Jode vs. the River

          The rain just kept falling.  It had for weeks.  Men placed sandbags along the river bank, then around the buildings. First, Jode and his neighbors, then the fire and police departments. He watched the weather reports; at home, at the store he owned, at bars.  He sent away his wife and daughter; sent them off to stay with his wife’s sister in Oklahoma, where it hadn’t rained in a month, and there was talk of drought. 



          But Jode stayed.  He watched as the river rose, turning the landscape into a diluvian nightmare of brown water.  He waded through his living room, retrieving smudged photographs from waterlogged frames.  He drank whiskey to feel the warmth, to feel not so wet.  He retreated to the roof, along with the Wilson’s golden retriever, who he found dog-paddling through his back yard.  When the National Guard came through with a boat and a mandatory evacuation order, he lacked the energy to argue. 



          Jode, wrapped in a dry blanket, stared out the window of the elementary school/makeshift shelter. He thought of his dead parents, his childhood, his store that was now filled with river mud and fish. He thought about sunny days, and flowers, birthdays and cook-outs and backyard football.  He thought about his wife and daughter.  He thought about Oklahoma.  He thought about God.  Jode stared out the window and a tear ran down his cheek.     



          And the rain just kept falling.





238 Words.