Drought

by Liz Schim

As soon as the holidays began, it seemed like all anyone could do was sit around and talk about the sun. They lounged on their porches sipping cocktails as the holiday lights went up or snipped trimmings from grapevines to twist into wreaths for their doors. 

“Said it was a La Niña year,” Esther remarked, a look of utter confusion consuming her face. “Where’s all the rain?” 

Her neighbor smiled from over the fence line. “Oh, it’ll be here. Just have faith.” 

***

On Christmas Eve, Esther joined her cousin down at the beach in Santa Cruz. They stretched their long limbs across colorful beach towels and tanned in their bathing suits. Seventy-five degrees. Sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. 

Esther surveyed the cove, which was speckled with various beach goers relaxing in the sun. Kids spiked balls and sent their friends diving into the sand, while others tried to hide their beers and hard seltzers from the ranger on duty. A mother spread sunscreen across her baby’s face. Lovers held each other in the winter heat. One couple in particular caught Esther’s eye. They were tucked away by the side of the cove, almost out of sight. The man cupped his partner in one arm and caressed her with the other. 

Esther looked at them longingly from afar. Sonya, her cousin, noticed and burst through the silence. “Come on, Essie, let’s not go there today, okay?” Sonya gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder. “It’s almost Christmas. The sun is shining, the seagulls are cawing, and your favorite cousin is here handing you a beer.” She fished through the cooler and pulled out a can. Esther accepted it and let a reluctant smile spread across her face. “Okay, Sonya. Not today. But, man oh man, if I ever needed a Christmas miracle, this would be the year. I think I’m going on four years of singledom next month. Can you believe that?”  

“If ever there were someone deserving of a Christmas miracle, Essie, it would be you. It’ll happen, honey. I promise. But in the meantime, just recognize how good you are for you. You don’t need a man to make your life work for you. You make it work for yourself. Just look at that fancy new car you got.” Sonya pointed towards the gleaming white sedan in the parking lot. “Now that’s good-looking.” They laughed and clinked their beers together.

***

As one year tumbled into the next, Esther realized that Christmas really had come and gone without any miracles. Again. 

By now the sun had become oppressive. Four straight weeks without a single drop of rain. It was on the way to the store to buy a beach umbrella that Esther saw the sign: PSYCHIC. 

Inside the shop was dark and cool; tiny crystals lined the shelves. A woman at the counter looked up from behind her magazine. 

“What can I do for you, honey?” Her voice was low and lovely. Her words seemed to hang in the air, humming.

Esther nervously played with her keys. She had never before been in a place like this. “I was hoping I could have a reading.”

The woman lay her magazine down and motioned toward a table in the corner of the room. “This your first reading?”

Esther laughed. “It’s that easy to tell?”

The woman didn’t say anything. She just smiled and handed Esther a small spray bottle. “Rose water. Spray it on your wrists and neck for me, dear.”

Esther obeyed, pulling up her sleeves and massaging the scent into her wrists and the base of her neck. “What’s this for?” she asked.

The woman had begun shuffling a weathered deck of cards. They were an earthen tone with tiny symbols sketched onto one side. She didn’t look up as she spoke and kept her gaze focused on the cards in her hands. “You reek with the smell of others’ stories.” Then she looked up and smiled slightly. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Okay, split the deck into three.” She slid the cards across the table.

Esther complied, feeling the weathered cards slip through her hands. 

The woman took the three stacks and pushed each pile to a separate part of the table. She tapped the one to her left, “Past;” then the one in the middle, “Present;” and then the one to her right “Future.” 

Esther nodded.

The reading began. Words poured from the woman’s mouth like water off a cliffside: “You’re an extremely intuitive person. You feel, you really feel. And you’ve felt loss, lots of loss. Pain. Hardship. More than others. But you push on because you love people. You really do. And you love the world—this world—but there’s a longing in you. A deep longing. What do you want? It’s consuming you, honey. And there’s a sense of dread, like, ‘What if this is it?’ Like, ‘Is this all there is?’ So what is it that you want, honey? What is it that you need?” The cards flipped one after the next. And the words spilled. Flip. Spill. Flip. Spill.

When the woman looked up, she was flushed. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead; one dripped down the tip of her nose. “What is it you want, honey?” she repeated. Then she flipped one last card and grinned. “Because you’ll be triumphant.”

Although Esther hadn’t done anything but listen, she suddenly felt dizzy. The way one feels when they’ve been barreled by a wave. “I, um… I want…” Water was in her eyes. Then it was on her face. She wiped at the tears. “I want…” She smiled. “I want a…" She folded her hands in her lap. Her thumbs grazed her navel. “You know, I— I think I’m okay actually.” In haste, she began to gather her things. “I think that’s all for today. Thank you. Thank you so much, but I forgot that I, um… I forgot I have—” 

“Are you okay, honey?”  

“I just—” she paused, collecting herself. “I’ve just heard that a lot recently. You know, people tell me to ‘have faith ‘and say ‘it’ll happen.’ But nothing’s happened. And nothing. Ever. Happens. For four years it hasn’t. Nada. Zip.”

The woman looked at Esther, and her eyes swelled with sympathy. “Oh, dear. I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to upset you. I tell you what the cards say, and the cards say you’ll be triumphant.”

Now she was pushing her chair back from the card table and walking into a side room. Her voice trailed behind her—one long harmony—as she shuffled through things, opening and closing drawers.. “I’m going to give you something, dear. Just give me a minute, okay? I’m going to give you something…something special.”

Esther felt like leaving. She could slip out the front door and leave this woman with her honey words and rose water behind. But Esther was polite by nature, so she didn’t leave. She stayed and listened to the drum of the woman’s rummaging. When the woman returned, she was carrying a glass jug full of a clear liquid. The jug was big—about the size of an infant—and corked with a pretty brass top. “Water. From Shasta. I have a place I collect it. You know about Shasta, right?”

Examining the jug that the woman cradled, Esther nodded. “The big mountain up north. It’s a volcano, right?”

The woman smiled. “It’s more than just that, honey. A magical place is what it is. A place that heals. Anyways, there’s a spring I collect from there. Don’t ask me where, but—” The woman pushed the jug into Esther’s arms. “Here. Take it. It’s for you.”  

Esther took the jug. It felt good to hold something of substance. “What do I do with it?”

The woman laughed, amused, as if the answer was obvious. “Why you use it, of course! Wash yourself. Your body, your home, your car. Wash it all away.” 

Esther sighed and looked down at the jug. “And this will help me become…triumphant?”

“Triumphant!”

That night Esther used up all the water. 

First, she washed the house. She poured the water into a bucket, soaked a washrag in it, and slid the rag across the panes of her front door. Then she washed her car. She dribbled the water over its hood, took that same old washrag, and dragged it across the surface. Lastly, she prepared a bath for herself. Oh, how lovely the water sounded pouring from the faucet! She added the woman’s water from Shasta—the very last drops of the jug—and settled into her clawfoot tub. The water felt warm and tender on her skin. She sipped red wine and let the bath lap up against her body in smooth caresses.

Around 5:00 a.m. Esther woke to the pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop. It was faint at first, just barely there. But by 7:00 a.m., when she was getting ready to leave for work, it had picked up substantially. Rain cascaded off rooftops, poured down storm drains, and carved, carved, carved away at the passes snaking through the mountains.

At work, the rain was all anyone could talk about. “They say it’s an atmospheric river. The first of three,” someone said. “Where did it come from?” another person asked. “Yeah, I don’t remember seeing it in the weather report,” someone else acknowledged. 

Esther smiled to herself from behind her cubicle. No, it couldn’t be. But, what if? She got up to make herself another cup of tea in the break room. As she entered the stale, colorless room, she saw Manuel there. He was waiting for his lunch to heat up. 

“Hey, Esther.” His smile was flush with warmth, a luminous glow against the backdrop of grey walls. His skin was tanned from the recent sun. He seemed to carry a light within him. 

Esther fumbled with the tea bags, becoming acutely aware of her every minute gesture. “Manuel, great to see you.” She racked her brain for something interesting to say, but only managed: “So, how’s that new project coming along for you?”

He laughed. “It’s coming…all this rain is making it a bit easier to sit down and focus, huh?” The microwave beeped, and he pulled out his lunch. Esther felt a bit relieved. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep this conversation going without making a fool of herself.

“Sure does,” she beamed. “I’m just happy the reservoirs are getting replenished. There’s this little spot in Henry Cowell that I’m hoping will fill up quickly. The college kids call it the Garden of Eden. Do you know it? It makes for the best swimming hole when the weather’s nice.”

“Really?” Manuel started to stir his food. It was steaming. “I’d love for you to show me some time if it is not too much of a hassle.” He met her eyes and flashed that big, radiant grin.

Esther felt a flutter inside her and returned his smile. “For sure. That would be so fun. I’d love to.”

“Alright, then,” he said, “I’m taking you up on it.” He backed out of the break room and all the color seemed to leave with him. 

Esther turned to her tea and let out a little exclamation of joy. 

On the way home, Esther cranked up the music. The local radio station was really leaning into the weather and played rain-themed classic after rain-themed classic. But it wasn’t until the familiar honey-coated voices of The Weather Girls poured through the speakers that Esther’s mind flashed back to that gorgeous smile on Manuel’s face. She started singing along to the familiar tune: it’s raining men, hallelujah! It’s raining men, amen!

With her head tilted back belting out the words, Esther barely noticed the mudslide which had spilled over the barrier and into the right lane of the highway. She slammed on to the brakes,  causing the car to hydroplane across the asphalt and topple headlights over wheels into the slide. Then, all at once, the vehicle skidded to a halt. 

Upside down in the car, Esther took a moment to breathe. Mentally scanning herself from head to toe, she sighed and realized that she was okay. She would live to see another day. To bathe in the Garden of Eden. To see Manuel’s smile. As she unbuckled, she braced herself and pushed the driver’s door open. It creaked as she stepped into the light rain outside and found herself standing in a pile of mud. To her left, a line of traffic was already forming on Highway 17, and in the distance she could hear the faint sound of sirens. Someone had called in the accident.

When the police and tow truck driver arrived on the scene, they all commented on how lucky she was to be leaving the crash completely unscathed. She nodded, still shaken by the accident, and looked down at her shoes, which were covered in a thick coat of mud. When she looked up, the crane of the tow truck was already lifting the front end of her car up and out of the brown sludge. Somewhere in the background noise she heard the word totaled and tried to register the concept in her head. How old was that car? Two months? Not even. 

The cop was mouthing words into his walkie talkie and ducking into his car to scribble notes on a pad of paper. When he emerged again, he shouted to her through the rain. “You must have someone watching over you, Miss!” Then he leaned his head back and tilted it towards the sky. She followed his gaze upwards, squinted into the gray abyss shedding rainfall, and let out a sigh. When she returned her gaze to the ground, she noticed how the rain had begun to wash away the sludge from her shoes. Like a river rising to dislodge a long-shored log, something heavy in her began to give.

“You think you’ll need to see the paramedics?” the cop asked. 

Esther shook her head. “No, I’m alright.” 

“Okay, then,” he replied. “You got someone who can pick you up then?”

Esther called Sonya, and she was there in an instant. She was all worry and concern. 

“You sure you don’t want to get checked out?” She moved her hand up to touch Esther’s forehead. As if that would do anything.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Esther insisted, swatting her cousin’s hand away from her face. 

Sonya mumbled a gruff protest to herself before pulling Esther in beneath the shelter of the umbrella and leading her to the car. On the way home, Esther relayed the story in detail. “And I hate to think that it all happened because I was thinking about that irresistible smile of his, but…”

Sonya sighed. “Gosh, Essie. I’m just glad it wasn’t more serious. I know you’ll tell me to hold the lecture, but what the heck are you doing taking your eyes off the road during all this rain?”

“I know, I know,” Esther pleaded. “I learned my lesson, I promise.” She placed one hand across her heart and held the other up at her side, as if she were swearing on a Bible. “I’m just glad I washed my car when I did.You know it could have been a lot worse.”

Liz Schim is an emerging writer based in Northern California. She has always turned to literature to help her find clarity within the chaos and hopes that her work may do that for others too