Karla spells her name with a K even though the plastic in her fake leather tri-fold says C.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t steal it. She hands it to me. Because I know the routine.<\/p>\n
The wallet logo spells Amani.<\/p>\n
I slip eighty dollars between the picture of her six kids and her expired driver\u2019s license while sliding out the small blue baggie.<\/p>\n
She says, \u201cWhat are your plans tonight, handsome?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shake my head with half a smile.<\/p>\n
Karla. The kind of girl who confuses a digestive cramp for a second heartbeat. Except there is this time.<\/p>\n
A heartbeat.<\/p>\n
You can tell she is a couple of months in from the injection of her fourth or fifth Baby Daddy.<\/p>\n
Definitely not mine. I haven\u2019t touched her. If anything, she now exists as the ultimate warning. After meeting her, a girl\u2019s name just wasn\u2019t enough.<\/p>\n
I ask them, \u201cBut how do you spell it?\u201d<\/p>\n
Because the difference between a Carla and a Karla is that a Karla is on a first-name basis with the clinic counter.<\/p>\n
Right now we are standing in front of what used to be an Eckerd’s before being a payday loan joint before it became a Blockbuster. Now it\u2019s just a piece of abandoned space in a strip mall awaiting the wrecking ball. The awning we stand under is already half-collapsed.<\/p>\n
The rain is relentless.<\/p>\n
The news says flood, flood, flood. Don\u2019t drive. Get to the highest elevation you can.<\/p>\n
So here we are, pretending that worked for Blockbuster.<\/p>\n
Karla\u2019s hand hovers near her stomach, but she doesn\u2019t touch it.<\/p>\n
I say, \u201cThe father. Where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot here,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlive?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nods.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d I tell her. \u201cThat narrows it down to most men.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughs but it comes out all raspy rust.<\/p>\n
She says, \u201cBuy me a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t need to look at my watch to tell her it\u2019s ten in the morning.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re pregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n
I look into her eyes and pretend I am able to study her fucked-up personality. She snaps her head back, trying to read a restaurant menu she isn\u2019t even holding.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou scared of me?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m scared of math,\u201d I tell her. \u201cAnd people like that always want to pretend the future is a rumor.\u201d<\/p>\n
She scoffs. \u201cWhat about people like you?\u201d she says, \u201calways thinking you\u2019re immune.\u201d<\/p>\n
I start half-hoping that the weight of the water will bring the awning down on us.<\/p>\n
\u201cI gotta pee,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
And I need a baby changing station and a straw.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s the bar,\u201d I tell her. \u201cA quick sprint and the restrooms are clean.\u201d<\/p>\n
I say, \u201cBut you will have to buy your own drink.\u201d<\/p>\n
My socks are already soaked. I clutch the blue baggie tightly in my fist.<\/p>\n
We start running.<\/p>\n
The clouds hit so hard it feels like golf-ball-sized hail even though it\u2019s still just rain.<\/p>\n
I lead her up the steps and open the door for her, using my clenched hand to hold the drugs inside the threshold, dry, and take a deep breath.<\/p>\n
Nothing beats the smell of five-day rain mixed with citrus cleaner and whiskey.<\/p>\n
Not a morning bar. The hours on the door said they opened at four.<\/p>\n
An emergency bar. Open because they sit higher than most everyone else and have a generator. The only place still with power.<\/p>\n
And it\u2019s packed. Construction boots. Mechanic hands. Factory shoulders. Every stool is taken. What\u2019s left is one wobbly table and a booth where two women have passed out face-first, breathing like they earned it.<\/p>\n
Karla and I walk past them to the toilets. I snatch a straw from the water glass in front of the one who was snoring. Loud.<\/p>\n
I cut an inch or two from it with my pocket knife.<\/p>\n
The only thing actually clean in the men\u2019s room is the baby station. Six years old but never once used.<\/p>\n
The rhythmic thud of plastic cuts up from the other side of the drywall. It vibrates like dance music. Then, a snort.<\/p>\n
Karla is way ahead. I\u2019m not moving fast enough. The product has a darker hue than normal, so I raise my fist to bang on the wall, but a moan stops it.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my God. Fuck yeah.\u201d I don\u2019t end up pounding the wall because it takes both hands to more quickly dump the entire contents of my bag onto the changing table.<\/p>\n
We aren\u2019t making it out of this.<\/p>\n
I take it down in three rails. For the record books.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m entirely numb when I step out. Sinking into the lack of adrenaline. I start to fall backwards.<\/p>\n
Karla grabs me by the necktie and yanks me forward.<\/p>\n
She rasps, “Whoa there, Tiger,” but only because she knows I can\u2019t stand it when she does.<\/p>\n
The TVs are all on the same channel. All red-colored alarms. The rain was supposed to end the day before yesterday.<\/p>\n
Then it just didn\u2019t. Some mechanic raises his black-stained nails into the air with his mug and says, \u201cOne more, Jerry!\u201d<\/p>\n
Out the front windows, I watch a calf float down the lazy river that was once 1st Street.<\/p>\n
I started to wonder how long I was in that restroom.<\/p>\n
The front door realized who it protected wasn\u2019t worth it. A surge of brown water rushed in, kicking at table legs and knocking mugs to the ground. Behind the bar, the owner buries his face in his hands. \u201cClosing down!\u201d He shouts. \u201cTime we move to the garage.\u201d Our cute little city had just constructed this three story parking garage that I laughed at for being the tallest building in downtown.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s far more funny now.<\/p>\n
We all exit the bar into a current that now chews at our kneecaps.<\/p>\n
Someone screams, \u201cWe should\u2019ve moved sooner!\u201d<\/p>\n
The barkeep has already unofficially been named our fearless leader. He didn\u2019t ask for the title, but seems to enjoy it. He gets this idea to hold hands and make like Stretch Armstrong.<\/p>\n
It works at first.<\/p>\n
He leads the line of us across the river and to the wall of the garage. But he looks back at the start of the steps we would take up.<\/p>\n
He starts shouting and waving his hand towards us, but the rain deafens his words.<\/p>\n
An SUV floats through the midpoint of our human stretched band and breaks us. I look back and attempt to subtract how many bodies are separated.<\/p>\n
Karla clings to my suit jacket. Half panicked, half laughing like it\u2019s the circus.<\/p>\n
She says, \u201cIs this really happening?\u201d I think it might be. I\u2019m not entirely sure. I scream at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUp the stairs!\u201d the Barkeep shouts, like it wasn\u2019t already the plan.<\/p>\n
The rain falls harder as we climb. The group huddles together in tears and cold wet on the second floor. I take the next flight up.<\/p>\n
I step out onto the top where the wind is even stronger. I lean into it, and manage to walk to the concrete railing that looks over towards the valley below. Where we actually lived as opposed to just where we spent our time in commerce. I realize how it’s intentional to keep the businesses on the higher ground while our homes are swallowed.<\/p>\n
There is only ocean.<\/p>\n
The rain suddenly cuts. It’s barely drizzling. The wind calms. The clouds break above the garage and a single beam of sunlight hits my face.<\/p>\n
The sun says, “Hey!” and is answered by that same floating calf. It wades past beneath me, looking up and mooing at the golden star.<\/p>\n
I laugh.<\/p>\n
“Karla!\u201d I scream backwards out the side of my mouth. \u201cLook!”<\/p>\n
She hadn\u2019t followed me past the second floor.<\/p>\n
The whirring sound of helicopter blades come over the mountain. I don’t start flailing my arms in the air, but they seem to notice me anyway. This is the time for record-breaking rails. If I had known, I would’ve saved it.<\/p>\n
But I know Karla has plenty more. I hurry back down the stairs, laughing.<\/p>\n
The townsfolk are curled in balls, hugging each other, shedding tears as if we needed any more water.<\/p>\n
Praying for God to save them instead of for a helicopter that could.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s gone!\u201d I shout at them. \u201cAll of it!\u201d I scan the faces for red hair. I listen for a raspy voice.<\/p>\n
I start to panic and look for the Amani wallet.<\/p>\n
The helicopter sound disappeared. Maybe it was never there.<\/p>\n
I know Karla was.<\/p>\n
And I wonder how long I was in that restroom.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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