never that easy.

Just like the website said, a brown package sat on our doorstep the next day. I ripped it open as soon as I got it. Inspecting the beads, they were smaller than a grain of rice. Panicked, I threw them into a bowl and filled it with water, hoping they would grow big enough and I wouldn’t have to order more. Watching as they grew into the size of a pea, swallowing all the water in the bowl, overflowing onto the countertop, in only 20 minutes. I sighed with relief, knowing I had enough to finish this project. I poured the now plump beads into a clear storage bin, added some cups and small toys. A sensory bin it was. To give my kids the experience of different textures, and... whatever. I forgot what the teacher had said about it.

I set it out and let both of my kids play. It entertained them long enough, and maybe that was the whole point. Maybe this was just the other moms trying to help me out by giving me some free time. My heart softened a bit for them.

After about a half hour, my daughter came up to me with sunken eyes, asking for water. I gave her a water bottle and watched her suck down the whole thing. Then my older son came up with chapped lips and dry hands, asking for water too. He grasped at it the moment I extended my arm out, and chugged the bottle, ending with a loud breath.

Thinking maybe the activity was tiring them out, I put the lid on over the beads, which would have easily fit before they played, but now it was almost overflowing. Confused, I squished the lid on and put it away.

My kids ate dinner then wanted to play with the water beads again. After finding a bunch all over the floor after we had put them back, I told them they could take the box it into my jacuzzi bath tub and play with them there, attempting to contain some of the mess. They gleefully agreed and ran off with the box.

After hearing small giggles from the bathroom for over an hour, I went to check on them. Unshocked but also disappointed, they had dumped all the beads out into the bathtub and started filling it with water. Never seeing a water bead so large, they had plumped into the width of a golf ball. Sighing, I told them it was time for bed. After pushback, then a small victory, they jumped out, dried off, and brushed their teeth. Too tired to clean up, I left the beads in a pool of water. Thinking I would have time tomorrow.

The dog had barked in the night a couple times, but I thought nothing of it until I went into the bathroom the next morning and saw the beads had expanded to the size of a basketball — at least the ones still in the bathtub were. They had overflown through the bathroom window, which sat right next to the tub. I left it cracked open overnight and somehow it was pushed wide enough for the beads to spill out. A good reason to complain to my husband about not putting the new screen on.

When I looked outside, it had rained overnight, and the beads out there had multiplied to the diameter of a car! These jelly-like balls all stacked on top of each other, filling my back yard. What do I do? Call the police? Who takes care of this sort of thing? Before I could think much longer, one by one, they began to bounce. They sprang up and down from side to side until they were in my neighbors’ hedges and trees. Some knocked over fences and destroyed lawn furniture.

My first thought was how the neighbors were all going to hate me after this. How could I have known this would happen? And was the wind making them move? I ran inside to get my husband and tell my kids to stay in their rooms. As I went in, I heard banging on the roof and sides of the house, like constant crashes of thunder.

My husband was standing in the bedroom in shock as he stared out the smashed window, caved in by a large pink blob. The rainbow of colors sprang by the hole in the wall. I grabbed him and ran to the children’s room. They were watching with delight at the destruction by the colorful, gigantic water beads. My husband still in disbelief.

Unsure what to do, the rumbling only got louder, as it rained more, making the beads grow into SUV sized orbs. We heard a blast in the guest room, then in the kitchen. The wind howled through the gaping parts of the house. My husband grabbed mine and my son’s hand as I held our daughters. We went to the garage to wait things out. While in there, the noise got louder, until after an hour it dissipated.

We opened the garage door to see the destruction all around us. No one’s house was spared. Some people lay outside unconscious. They squashed cars with neighbors inside. Windows and doors had been obliterated. While surveying the damage that surrounded us, a man came running up to us and said, “Those sons of bitches are going to the lake.” As he pointed at the last straggler bouncing, with no skill, toward the lake two blocks away.

“What do we do?” I screamed. Scared knowing that we couldn’t drive with those things around, nor could we go back into the house. Had only I listened to my husband when he tried convincing me with charts and blueprints to build a doomsday bunker.

“We gotta go underground,” he said with certainty. We all looked at the manhole closest to us. With a crowbar from our garage, we opened up the ground, and went down the ladder one at a time. Our son first, then my husband with our daughter. As I descended, I saw our dog shivering under the awning at our neighbors’ house. Convinced that he didn’t survive, I told the man to go in as I sprinted toward our wiry small dog, huddled in fear. He leapt into my arms the moment he saw me.

As I jogged back, I heard thumping in the distance. One crash, then another, until the ground was shaking like an earthquake. I lost my balance but hung on tight to the dog. Then everything went blue. Towering over the street, a translucent cobalt water bead, with the magnitude of a building, frolics back to our neighborhood. Able to smash a house in one jump. The sound of it stings my ears; as I try to cover them, I drop my dog. The blue blob hops onto our street, only feet away from the manhole, rattling everything in its existence.

My dog runs off toward our house with his tail between his legs. The slamming of hundreds of other beads only a block away. I run back to grab the dog again, when I hear someone with a megaphone yell, “Pause!” The booming stops, and all goes silent.

As I’m hiding behind a partially smashed car, I hear the engine of a motorcycle speed up to the extra large bead that sits only yards away. The man hops off the motorcycle, dressed in a strange suit. He turns as he puts on his gloves and I see his face; it is no doubt, Jeff Bezos. Then he jumps onto the side of the ball, and climbs it, as though his feet and hands were sticky. One foot after the other, he makes his way up onto the top. With a whistle, a drone flies up to give him what looks like a space helmet. As he puts it on, I hear him shout, “Take me to Mars, beady!”

Just like that, the ground sways; the water bead looks as though it’s crouching down, laying itself as flat as it could. I see through Jeffy’s helmet a satisfied smile. With a quick jolt, the ball jumps and shoots up into the sky, cracking the ground, along with all the other beads, as they float away, getting smaller like balloons that a child had let go of at a carnival, until they disappear.