Drought

“It’s been almost a month since he left. Everyone keeps asking me if I’m doing ok, I just say yes. Truth is, I don’t really know how to answer.”

He jotted some stuff down on his pad of paper, clearly he had some idea of what was wrong with me.

I watched him move up his glasses, “do you think him leaving has made you feel relief at all? Or do you think it has just caused more grief?” he asked.

I sighed heavily. 

“I don’t know,” I replied.

The rest of my appointment was pretty dry, just Dr. Thomas trying to pull some sort of emotional response out of me. I haven’t shed a single tear over my separation from Frank. I’m definitely not happy, but I’m not devastated. I just don’t feel anything at all. It wasn’t a surprise when he finally walked out, but it wasn’t expected either. He was an asshole, but I always thought that I loved him.

As I drove home, I scanned the dry desert that surrounded me. It was common in Phoenix for summers to be the driest season of the year. I often didn’t see a single drop of rain for the entire summer growing up, but this month had been particularly brutal on the community. The rain hadn’t fallen since early April, and even that had been sparse at best. There was no end in sight to the drought, it just seemed to be a never-ending dry heat that would go on until everything eventually died out.

I arrived at my sun-bleached house and immediately opened a plastic bottle of water. I watered the potted plants I kept on the porch, but they already seemed to be dead. It was like no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get any life out of them.

Maybe this is how Dr. Thomas feels, I thought as I poured the last drop of the bottle onto my only living plant, my marigolds. Their golden petals were the only thing that reminded me that something is still living here, besides me I guess. I loved my marigolds, they reminded me every day that life hasn’t ended just yet.

The rest of the day was extremely uneventful, full of more mindless everyday chores that I had been putting off for days. At around 11 pm, I almost didn’t even notice the beat-up old sedan pulling into the driveway.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, not even looking up from scrubbing the sink.

Frank sighed, “I… I just wanted to see you.”

“I thought you made it pretty clear that you never wanted to see me again,” I replied.

“C’mon June, can you just listen to me for once without making it an argument? I fucked up.” He plopped himself down on the couch and threw his dusty baseball cap onto the coffee table. “I miss you.”

“Can you get your nasty hat off the coffee table I just cleaned please? Last time I checked you don’t live here anymore.” 

He snatched his hat quickly, shooting me a furious glare. I pretended not to notice, continuing my cleaning. 

“I want to have a conversation, like adults. Do you remember when we used to do that?” He got up, slowly approaching me like a coyote hunting a hare.

I sniffed the air, “You’ve been drinking again.”

He chuckled dryly, “I was wondering how long it would take you to say that. You never believed I could get clean, you never supported anything I did.”

“You aren’t exactly giving me a good reason to think any different right now Frank,” I snapped, throwing my sponge into the trash. I felt something whizz by my head, I looked down to see that same damn baseball cap on the ground next to me. “We’re starting the throwing things early in the conversation aren’t we?” I retorted.

“Anything to get you to shut the fuck up for once and listen,” he growled, “I made a mistake leaving, I’m moving back in.”

I met his furious gaze, “I would like to see you try,” I growled back, “my lawyer should have mailed you the papers. I’d advise you to just sign them so we can move on.”

“Fuck no June, this is my fucking house and I am not fucking signing those papers,” he swung his arm back, knocking over my grandmother’s lamp, smashing it.

I ran to the pieces, quickly trying to salvage anything I could, but it was clear the damage was irreversible.

“Get out, now.”

He spat on the destroyed lamp, stomping towards the same door he walked out of a month prior. It was almost a deja vu feeling, watching him slam the door behind him. It was almost the exact same as before, only this time, I followed. I watched him lock onto my eyes as he kicked over one of my potted plants, the marigolds. The only life left in my dying house.

Something snapped within my chest, it was a feeling I hadn’t felt in ages, since before I was married. It was burning, and it was strong. It felt like every inch of my body was engulfed in flames.

I chased him out the door, “I hate you!” I screamed, “You stole the last five years of my life, and I will never forgive you!”

He ignored me, just like always.

I stormed outside and grabbed the broken pot. I gazed at the destroyed life he left behind on the porch. Without a second to spare, I threw the pot directly at the back of his trashed head. He stumbled, falling over and hitting his head on the curb. As I watched blood pour out of his skull, I felt a drop on my forehead. I looked up, to see rain pouring down onto the pavement around me, for the first time in months. At the same time, I felt a drop fall down my cheek, only this one was not falling from the sky.

“Miss Hanson? Miss Hanson?”

I blinked, and suddenly I was right back on the same couch I had been on earlier that day.

“Are you alright? You went away for a moment there.”

I touched my face, wiping a single tear from my eye, “Sorry Doctor, what did you say?”

“I asked, do you think you made the right decision?”

I smiled, letting another tear fall.