Drought

DROUGHT © 2024

Andy Pearson

 Droughts don’t end in a light rain that quells the dust and conditions the soil to retake water. The end of all droughts is a downpour.  The vegetation barely clinging to earth with roots staying near the surface trying to collect morning dew. These shallow roots allow plants to be washed away at the first rain.  

My drought started after my divorce. A divorce I didn’t see coming. One day I’m a married man living in a picket fence neighborhood and thinking about a someday family. The next day I’m alone in an apartment with two chairs and table and a bed to keep me company. It wasn’t my fault Laura said. She’d grown she said. She needed to experience other things. I learned that one of the other things Laura wanted to experience was Frank from work. 

Thus my drought, although if truth were on my new table, and it might as well be, there hadn’t been a lot of rain in my life. I had seen enough light mists to hint at possibilities. I’d seen friends get hit with downpours, but never had I experienced one. This was my fault. I don’t invite a torrent. I don’t run toward clouds and dance in the rain.

I’d been in the apartment for eight months. With the quick no-fault divorce done, I’d moved on from two chairs and a bed to real furniture. I even had matching end tables.  Heck, I even had a slow cooker. What I didn’t have was the desire to go out into the rain. My roots might have been shallow, but they’re protected and they do the job.

The end came with a knock on the door.

Knock Knock. -No not a joke.  Two knocks.

Opening the door, there she was. A rain cloud disguised as a five-foot-two brunette with wet hair in a swimsuit carrying a striped towel.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Monica. I live next door.” She said with a smile.  

“Uh hi. I’m David- Dave. Good to meet you. Welcome to the complex.”

“I locked myself out when I went to the pool.  There’s no pockets on these swimsuits,” she said spinning around once to show me.

“No. No there’s not.” I replied uncertain how to address this introduction.

“Anyway, my sliding glass door is open and our balconies are next to each other so I was wondering if I could slip over and open my door.”

Each apartment has a small balcony facing the pool area and I looked at mine.  A few plants on stands to get them better sun, a couple of outdoor chairs that I never sat in, and a small unused grill.

“Do you think that’s safe? I mean we’re on the third floor. Maybe we should call the manager or something?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. They’d charge me a fee. It’ll be easy.”

“Ok, let's take a look I guess.  Come on in.” And I stepped back as she swept into my apartment with her hair dripping on the floor.

“Thanks.” She walked through the living room toward the sliding door. She paused at the bookcase and ran her fingers over the spines. ”Have you read all of these?”

Getting closer, I looked at the rows. 

“Most of them. Some are on my TBR list.”

“TBR? “

“To be read.  Books I want to get read, but they keep getting pushed back by other books I want to read first.”

With one finger, she pulled out a worn paperback. “Murder on the Orient Express. Any good?  I’ve seen the old movie, but I’ve never read the book.”

“Unbelievably good. Which version of the movie did you see? Have you read  ‘And Then There Were None?  It’s her best work.” I stopped myself. I do this when talking about books. I get all gushing and talk too much.

“That sounds fun. Tell you what, let me get my apartment open and you can tell me more about it.”

We stepped onto the balcony and looked at the gap between our apartments. Looking across, the gap was about three feet. Looking down three floors, it now looked like six feet. Heights do funny things to me sometimes. Monica grabbed the top of the rail to boost herself up.

“Are you sure about this? It’s a long way down.” I said peering over.

“The key to heights is not to fall.” She said slipping one leg over the top rail.

“Yeah, that does seem like good advice. Can I help or something?”

Monica slipped her other leg over and was now standing with her toes on the outside edge of my deck holding onto the top rail. I hadn’t noticed until then that her swimsuit was diagonally striped blue and white. Why I noticed it now I couldn’t tell you, but the stripes seemed to pull my eyes with their swirl.  It also might have been vertigo.

Monica reached for her balcony. Her fingers were just touching it, but she couldn’t quite get a purchase.  

“Take my hand, will you? I need to lean a bit more.” 

“Umm Ok. Are you sure?”

“Just grab my hand and give me a little more distance.” She said straining.

I grabbed her hand. She leaned further out and got a firm grip on the other rail. I held onto her hand.

            “You can let go now,” she said stretched between the two rails and looking back at me with a grin. 

I let go and with a small hop, she ended up with both feet on the edge of the balcony. With a shimmy, she was over the rail. I watched as she bounced into her apartment.  

I stood watching her open door.  The vertigo was gone, but I still saw blue and white stripes.

“So are you going to tell me about the book or not?” I heard over my right shoulder. Turning I found Monica standing in my apartment. She’d thrown a wrap around her waist and was looking at my bookshelf. Her hair was still dripping.  

“Umm yeah. Umm, let me come in.”

“You say that a lot don’t you?” she asked.

“What?” I replied.

“Umm. You say Umm a lot. I think that’s caused by not being brave enough to say what you want to say.  You should work on that.” She said without judgment.

“Umm. I mean ok.“ I said.

“So, tell me about this book.  And Then There Were None.”

“It’s a wonderful book about a man taking revenge on others for their crimes. They’re all stuck on this island and can’t get help for the entire weekend.” I said with building enthusiasm.

“Wait, I’ve seen this. It was an old movie. The man and the lady trust each other and survive.”

“Well, that’s how the movie ended, but the book has a slightly different ending,” I said smiling.

“How does it end?” Monica asked.

In a moment I didn’t see coming, I took the book off the shelf and handed it to her.  “I’ll tell you what. Take the book. Read it and find out for yourself. When you finish, bring it back and we can talk about it.”

Monica smiled and took the book. “So you’re asking me over again huh?”

“Umm.  Well I mean…” I stammered

Monica laughed and put her hand on my chest.  “I’ll make you a deal. Let me read the book and we can talk about it over dinner.”

“Dinner?“

“Dinner. Not tonight,” she said holding up the book,” this might take a day or so. But when I get it done.”

___________________________________________________________

I saw Monica the next day stepping out of her apartment. She was no longer in a swimsuit but in blue scrubs with a lanyard full of pens and cards swinging around her neck. She had her hair back in a braid and was wearing the whitest tennis shoes I’d ever seen. She was carrying the book.

“Hey, neighbor. The book’s pretty good. I might be done tomorrow so you’d better figure out dinner. Maybe we could watch a movie afterward.”

“That sounds great. Let me know what day. So are you a nurse or something?” I asked.

“Oh, Dave. Not every woman in scrubs is a nurse. I’m a PA.” she said holding up a card around her neck that said PA.

My face reddened and I swallowed. Monica laughed at my discomfort.  “You’re too easy Dave. I’m a Physician’s Assistant. I’m like a doctor, but I’m too smart to spend that much time in medical school so I just did the important parts.”

“Oh,” was all I thought to say.

“I’m off on Friday. Dinner and a movie?” Monica asked.

“Sure. Dinner and a movie.”

“See you, Dave.” And she waved the book at me as she walked down the stairs. I watched her go and tried to understand what was happening.  

The next night I heard a knock at my door. Opening it, a book hit me in the chest. “That is a terrible ending,” Monica said walking past me into my apartment.  “Who ties up everything in an epilogue? Just when I understand Vera’s the killer, although I never agreed with that idea, along comes the epilogue and it’s Judge Wargrave who supposedly died at the beginning of the book who killed everyone.”

“Hello,” I said clutching the book to my chest. Turning to follow her entry, I said, “So you finished the book?”

“Yes, I finished the book. The movie ending was better. Happily ever after is better than everyone dead ever after.”

“Agatha Christie found that out when she turned it into a play. She didn’t change the ending of the book, but she understood the ending of the play needed to be more upbeat since it was World War Two.” I said smiling.

“I like happy endings. I don’t like everybody dying.” Monica replied opening my refrigerator and bending down to look in.

“Can I get you something?” I asked.

“I’m just checking what we might have for dinner tomorrow. Looking in here, maybe I’d better cook. Pick up some wine.  A cabernet or a malbec would be good. Get salad also.” Monica said shutting the door.  

“Ok. What time?” I replied still at a loss.

“Say six o'clock. Start the charcoal about a half hour earlier.”

“Charcoal?” I asked.

Monica put her hand on my shoulder and turned me toward the sliding glass door. She leaned on me and pointed to the balcony. “See the grill. Put charcoal in it and light it. I’ll bring the steaks over.”

“OK. I’ll get some charcoal when I get the salad and wine. Do you suppose they sell charcoal where they sell wine?” I deadpanned.

“Don’t buy the wine where you get charcoal.” She said smiling at my humor.

I threw a mock salute.

As she headed for the door, she motioned for me to lean down. I did and she kissed me on the cheek before heading out the door. I stood in silence.

I found the charcoal and the salad at the local market without trouble. The wine I got from a store with bottles sitting on wooden racks. The Retail Sommelier Ralph, at least that’s what the clerk’s name tag proclaimed him to be, helped me pick out a good Argentinian Malbec for twenty-one dollars.  

‘Arrange an appropriate amount of charcoal in the grill. Light with a utility lighter,” I said reading the back of the charcoal bag. “Well, I don’t know what a utility lighter is, so an old bic must do.”

“I like a man who reads directions,” a voice from the next balcony pulled my head away from the bag. I looked up and smiled at Monica. She was in scrubs, but she was pulling her hair out of what I assume was her standard work braid.

“Hey there neighbor. Just getting this he-man-manly process started.” I smiled.

“I’ve got the steaks marinating. I’ll be over as soon as I shower and change.” With that, she winked at me and disappeared into her apartment.

She winked at me. An honest-to-goodness Norman Rockwell wink. I kept replaying it in my head and smiling as I stacked little coal bricks and worked to get them started. It might have been easier with a utility lighter, but the trusty bic finally got the job done.

I was tossing the salad when my door opened and Monica walked in.  Instead of scrubs, she was wearing black yoga pants and a large dark blue sweater.  Her hair was down and had been combed out. She was still wearing the whitest sneakers in the world. In her hand was a plate with two steaks resting on it.  

“Good evening,” I said.

“Darlink,” she said in a terrible Romanian accent,“ the meat must be on the grill soon or I vill starve.”

“Yes Natasha,” I said. My accent came out more German than Romanian.” let us retire to the balcony overlooking the garden area.”

We stepped outside. After checking the coals, she placed both steaks on the small grill. The smell of the cooking steak and the sizzle caused both of us to groan in ecstasy. Monica plopped down in one of the never-used chairs. She raised a hand. It hung in the air. I stared at it. She looked at me.

“Wine,” was all she said.

I went in and checked the bread in the oven. I grabbed two wine glasses and the bottle I’d uncorked earlier. Placing a glass in her still upraised hand, I poured. After pouring my own, I sat in the other unused chair.  She smiled at me and raised her glass. I raised mine.

“Long day at work?” I asked. Monica told me about her day.  Two broken arms, not in the same person thank goodness, one diabetes check-up, and several stomach aches. One traffic accident that required admitting. I sat and listened while she talked. 

When she finished, I thought about these two chairs. Why had I not sat on them?  Why had I not had someone over? Why was the grill unused? I wondered about me.

“Dave. Tell me about you. And pour me another glass please.”

“Me. There’s not much to tell. I work at the library. Main branch. I do IT work for them. I like books and old movies. I’ve lived here about eight months.” I paused and thought, had it been eight months?  Laura hadn’t called once during that time. I hadn't called her. Maybe our divorce was no fault and no loss.

“Thanks for the cliff notes to Dave. Now tell me about you.” Monica said sipping her wine and checking on the steaks.

“About me? There’s not much to tell. I’m divorced. No kids. Divorced about eight months now.”

“Why the divorce?” she asked looking me directly in the eye. I noted that hers were brown.

“Why the divorce,” I said trying to find the words. “Most of the time I think I don’t know, but when I think about it, maybe we weren’t right for each other.”

“Why not”

“Are you always this forward?” 

“Mostly. Specifically when I want to know something. So why not?” she said.

“I think maybe there wasn’t enough passion or sizzle,” I said pointing at the steak.

“They’re just about done.” Monica got up and went into the apartment. After a few drawers and cabinets opened and shut, she came out carrying plates, and utensils. Handing me one set, she set hers down on the little table and went back in. I heard the springy sound of the oven door opening and closing and she returned with the bread and the salad.

When we were both settled and our plates filled, we took our first bites.  We groaned in stereo and ate for a few minutes in silence.

“Dave. I like you. I liked you the first moment I came into your apartment. I liked your books and your passion for them. I liked that you didn’t say anything stupid when you found me standing at your door in a swimsuit. I’ve gotten to like you even more as we’ve been neighbors.”

I grinned and looked down. I wasn’t certain what to say.

“Umm,” I started.  

“You’re umming again. Say what you want to say.” Monica said.

I breathed deeply. Centered my thoughts. 

“Nobody has ever said that to me. I mean people have said nice things to me and my ex-wife said she loved me, but not that she liked me. I know I get fanboyish about the books which is strange.”

“Fanboyish is nice. It shows passion. You’re a nice guy Dave. Nice guys are hard to find. I know. I’ve looked.” She paused and swirled her glass.” 

“I’m not good at passion or something, I guess,” I said looking at her. A gust of wind blew across the deck and I looked up. Dark clouds had rolled in as the evening progressed. I saw raindrops hitting the deck rail.

“Maybe we should take this inside,” I said pointing at the clouds.

“Maybe we will, but right now,” and Monica stood, pushed the small table aside with her knee, and stood in front of me.  She smiled and then put a leg on either side of mine and sat on my lap facing me.

“Right now, let it rain. We can work on sizzle later.” And she kissed me. With that kiss, the torrent started. My drought was over and a flood was upon me.