Shrinking in the Drought
Written with my Thursday night group with the prompts: I am the walrus, oh baby it’s a wild world, breaking rocks in the hot sun, tonight, maybe the drought shrunk it, proven to be, on a river raft, burning, why why why, learning a new way, don’t ask questions, too tired to be anything tonight, daring, only good news today, easy, made more noise now
Paddling our river raft, skimming over rocks in the hot sun, Jimmy told me it seemed to him Rio Americano looked thin and frayed along the edges. “Ah, sweetie,” I said, “I think my river’s been shrinking in the drought.”
He nodded in that sage accepting way he’d always been able to fake, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was still the only one who could read through his swagger and bull. It’d been a long time since we’d been together. I’d only agreed to meet him here on the water because I knew the wild river was getting slowly tamed by climate change. There was little left here to challenge or fear. That’s how I felt about Jimmy too. He’d proven to be much more mellow since the days he came burning into my heart, my kitchen and my bed. So was I. I made a lot less noise than I used to. I didn’t ask any questions because finally finally I was sincerely uninterested. Yet I was willing to give him a chance but only if he slept on the couch.
“Yeah,” he said, “this river may be getting old like us but, baby, it’s still a wild world.”
I leaned back and covered my face with my hat. “Whatever, Jim. If you say so.”
“I do say so,” he countered. “So you better pay attention. Maybe tonight you’ll be learning a new way!”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be too tired to be anything tonight.”
A strange look came across his eyes. “Sit up, there’s rough water ahead.”
I inched forward but didn’t rise. “Liar.”
“No, Callie, look!”
I jerked my head up to see the current pulling us to a roiling patch of spin. A whirlpool? Jimmy tossed me an oar and we aimed to row around it, but it was sucking us in.
“Why, why, why?” Jimmy muttered under his breath, and that frantic chant made me more nervous than anything. Suddenly a dark object seemed to rise before us. Thick and black, slurping in sudden air. A face emerged: small eyes, wide mouth, two enormous sword-like teeth. “My God,” I cried, “it’s a walrus.”
The water sprayed upward like a magic rainbow fountain. The walrus seemed to float on a misty cloud, a throne of river rock and amethyst. “I am the Walrus,” he declared, and I wondered if we were supposed to sing “Goo goo g’joob,” but I restrained myself.
He seemed the embodiment of joy, a creature of light and daring. “Only good news today,” he said, looking at Jimmy as if reminding him of a pact they’d made.
“That’s easy,” Jimmy said. He leaned forward to touch my face, brushing the hair away from my eyes, kissing me lightly on the forehead. He stood then and dove into the water. I gasped.
I was alone, in my kayak, on the depleted river, in the 21st century. The water was calm.
