Writers Write

Drought Buster

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The rain began yesterday around noon. Torrential. Of course, I’d put off grocery shopping to the last possible day. Cherry’s academic awards assembly for the seventh grade and Coco’s last elementary school field day were scheduled. The first happened. The second didn’t. By five, the rest of the calendar was trashed. I envied my friends already headed for the coast, where for once, it wasn’t raining.

In the middle of the night, thunder woke up our dog guest. We’re pet sitting this weekend, so Lucky cuddled up next to Coco. Jasmine slept on my feet, oblivious. I shoved her away to turn off the desktop computer and unplug the laptop. When I came back to bed, her head rested on my pillow. Who knew an eighteen pound schnauzer could be so hard to move?

Between six and seven this morning, four inches fell. In twenty-four hours, twelve inches. We live on a hill. The rest of the city isn’t so lucky. A city bus loaded with passengers floated into a ditch. Before ten, the fire department reported seventy high water rescues. The news: stay home. ┬áSlip a disc in the DVD player. Watch Barbie and the Fairy Secret. Eat chips and hummus.

We’ve had these days before. A year or so of nothing but dust and dark clouds. Then, the clouds crack open. We catch up. Become the subtropical paradise the city’s PR firm advertises.

I’ve been dried up too. In August, I lost my brother. In April, my sister lost her husband. Too soon. Too painful. Couldn’t write. Couldn’t dream. Now, Heaven’s floodgate is open again, and I can breathe.