Normal Life

At last the water went down as our mother said it would. Lona and I went out into the dark street to catch and throw the lopsided ball we’d kept up high. After her fifth expert catch, Lona took on a far look and stretched out an arm and pointed.

“Look there,” she said. “That lady.”

I turned. A tall woman in green, buckled shoes. Her clothes were dry, and her waist-length, white hair was wet.

“Just leave her alone,” I said, throwing the ball back at Lona. “She’s not hurting anybody.”

“Well, she’s staring at me,” said Lona.

I looked back to the lady, and Lona was not lying. I was three years older and there to protect her, though sometimes she did lie.

“She’s not bothering you,” I said. “Leave her alone.”

“I will if she does.”

I caught the ball with my signature eyes-closed catch, then opened them and looked back again. The lady would not leave us. I did not want to speak to her but did.

“You need something?” I said. “What can we do for you?”

I’d heard my mother ask it that way, when she was trying to help. Even when she meant I, she said we.

It was not raining, and then it was. Now it wasn’t again. Hurricane Harvey had just come down on us for five days. Every day my mother looked out the