Why did you have to end it like that? You already know he’s worried because of the storm. Why did you have to make things worse by bringing up your other fears?
At least it hadn’t seemed to phase him that much. That was one of my favorite things about Kyle, and one of the reasons why I knew we were such a good match. He was the perfect foil to my high-strung self. Like a horse whisperer, he always knew just what to say to calm me and bring me back down to earth.
I check my phone on my way through the living room to ensure my message to Kyle went through before continuing to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. Once my mouth is stingingly clean, I return to the couch. Though my bed is infinitely more comfortable, some sensible voice is telling me it will be safer out here where I’m closer to the front door in case I need to get out.
Despite passing out the moment my head hits the pillow, I sleep fitfully throughout the night, waking any number of times thanks to the never-ending thunder, the trailer shaking on its foundation with each crack. Several times when I awake it’s with a sense of abject fear pressing down upon my chest; each time I sit bolt upright in bewilderment before I wake up enough to realize that everything is as it should be and the storm has not washed away the trailer.
I sleep until just before dawn, awoken finally by the drip of water on my forehead. Naturally, I’m quite confused, my first thought that I’ve somehow found myself outside in the rain. It’s only when my eyes adjust to the half-light that I see I’m still in the trailer and it's the roof that’s leaking. With a groan that lasts until my lungs are empty, I rise and shuffle into the kitchen. The linoleum is slick under my feet.
I flick on the light. Sure enough, the ceiling is seeping water in any number of places, at least a dozen by quick count.
Using every last pot and pan and bowl and bucket I own, for there are leaks in every other room of the house too, even the utility closet, I catch all the water I can find. This alone takes half an hour. Afterwards, I gather towels and spend a while trying to dry the wettest parts of the carpet. When I’m finished, it’s just about time for my morning call with Kyle, which means, in a way, the leaks have been a good thing, having served at the very least to distract me for a little while. After stirring up a cup of instant coffee (I’m too tired to make it proper), I sit down at my desk and sign into the computer.
Unfortunately, with the rain coming down harder than ever, something I’ve just noticed thanks to this morning’s fiasco, the connection is too spotty for my calls to go through. Even the texts I send come back failed after a minute. There's no steady service.
I try for half an hour anyways, even going so far as to reset all the connections several times. I finally give up when I see it's nearing eight because it means Kyle has long since had to leave for work.
Empty, I drag myself over to my growing nest on the couch. I've shifted halfway across the living room in an area where there are no leaks.
Maybe it’s for the best that we can’t talk, I tell myself. As worried as I'm sure he is, he’d have only been worse if he’d known about the leaks. And knowing me, I wouldn’t have been able to not tell him. While they were a disturbing development, there was no need to worry him any more than necessary. Besides, I continue, it’s only natural for some of this rain to find its through my old ass roof.
Also, now that I was thinking about it, where the hell was all this water coming from? How was there this much in the sky? The weatherman had said that the rainfall was going to be unprecedented, but it was as if the entire Gulf of Mexico had been sucked up and was being dumped on our heads. This was getting ridiculous.
And if enough water has fallen to wear its way through the roof, I think for the first time, how far has it risen outside?
Leaning over to the window, I pull back the curtain to look out into the dim morning, my breath catching in my chest gasping as I take in the scene outside.
“Oh no…”
No, that can't be right. I’m seeing things. Surely I’m seeing things.
It’s just early. That was all. The light was playing tricks on my eyes. There water couldn’t possibly be that high…
I ride and stumble to the back door, drunk with fear. Without bothering to grab a rain jacket, I wrench it open, the wind nearly ripping it from its hinges as I step out onto the back porch. Rain whips into my face, each droplet a needle prick.
“Oh…my…God…”
What I see now is no different from what I’d seen inside. The water is nearly knee-deep, the backyard a solid surface of swirling liquid unbroken save where the branches and trunk of the fallen oak rise above it. As I survey the scene, I consider for a moment braving the elements and wading out to the rain gauge, though I soon decide against it when I see a rather large branch float by. What good will risking it do? Too much. That’s how much rain has fallen.
I look down at the side of the raised trailer, measuring with my eye the water’s height by where it meets the concrete foundation. Good thing the place was lifted, else the water would already be in the house. Still, things weren’t good by any stretch of the imagination. Another foot and I'd be wet regardless of where I walked.
Pushing the thought away not because I don’t understand the severity of the situation but because I’m powerless to change it, I turn and step back into the house. As before, I have to throw my weight against the door to inch by inch push it closed. In the two minutes I've been outside, the rain has soaked me to the bone. I strip as I go, peeling off my shirt and bra and jeans and socks and underwear as I stumble down the hall and into the bedroom.
Maybe Kyle was right, I think as I pull out fresh clothes from the dresser. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stay after all…
8.
Kyle
My deep sleep doesn’t last long. I’m out barely an hour when my eyes snap open and I sit bolt upright in bed.
“Shannon…”
It’d been a dream about the hurricane. I’d been down in Houston, searching aimlessly through a dark, swirling world of water. Shannon had been calling my name, begging for me to save her. The storm had swept away her house; the water was rising inexorably and was already to my chest as I waded through it trying to pick her out of the night. But no matter how I searched, I hadn’t been able to find her. Kyle, help me, she’d been crying. Help me, Kyle, before the storm sweeps me away…
With a deep breath, I run a hand through my hair. My fingers come away wet. I push myself up from the bed. My clothes are damp too. I pull my shirt over my head and throw it towards the laundry hamper beside the dresser. The room is pitch black; the world as silent as death.
I pad across the dark room to the door. I open it and blink as light from the lamp Michael never turns off spills over me. It’s seems so bright it makes my eyes water.
Out in the kitchen, I gulp down two large glasses of water. The clock above the stove reads ten after midnight.
“Ugh.”
I’m wide awake as if I've slept the entire night, though my body feels no better rested. Sighing, I fill my glass from the tap a third time and then open the fridge and begin to rummage. In the end, all I can come up with is an overripe peach, two packages of string cheese, a half-filled carton of Chow Mein, and a few slices of sandwich meat.