Turning the volume all the way down, I grab the nearest book at hand from the coffee table at my knees. But I don’t read. Not at first. For some time, I merely sit and listen to the endless, monotone patter of rain on the roof. It’s only when the beat starts to seem like it's coming from inside my own head that I finally crack open my novel and begin to read.
***
The next two hours pass surprisingly quickly, my focus broken only when I catch the flickering of the TV out of the corner of my eye.
I stop reading and look up from my book. As I watch, the news studio fades in and out, the same woman as before disappearing and reappearing a half-dozen times. Another minute of this and she disappears for good, the screen dissolving into white static that doesn’t resolve no matter how hard I stare.
I wait several minutes, oddly mesmerized by the snowy screen, my mind as just as blan. When nearly a quarter of an hour has passed and the picture still hasn't returned, I reach blindly for the remote and click off the television.
Just then, my stomach rumbles, an angry growl that lets me know that, regardless of what’s happening outside these four walls, it’s been far too long since I've eaten. And how long has it been exactly?, I ask myself. Not since lunchtime had I even had so much as a sip off water. Come to think of it, I was feeling quite parched. Heh. Funny how one could be thirsty like this when there was more rain than I’d ever seen coming down outside.
Marking my place in my book, I set it aside. Night has come in full now. Not that I can tell by its sounds, which are identical to the sounds of the day – wind and rain lashing against the trailer and the trees groaning and creaking.
A shiver passes through me as I cross from the living room into the kitchen. I shrug it off as I pull open a cabinet. From the back of the bottom shelf, I extract a jar of peanut butter and a jar of honey. Using a banana from the bunch atop the microwave, I proceed to make a peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich. Before returning to the couch to wait, I drink two large glasses of water. Of course, for what must be the twentieth time today, I check the volume on the computer before settling in to the cushions. Strange that he hasn’t called yet. Work must be holding him up.
My sandwich finished, I don’t go back to reading but instead just sit there and once more let the drumbeat of rain fill my head. With this closer inspection, I can hear the storm does indeed sound a little different now deeper, settled, like it’s made itself at home, like it’s no longer new but just another inhabitant of the landscape, as natural as the trees or the grass or the rise and fall of the hills of the countryside itself. I peek out the window when I notice this new feel to the storm, but with no moon, and with the rain coming down as steadily and as thick as ever, I can't make out a thing beyond the first foot.
I rise, my hand reaching for my flashlight on the coffee table. Before going out, I take several minutes to bundle up thoroughly against the storm. The hands on the clock read nine. Though it's much later than normal and I'm worried I’ll miss Kyle's call if I step away even for one moment (I’m not worried that he won’t call, for he always does), I’m too curious to stay put. Checking yet again the volume on my computer (as if I'd be able to hear it once I was out), I then go over to the back door. As before, leaning my full weight against it, I unlock it and slowly ease it open.
I step out onto the porch. The first thing that strikes me is just how dark it is beyond the meager circle of light being cast from the open trailer door. The light isn't even strong enough to reach all the way down the three steps into the yard. Clicking my flashlight up to its highest setting, I move to the edge of the porch, the beam in my hand pointed down into the yard. An unbroken surface of water greets me. Seeing it, an abject fear rising within me..
Be calm, I whisper as I force myself to take a breath. It's only partway up the first step. There are still several feet to go. You've seen this before. It happens with every big storm. A couple of hours and it will go right back down.
Somewhat calmed, for it’s true, the earth will suck down the water soon, I double-check that my galoshes are cinched tight before carefully descending into the yard. The ground beneath the standing water is so soft and yielding that I sink several inches down into it.
Despite the slight current I can feel running through the water that’s up to my ankles, I have little trouble navigating to the rain gauge at the back of the yard. As before, it’s overflowing.
"Goodness."
If it was already full, that meant we were receiving at least three inches of rain an hour! Which meant that if it kept up, the water would be inside the house by…three a.m.?! Shit! And what would I do then? Where would I put all the stuff I had stayed behind to keep safe? Would insurance cover the damage to the trailer? Had I even renewed it in time? Now I couldn't remember.
And what if, my brain continues, the rain keeps coming, and the water just keeps rising, not just into the house but all the way up to the roof? There'll be nothing I can do to stop it. I'll have no choice but to watch my life get washed—
Okay, I interrupt. Stop it. Get a hold of yourself, Shannon! The rain will stop soon. And even if it does come into the house, you’ll be fine. Insurance will take care of everything, and you already have everything that’s valuable packed safely away.
Okay, I agree with the voice. You’re right. What I needed to do was just take it easy and take a deep breath. No need to panic. Not yet anyways.
The gauge emptied, I trudge back to the house, quickening my step halfway across the yard because a flash of lightning sends a trill of fear fluttering through my heart. As I reach the porch, a loud crack sounds behind me. Another tree has snapped somewhere in the woods beyond the property.
Reminded of my fallen friend, I turn my beams to the nearest branches of the massive oak lying supine across the yard. I hadn’t even so much as looked at him on my way out to the rain gauge.
"Goodbe, old friend."
Back in the house, after using a good bit of my remaining strength to close the door, I doff my wet rain gear and drop it next to the kitchen sink. I return to the living room. The TV signal is back, the screen no longer white fuzz but a clear picture of the news desk behind which is seated two new anchors, a man and a woman, neither of whom look like they've slept more than a few hours.
Well, that’s good news at least. If the picture’s back, maybe the storm’s starting to lighten.
With a sigh, I plop down into my desk chair.
"...unprecedented rainfall totals across the entirety of Harris County. Numerous—and by numerous I mean dozens—of evacuations have already taken place, with many more underway and expected across the county in the coming day. Some weather stations are already reporting upwards of twenty-four inches. Twenty-four inches, folks! Only Noah had to put up with such a deluge..."
I click my computer's mouse to bring its screen to life. No missed calls, no messages. Hmm, strange, I think. Usually, Kyle would have called by now.
Well, maybe he would call soon. I sure hoped so. I was craving him. He was all I wanted at the moment. There was no one better at calming, and that was exactly what I needed right now, someone to tell me it would all be alright, that the storm would pass and everything would be okay, that life would go back to normal. Only by talking to him would I be able take my mind off of things. He would remind me how soon it would be before we'd be in each other's arms. Ugh. Two weeks was two weeks too long to wait!