A Drop of Nothing

It began with a simple misplacement on a crisp autumn day.

Leaves crunched under people's tennis sneakers as they enjoyed the cool and breezy weather for once in the summer heat of El Paso, Texas.

The student sat forlornly in a classroom overlooking the grand park, a sanctuary in the weathered plains. Everyone longed for that cheap plastic chair, but that particular student thought it was taunting and ironic that they were trapped in a dull, painted-over brick building while everyone else was free to live. He was so absorbed in thinking that he hadn't realized he had left a certain precious object under his desk. In fact, he didn't give a thought to where it was until he got home.

A day passed. The next morning, it was a sunny, humid day, nature seeming to smile cheerfully at his loss. As he went to school, a repulsive bug with long wings painfully stung him on the leg. A real good omen, he thought. He went to school buzzing (literally) with nervous energy. His classmates almost heard the sound radiating. He checked under his fake wood desk. No luck. He frantically looked around the school, scouring every nook and cranny he could find. When the dismissal bell rang, all he heard was the tolling of iron funeral gongs. He went home with a caving pit of dread in his stomach and a metal weight in his head. He didn't talk for the rest of the day.

Then another day. The morning could not have passed fast enough. Rolling out of bed, a quick breakfast of milk and soggy toast, and out the barely furnished door. He nearly did a full sprint to school in his search. Unable to find anything in the cramped, overturned lost and found, or in the low-budget classrooms with plastic folding chairs, a halfheartedly bought whiteboard, and, a four-pack of Expo markers that were completely identical, he overturned every desk and looked to lavish staff rooms, to the janitors and principal's outrage. He hadn't given up hope. He, once again, sped home, almost as like a wave of sound crashing from the sky. It's there. It's definitely there. If it's not there... he broke off that chain of thought quickly. He sent everything in his room crashing down the stairs. It was the equivalent of a giant thunderstorm in the wheat grasses of the Great Plains.

A week. He had literally spent every waking moment looking for it. In his school, in his home, in the neighborhood. It became such a problem that he barely slept. Finally, it became obvious that it was lost. Grief and anger overtook him, like the loss of a loved one. He shut himself in his room, but his parents didn't even understand what was so important about it. "Come on. It's not that big of a deal." This ended up nagging so much that they ended up with a door-sized welt in their face.

Now, a month. He had almost given up. Just a tiny glimmer of hope remained, not even enough to be seen by the most precise microscope. He wasn't looking anymore, because he knew it was a needle in a haystack, a single fish in a school. At this point, he almost never bothered to sustain himself, and he didn't, and couldn't enjoy life without that one object.

A long year passed. At this point, the boy was barely more than a body. He didn't talk, and the only thing he had seen in a year was his room, decorated with dinosaur photos and plastic models. He knew that it was soon to be his grave. The parents were already close to grieving, and they didn't know what to do. They needed their jobs, but their son of was greater importance. They consulted family and friends, who were unhelpful as a leaf blower is to a pile of dead leaves. They went to the hospital, but the highly qualified doctors in sterile lab coats and polished stethoscopes assured them there was nothing wrong.

Five years passed. One quiet night, the parents were trying to make a major decision on the hewn oak dining table that had held so many memories. Should they move from El Paso, leave their home and family, to save their son? It was made in just one night, the owls hooting and the crickets chirping, to get out of El Paso for once and for all. The road trip was long and dusty, tumbleweeds rolling into the harsh desert, where desert eagles and vultures battled for dominance in the sky, cracks in the ground with silver ants crawled out and jackrabbits roaming freely, and not a single drop of water to be seen. Finally, they arrive at their house in the large metropolis booming with random businessmen with fake Rolexes and pizza stores selling questionable food. They pulled up a nice brownstone that was hastily rented, but even that doesn't seem to cheer the son up. He trudges out of the car and into the perfectly decorated house. When he was moping up the brown, smoothed wood stairs, he found, perfectly balanced like a grain of sand on an hourglass, a jar of glass.

His pace quickened. He went short of breath, and his heart started pumping more and more blood into his body, as if saying that his savior had finally come. Surely not. he thought. Surely not. It would be impossible...Again, he broke off the chain of thought. Why question something when it's there laying before you? He tried to touch the jar. The moment his fingers brushed on that perfectly smoothed glass, he knew.

His vitality instantly restored, like a lobster who's claw had grown back. He carefully picked it up, a cherished winning lottery ticket, and set it on the nightstand that was soon to be his new room. As he left, he had a random thought, like a god-given prophecy. He who doesn't have water...is doomed to die. In that bottle, was a single, barely visible, crystal-clear drop of pure water.