Many Roads

When the floods came there was no way in. There was no way out. There was just no way.

Now I’m alone in the house.

At the first sign of danger, Emily swallowed her many accusations, her many frustrations. Then she loaded up the Chevy and left. She took the baby and the dog with her. Away from broken levees and onto higher ground.

I have enough food for a week, and according to my dear, sweet Emily—enough stubbornness for two lifetimes. I’d settle for one.

The water changes everything, makes everything quiet. One day smells worse than the next. Lots of helicopters now, all kinds of boats. Sometimes I hear gunshots or dog barks or sirens. Sometimes I imagine I hear Jody laughing or whimpering in his sleep or suckling his mother’s breast. Other times I feel I’m drowning. But it’s not the water, I promise.

I stayed behind to protect the house, to save the things we saved so hard to buy. It seemed noble at the time.

I still hear things. Although I’m not sure where or when, or how reliable my information is. There’s looting, I’m sure of it. There’s always looting when disaster strikes. The cops, if there are any cops, have probably gone mad by now. It’s been three weeks.

The food is gone. The water has not. It’s time to go.

I spent the day yesterday building my raft—air mattresses, coolers, milk jugs, a box of swim toys Emily picked up at Goodwill. My head is still light from all that blowing. My lips feel like they’ll be chapped forever. My lungs ache from exertion. I tied, taped, and bungeed. Then I found real oars floating in the garage. I have no idea where we got oars. I like to think it’s an answer to a prayer I never prayed. To the God I never believed in. It’s easy to believe now. What kind of God sends oars without salvation?

I packed and stowed all the water I could find. Now it’s time to go.

I shove off from the place where the porch used to be. I aim for the place where the road used to be. But there are no roads, not any more. Emily went north so I will go north. I’ll paddle and drink until I find a road. The rest is up to the Giver of oars. Of Emilys and Jodys. And water.

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