Rain

      Rain pours outside. The sky is dark and dreary, venting its anger in a liquid downpour.

           You see, outside is the only escape I can get from my house. My brother Jimmy, Mom and I have all been trapped here ever since the pandemic started. We can’t really go far, just in our backyard, but it is a much needed break from the stale air inside, and a chance to escape my pesky little brother.

           And now it is raining. My one and only freedom, gone.

           “Madeleine, it’s time for your math lesson,” yells Mom.

           I have been summoned for my daily torture. Math has never been my strong suit, and it’s been even worse ever since Mom tried to teach me. She barely understands basic concepts, let alone the complex functions I need to know for high school. I don’t know how she expects me to learn anything.

           “Madeleine, I need you to teach Jimmy how to add fractions.”

           Seriously, she wants me to teach Jimmy how to add fractions?! I hadn’t the faintest idea of how math actually works. Fractions just never made sense to me. Numbers that are whole makes sense. Like, 3 bowls of pasta added with 2 bowls of pasta, makes 5 bowls of pasta. I know this because that’s all we have eaten since the mandatory quarantine’s been enforced.

           “Maddie, I don’t get how to add 3/8 to 1/3,” said Jimmy confusedly. He might be 5 years younger than me, but has a genuine desire to learn. Unlike me.

           “Just put it in your calculator, you dumbass,” I say.

           “Madeleine! I need you to teach your brother!” yells my Mom from the living room.

           OK, so I guess it’s now my job to teach Jimmy math that literally makes no sense. Fractions aren’t even whole; they’re just parts of numbers that, even when added together, never get complete. What’s the point of adding them up if the answer is never satisfactory?

           I did a quick Google search. Weird that Mom isn’t even attempting to help Jimmy with his math, but that’s not my problem. Maybe if I help him, I won’t have to do any of my own homework.

           “Google says you need to find a common denominator,” I say to Jimmy, trying to keep my voice free from annoyance.

           “What does that even mean?” asks Jimmy.

           I look at a few examples.

           “The bottom numbers have to be the same. It’s the only way to add them, apparently.”

           I do a quick search, and find a suitable video on Khan Academy, and let my brother watch it. Honestly, it is a much better teacher than I ever could be.

           This leaves me without my cell phone for a precious 10 minutes. You see, my phone is my only connection to the world outside. It’s the only way I can keep in touch with my friends, not that we have much to say to each other besides complaining about how bored we all are.

           It’s raining, and Jimmy has my phone. I couldn’t be any more trapped.

           I start to wander to the living room, where Mom is talking on the phone in a hushed voice. I hear words like “ventilator”, “hospital”, and “patients”.

           She must be talking to Dad.

           You see, Dad is a doctor. He’s the only one who’s been allowed to leave the house and actually go anywhere. He’s been putting in long hours ever since the pandemic broke out. And he never really comes home. He sleeps in the garage, and avoids seeing us at all costs. He says he doesn’t want to spread the virus to us. Sounds a bit paranoid, if you ask me.

           So for the past two months, my family has been incomplete. A fraction.

           This explains why Mom wants me to teach Jimmy. Usually, phone conversations with Dad are short, since he is working 16 hour days, and has very little time for breaks. I won’t be teaching Jimmy for too much longer.

           Jimmy finishes watching the video, and is diligently working on his online fraction worksheet. On my phone. Seriously, I could at least be watching Netflix or something. Now I have to wait and pretend I’m helping Jimmy.

           I no longer hear Mom talking on the phone. Maybe she’ll come out and actually do her only job. The rain is pounding so hard on the roof that it’s all I can hear. It almost sounds like our house is being peppered with gunshots.

           The only thing more deafening the rain is the silence from the living room.

           I continue to watch Jimmy struggle with math, when Mom walks in the kitchen. Her eyes are red, and her face looks like she was outside in the rain.

           “It’s Dad, isn’t it? He has the virus, doesn’t he?” I ask, only somewhat concerned.

           At first, I’m not worried. Dad works at the hospital; of course he is at risk for getting the virus. I mean, he was always so paranoid about it.

           But if so, what’s the big deal? The virus had such a low death rate, and only for old people. Dad is old and lame, but he really isn’t that old. Right?

           “No, he doesn’t have the virus,” Mom says in a very quiet voice. Jimmy finally lifts his head out of his fractions to listen to what’s going on.

           “Then what’s the big deal?” I ask impatiently.

           Mom takes a deep breath. “Dad lost control of his car just outside the hospital. He hit a pole. There was so much rain…”

Mom’s voice falters a bit. She takes a moment to compose herself. 

           “He suffered a massive head injury. They might have been able to save him, had there been a ventilator available… but there are so many patients. Not enough beds…not enough beds…”

           She trails off. Dad was always complaining about having to turn away sick patients. They were mostly old people who were going to die anyways.

           Now, this seems unfair. The rain took away not only my freedom, but one person from my family. My once whole family, now just a fraction of what it was before.

           Jimmy looks stunned, like he has no idea what to do. He walks away from the kitchen, still with my phone, and slams the door shut in his room. Even in quarantine we all need our alone time.

           I’m too shocked to do anything. I sit down, unable to grasp that Dad, the one person who can actually make a difference during this crisis, is gone. And it wasn’t even the stupid virus that got him. It was the rain.

           I hug Mom. Tears flow, so many that not even the relentless rain can ever wash them away.