Drought and Deluge by Autumn Humphrey
As Mama turns on the faucet in the kitchen there is a loud clank, the pipes shake, a couple of drops of water sneak out and then a burst of brown liquid gurgles and spits into the sink.
“Mama, you sure that water’s good?” Missy asks, sitting at the old country table in the farmhouse where she was raised.
“Sure, baby, I just got to let it run a bit, it’ll clear up. Always has.”
“I’ve got some bottled water in the rental, Mama.”
“You gettin’ all city-fied on us, girl? Your great-great grandfather’s well water no good for you anymore? You were raised on this here water and you still kickin’. We’re lucky that old well still got water to pump, dry as it’s been last few years.”
Outside, Papa, in his torn overalls, sidles over to the edge of the field and turns a crank. Water gushes out from the irrigation heads and streams dart shakily across a small green field. Droplets run down the stalks of dry corn and slip silently into the brown earth below.
Mama looks out from the kitchen window and hollers, “Papa! Whatcha doin’ waterin’? Rain’s coming!”
Papa waves his hand dismissively toward the house and watches the water run off the field and onto the asphalt driveway. Steam rises from the hot pavement and Papa’s eyes follow it as it dissipates. On the horizon, black storm clouds loom from the south.
“Your Papa done gone brain-dead in his old age. He knows the rain coming and he waterin’ those weeds he calls his ‘crop’ anyway.”
Missy fans at the beads of sweat which have formed on her face, “Only in the South can it be so hot when rain’s coming.”
Papa clomps in to the kitchen. “You a crazy old woman. We ain’t had a decent rain in five year.” He parodies her in a high pitched voice, dancing dantily on his toes,”Papa, why’re you waterin’? Rain’s coming.”
Mama takes a playful swat at Papa with a kitchen towel, “Why, you crazy ol’ coot!”
The sky darkens quickly. The sound of distant thunder rattles the windows and shakes the house. A few drops of rain dribble down and the dirt around the farmhouse becomes a brown liquid and then mud. The rain is relentless and the ensuing flood reaches the levy, but it is no deterrent.
***
Mama, Papa and Missy sit drenched on the roof of the farmhouse, which is now in the middle of a shallow lake. Papa chuckles from under his rain slicker, “I guess Mama was right. Weren’t no need to water them crops today.”
Autumn Humphrey has several flash fiction pieces published or about to be pubished. In her spare time she reads, writes, and plays the horses.
