I am the mother in the stands dressed in the school colors who has been screaming her three sons' names at shrill, glass-shattering pitch, so loud at times that two years ago some of the junior varsity wrestlers took to imitating my cheers. I order all the photos of my boys on Kodak.com placed on the shared albums by fathers diligently capturing the moves of each teammate. I have dozens of framed snapshots of the boys in my office. I am one of those moms you might hate. I am Michele Weldon. I am a Wrestling Mom.
As I stood on the second stair where the water began, I could see that this glistening, moving darkness was not in this corner or that, but everywhere. Deep and foul-smelling, the water moved silently until a plastic trash can tipped over or something else on a low surface upended and fell with a splash. It was still raining hard outside, but there was nothing to do until morning. Without power, it was useless to start cleaning it all up.
