... Ali in her wedding dress, hugging me close...
... her children laughing at their first birthdays...
... Yayoi’s giddiness from her positive pregnancy test...
... Geoff claiming I’m one of his best friends...
... Asher...
... his smile...
Water spills over the porch, seeps toward my front door.
... his teasing laugh...
The wood groans when water trickles through the cracks. I clutch my broom tighter.
... the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at me...
Water builds against the windows on either side of the door.
... I want something real...
The glass creaks against the slap of the rising tide.
... I’m in love with you...
The waves crash against the door. Water inches inside.
... Can you see a future for us?...
Why couldn’t I give in? Give him what he wants? I’ve been so terrified of everyone else’s death, I never paused to consider my own mortality. I’m going to die, but does it count as death if I’ve never really been alive to begin with? I’ve hidden in shadows. In excuses. In a glass box nearly full of floodwaters.
With a great crack, the thin glass windows shatter, and water spills into my home. My face is wet, breath short, but I square my shoulders. Broom in hand, I stomp to the door and turn the knob. One sweep at the inches of water spilling inside is ineffectual, but I keep trying.
Sweep.
Flood.
Sweep.
Flood.
I poke my head out the door. My face and hair are whipped by wind powerful enough to kill. It’s not easing up in the slightest. If I had cell service, I could check the radar, figure out where the eye is, determine how much longer this storm will brew with such violence.
Sweep.
Flood.
Sweep.
Flood.
Behind me, the tide rages against my back doors—glass sliders. It’s only a matter of time before they break against the weight of the water. I stop sweeping and peer down at my feet, now ankle deep.
The broom drops out of my hands. Splashes beside me.
My tears are soundless, but numerous. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
