It didn’t take the police long to locate the Facebook page. It took even less time to trace it back to Riley. They came when she was at school. It was the same policewoman as before, the one whose eye was three times the size of the other, constantly peering at him. Looking at her gave him vertigo.
“We thought we should let you know,” she said, “police are on their way to pick up your daughter.”
Rusty attempted to play dumb, but she wasn’t buying it.
“As her parents, we wanted to give you the opportunity to be there when we did.”
They drove to the school, a few miles away. As they did, Rusty couldn’t help but notice that the neighborhood looked like it had before, not all that long ago, pristine and immaculate. Dew glistened off mowed grass. Bushes were trimmed into perfect, straight lines. He had to admit; those kids did one hell of a fine job.
At the school, six police cars idled out in the bus loop. A crowd had already gathered, wondering what the commotion was. Concerned parents pointed at the school, their heads bobbing as they chastised the administration for not letting them know what was going on; it was, after all, their kids inside.
Rebecca and Rusty made their way through the crowd to get into the school, but they were stopped by a uniformed police officer.
“We have the school shut down, sir,” the policeman said as he placed a hand on Rusty’s chest. The policeman tried to glare at him, but the look was almost comical as the policeman was severely cross-eyed.
“This is the father,” Rebecca said, jabbing her thumb into Rusty’s chest. It hurt, the nail digging into the flesh just above his nipple, and he had to rub it to dull the ache.
“The kid’s missing.”
“What?” Rusty asked. “Missing?”
“We got the whole area on lockdown searching for her.”
“What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
“She shouldn’t get far,” he continued. “With all the lawns mowed, she has fewer places to hide.”
Not knowing what to do, Rusty started to run. He had no idea where to run to, though. Her favorite place in the world was in her bedroom, curled up with a book. But she wouldn’t go there; she was too smart for that. As far as Rusty was aware, she had no other place of refuge, no sanctuary to be alone, to reflect, or hide in. All of a sudden, Rusty felt sorry for his daughter. No one, especially a child, should be deprived of that.
Rebecca chased behind him, calling for him to stop. Because he had no idea where he was going, he obliged. Winded, he bent over, gasping to catch his breath.
“We’ll find her,” she said. “Don’t worry. We will find her.”
THE SEARCH PARTY WAS LARGE. There were dozens of police, neighbors, kids from the school, firefighters, paramedics, gym teachers, even bureaucrats from the DMV. They all started at the school, building a perimeter, and then proceeded outward, calling out “Riiiiileeeeeeey!” every few steps. Deborah stood with Rusty, hand in hand, on the north side of the building and headed away from their home.
Deborah still wouldn’t believe her little girl could be responsible for all of this. School fields were mowed. Houses free of trash and dirt. Gutters reattached to roofs. The city began to look like a city again, a place of civilization, and Deborah couldn’t have been more embarrassed. Her daughter, a criminal. Rusty had to admit that he, too, felt ashamed. He’d thought he taught his little girl better than this.
“Riley!” he called out.
Nothing—just the whine of a tired and old dog off in the distance.
Then came a buzz in his pocket, his cell phone. He ignored it at first, but then it came again. His phone would continue to buzz until he acknowledged the message, so he pulled out his phone. It was a Facebook message from Riley.
It said: “I can hear your voice.”
He typed back, “Where are you?”
“What are you doing?” Deborah asked.
He shook his head.
“Seriously, our daughter is in trouble and,—” She looked over his shoulder. “—and you’re checking your Facebook page? What the hell is wrong with you?”
A message returned from Riley: “I’m under the Rocket Ship Bridge.”
The Rocket Ship Bridge was in Stephenson Park just around the corner. Rusty whispered into his wife’s ear, “I know where she is. Cover for me.” She had a reticent look on her face, but she nodded. When he turned to slip away, her fingertips pressed against his with just a little more pressure than usual. Go get our daughter, the gesture said. She’s the most important thing right now.
Rusty slipped away and headed over to Stephenson Park. Calls for his daughter echoed over the treetops. They were close and getting closer. It wouldn’t take long for at least one of the search parties to find her. It was just a matter of time.
The Rocket Ship Bridge sat between two large play rocket ships. They had stairs and slides for children to play and have fun. Riley was curled up underneath the bridge, sitting with her iPad in her lap. She perused pictures of all that she had done and inspired across the city. Lawns were mowed. People were posing and smiling in front of their homes once again. Someone had tagged “Anonymous” on an overpass. There was a video for that one. Each time a car passed underneath, the driver honked his horn in support. It was difficult not to feel pride, even if Riley was a criminal. She had done what he and Deborah had asked—she had reached out and connected with the world. She had effected change in others, and Riley would never be the same. She would, after now, no longer be anonymous.
“Everyone’s looking for you, sweetie,” Rusty said.
“I know,” Riley said.
“Is that why you ran?”
She nodded.
“Are you scared?”
She nodded.
Rusty scooted in next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, comforting her. Despite the circumstances, he enjoyed this little moment. To be needed was every father’s wish.
Riley placed her head on his shoulder. “I just wanted to help Mr. Lindsey out,” she said. “That was all. He just seemed so upset about everything that I thought if I could help him out, he’d be happier.”
“That was very thoughtful of you.”
“I guess I just took it a little too far.”
“It happens. I understand.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
She peered up at her father. Her eyes were buoyant and moist. Her fear broke Rusty’s heart. He just wanted to hold her and protect her forever.
He helped her up to her feet. “Follow me,” he said. “Everything is going to be okay.”
They came out from underneath the bridge. There, standing in the street, was the search party Rusty had just left.
“You will have to go with that lady there,” he said, pointing to Rebecca.
“But why, Daddy?” she asked. “Why?”
“You broke the rules, Riley. When you break the rules, you have to be punished.”
Riley began to sob. It wasn’t a loud wail, but a slow and steady cry. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Deborah tried to go to Riley, but the asymmetrical policewoman held her back, then headed toward Rusty and Riley. Before she could take Riley away, however, Rusty leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“The city looks good, sweetie,” he said. “You did good.”
Riley smiled and nodded, sniffling back the last of her tears. “See you soon, Dad.”
“Real soon,” he said.
Rusty took Riley’s hand and then passed her over to Rebecca, who radioed in that the fugitive was in custody, officially ending the search.
Rebecca placed Riley in the backseat of a nearby police cruiser and then shut the door. Riley looked out the window, her face long and confused. The search party bore witness. All of them were silent. It reminded Rusty of a vigil, as if they had congregated for a collective mourning, to heal and to move forward, and to make peace with what they had done.
Amid the Flood of Mortal Ills
AT FIRST THEY DIDN’T KNOW WHA
T TO THINK-THEY’D HEARD ALL ALONG THAT IT WAS POSSIBLE, THE oceans rising so that a majority of the US would be under water—but as the what if turned into reality and Florida and then Mississippi and then Louisiana and then Massachusetts all became submerged, those in the Midwest couldn’t all help but realize, almost instantaneously, like a shared dream across thousands of miles, that everything would be different from then on. Their cushy, easy, selfish lives no longer existed.
Benji worked on the Skyline Luxury Condominiums as a welder. His office was a steel beam a foot wide and twenty stories up and provided a remarkable view. A little ways out into the harbor Benji saw a large yacht with smoke rising from the deck. The passengers appeared to be barbecuing. Benji couldn’t help but be jealous. He hadn’t had a steak in months. He tried not to let it bother him, though. He had too many other worries. With all the refugees and the shortage of land, his rent had quadrupled for his small apartment, costing him nearly $4,000 a month for a basement studio; food prices had skyrocketed—an ear of corn was about $10—and he had a kid on the way. A wife and baby to feed and put a roof over. He was going to be a father. Him. He could hardly believe it.
He returned to the job at hand, welding a steel beam to an L-joint supporting what would be the twenty-first floor. It was a cool job, he had to admit; he enjoyed the welding and he even enjoyed the height. But he was afraid the levees wouldn’t hold and he would go tumbling end over end into an unfathomably deep and unforgiving ocean.
Looking back out to the barbecue he noticed panic aboard the yacht. Flames licked the sky from the deck, much larger than they should’ve been. The fire had leapt from the grill and set the boat on fire. Several people scrambled, shooting the fire with extinguishers, but the blaze quickly spread and became stronger. That was when he realized that no one was going to help. The Coast Guard wasn’t scrambling to their rescue. He could do nothing. Not from here. And neither could his coworkers. Each of them stopped working one by one, and stared out at the flames as the passengers dove into the crystal blue waters. They didn’t have any other choice. It was either stay put and burn to death or jump and swim to safety. Then the yacht sank.
SUMMER, BENJI’S WIFE, GREETED HIM with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and a “How was your day, honey?” when he got home that evening.
“Good,” he said. And it was. “Saw a boat sink.”
“Really?” He nodded. “Oh my God! Was anyone hurt?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. They weren’t too far out. I saw three or four make it to land.”
“Jesus. I hope they’re all okay,” she said, more to herself than to Benji.
He kissed her belly, and he could feel the baby squirm. Summer flinched. At seven months, she’d been experiencing a lot of pain. The doctor had said that was all normal, though, and they shouldn’t worry. Their baby was healthy and would be beautiful. Summer said she just wanted the damn thing out of her.
Their little basement apartment didn’t have any windows, so despite it still being daylight outside, their living room looked like it was past midnight. One lamp cast the room in an orange glow, and dust swam through the air like a school of jellyfish. It became hard to breathe at times. The floor was being eaten away by water damage so that the cracked concrete foundation showed. They were sick all the time because of it, both of them suffering from chronic coughs and walking pneumonia. Benji had promised himself and Summer that before their child was born he would find them a better place to live. But there just wasn’t anything out there. Scanning the classifieds didn’t help; the rooms were gone before the ink had dried on the paper. More people migrated every day, and unless you were lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, literally at the landlord’s doorstep when the house or apartment or condo became available, you didn’t have a chance at landing it. That was just their new reality.
“News said the water rose twenty feet today,” Summer said. “Twice as much as they were expecting.”
“Any cause yet?”
“They’re clueless. I don’t even think they’re trying to figure it out anymore.”
She set the table. Instant potatoes and hot dogs. Fresh produce and meat were impossible to come by. Too little food for too many mouths. Why they were bringing in another was beyond Benji. He and Summer had planned the pregnancy. They’d talked about it. How great it would be to have a baby around the house. The little pitter-patter of footsteps. They never discussed the burdens a baby would bring. The sacrifices. The kind of world they were going to be bringing him or her up in. Their decision was shortsighted and naïve, maybe, but it was something to look forward to.
“Do you think the levees will hold?” Summer asked.
“Hard to tell.”
She paused a moment, cradling her belly with her arms like a basket of bread. “What’ll we do if they don’t?”
They avoided this subject, too, like if they discussed it, it would imminently happen. By doing so, they were able to cling to the belief that the waters would cease to rise, recede even, and uncover more land so that the refugees could start anew, so that they could, too. It was a childish impulse, to ignore their problems in hopes that they would go away of their own volition. But they weren’t the only ones that did this; Benji was sure of it. Perhaps all of humanity suffered from a chronic plague of arrested development.
On the news the government offered suggestions, to stay calm, to get on the roof of your house, to stay put until someone came to rescue you. No one Benji knew planned on taking that advice.
Summer flinched, grabbed her stomach and sat down. Benji jumped to her, afraid she was going into labor prematurely. She grimaced, her eyes watered, and the veins in her face looked like they could pop at any moment. He stood by her, waiting for her to give him instructions on what he should do. He knew better than to talk. Summer breathed quick, irregular breaths. She grabbed his arm and dug her nails into his skin. This was the worst it had ever been. Benji was convinced she was going into labor, that he needed to grab her and carry her upstairs and try to catch a bus so that they could get to the hospital to have their baby, their baby, dear God, they were having a baby.
For the first time, the fact that Summer and he were having a baby really sank in. It was like he could feel the entire weight of the universe bearing down on him. The burden was so immense, so strangling, so paralyzing that he stopped breathing, and he was overcome with this sudden overwhelming urge to flee and to never come back.
Eventually, though, Summer’s shoulders relaxed, her breathing returned to normal, and her nails no longer dug into his flesh. For a few moments they sat there in silence, Benji’s arms wrapped around Summer’s shoulders, and her chin resting on his arm.
“We’re not stupid, are we?” Summer asked.
“I don’t know,” Benji said. “Could be.”
THEY WENT SHOPPING THE NEXT day, Benji’s day off, for baby stuff. They couldn’t afford much, so they milled around second-hand stores. They purchased a teddy bear and a stroller and different books they had read when they were kids: Winnie the Pooh and Curious George and Prince Caspian. The stroller was missing a wheel, but Benji could fashion one out of something, perhaps steal a wheelbarrow wheel from work. They bought used blankets and pillows and one of those toys that attaches to the crib and plays lullabies. Nothing fancy, but Benji was glad to be able do this one domestic thing, as if life still resembled some sort of normalcy.
As they left the store, their new belongings crammed high in a wobbly shopping cart, the sirens sounded. Summer and Benji were in the parking lot, halfway to the bus stop when they heard them. Back before the flood, they had been used as tornado sirens, but now they denoted one thing: a levee might break. The parking lot was mostly deserted. They didn’t have to worry about panicked crowds or mobs of people. But they didn’t know what to do, either. They’d both seen images of what had happened. The water destroyed everything. Buildings were demolished, cars tossed, trees uprooted, bridges collapsed. And there wasn’t an
y stopping it. Oklahoma was flat ground. If the levees failed, they all would die.
So, with no other option at hand, Summer and Benji peered around them, waiting for the water to submerge the city where they had both grown up and lived their entire lives. They didn’t cry or hold hands or say that they loved each other. They didn’t see the point. They just waited for their oncoming destruction.
But the waters never came. Eventually the sirens ceased, and they could hear the birds and cars and trains again. It was a false alarm. They’d had more and more of those lately, once every few weeks it seemed. They hardly fazed Benji and Summer anymore, really. The bus even came on time, full to the hilt of other people, dazed like them, staring blankly out the windows.
ONE OF THE FEW LUXURIES Summer and Benji maintained was a family doctor, Dr. Foley. They had an ultrasound appointment, and they hurried after dropping off their new items at their apartment and ended up only being fifteen minutes late, a new record.
Dr. Foley’s office was located in an old daycare that had shut down because of problems with the Department of Human Services. This had happened before the flood, actually. Benji remembered having read about it, something about one of the women running the place inappropriately touching a few of the toddlers. Forced oral sodomy or something like that.
The nurse called Summer’s name, and she and Benji were led toward the back. Summer weighed in, and then they went back to the examination room where the nurse took Summer’s blood pressure. It was elevated, 140/90, and the nurse pursed her lips and made a sucking noise, almost as if she’d expected this, and told Summer that the doctor would be in to see her shortly.
Five Hundred Poor Page 7
