Pond – Teddy Burnette

June 8, 2025

He was examining the pond when his girlfriend came into the room. Her hand on his shoulder and then a question, of what he was so preoccupied with, why he sat in his desk chair with his arms crossed, chin on his hands, and was staring at a desk empty besides a small lamp.

The pond, he said. I’m looking at the pond. 

The pond? She asked. 

Yes, the pond, the cone of light here on the desk. It’s the pond. That’s its name, he said. 

Her hand left his shoulder, his chin remained on his hands. He could feel her body standing quietly and still behind him. He turned to her. 

You don’t get it, he said. 

No, I don’t. 

Something else then? He asked. 

What do you mean, something else? 

Anything else, right? If you don’t get the pond, why I’m here with it, we might as well talk about something else, until you do, he said. 

Ok, she said. 

Did you know ants will sometimes bring garnets up to the surface? They’ll get in their way when they’re digging tunnels. 

What? 

Nothing. It’s just something I learned. I’ve been thinking about it while I stare at the pond. Ideas, thoughts, they sort of come and go when I’m here with it. 

It being the pond? She asked. 

Yeah, of course the pond. What else? 

Okay. 

Have you read anything recently you think might be important in like, five hundred years? He asked. Something timeless. I was reading a book by this guy, Solstad, where he said Ibsen probably wasn’t even in that category, you know? More of a reputation thing, that’s why his plays still get performed. So we can say we’ve seen them. That’s his idea, not mine. 

What? 

Like, umm. Not, you know, Normal People or whatever. Which is good, but yeah, not that. I mean, it’d have to have solid critical, commercial, acclaim right now I think, and then also be already heralded as a kind of, what would you call it? A classic. A modern classic, he said. 

I don’t think I’ve read anything that would be relevant to that, she said. 

Yeah, me neither, he said. A book about ants digging up garnets, that might be something. Moving this stone that others have assigned this arbitrary value to out of the way, so they can complete this much more important task. The digging of the tunnel. That’s something. 

Something for what? That’s not a book already. 

It’s just something, you know? I could see it. 

Okay. 

I’m going to go back to the pond now, he said. 

Can I stay a while longer and look? She asked. 

Yeah. That’d be okay. I find ideas kind of spring to the surface if I stay here long enough. That doesn’t always happen the rest of the day. It’s a diversion, I guess, from all the other things I look at. Assorted screens and…yeah, he said. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, softly and with care, and he felt a bit of calm and peace and thought that was good.