“I’m going to get him,” Nikhil says.
Alan’s still talking, something about how his sister was always the favorite child. How not even going to space was enough to impress his parents. And I’m just watching Nikhil, my mouth slightly open. Judging from the sounds traveling through the window, the intensity of the storm has waned. The wind is quieter. The rain less fervent and fierce. But it’s still no condition to be going outside in.
Nikhil opens the coat closet, pulling out a thick waterproof jacket and slipping his arms through the sleeves. He’s really going to do this.
“How are you going to get there?” If Alan’s house is flooded, I doubt we can just drive right up to it. And I’m sure we can’t walk there either.
Nikhil goes up to the front door but comes to a sudden stop. We’ve boarded up the front windows. He can’t see outside.
“Alan,” Nikhil says, interrupting Alan’s passionate accounting of sibling rivalry. “How flooded are the streets? Can you get a good look at them?”
Though I’d always evacuated instead of staying through hurricanes in the past, you don’t grow up here without going through a number of flooding events. It doesn’t take much to overwhelm thesestreets. The whole city is flat. Basically at sea level. There’s a system of bayous and waterways and reservoirs that are supposed to help, but sometimes they overflow. I remember some city official on TV during one of these floods saying that the streets are part of the drainage system. I don’t know if that’s really true or just something they said to calm the public, but I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen water flood the streets to the point that the roads start resembling rivers. Sometimes the water is stagnant, and sometimes an actual current forms.
I’d thought it was cool when I was a kid. When I was maybe six or seven, there was a particularly heavy rainstorm, one that flooded our area. The idea of swimming in the street had sounded fun, so I’d asked my sister if we could go out and play. But since she was a good nine years older than me, and therefore wiser than me, she’d just wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Do you know where that water comes from?” she’d said. “The sewer. It comes from the sewer. You don’t want to be out in that.”
“Ew,” I’d said. At that age, I hadn’t fully understood what she meant, but from her tone I could tell it was gross.
It’s one of the few childhood memories I have of my sister. Sheleft for college just a few years later, and shortly after that, had Ritu.
In a lot of ways Ritu feels more like a sister to me than my own sister does. I’ve definitely spent more time around her. In high school I used to rush home at the end of the day, so excited to see her. She’d toddle around with the funniest expressions and the sweetest giggles. I have so many memories of us playing together. I have only vague memories of my sister coming by our house to drop her off and pick her up. Of family dinners where things were tense. Where I often excused myself, offering to watch Ritu instead.
Alan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Yeah, I’m looking atthem now,” he says over the radio. “The streets aren’t passable. They look like they did during the Memorial Day floods.”
“Shit,” Nikhil mutters.
I echo the sentiment in my head. I wasn’t here for those floods, but the images made national news. Water higher than I’d ever seen it. Whole sections of highway transformed into giant lakes. Cars abandoned everywhere. Videos of people wading through neck-deep water to get to safety.
“Nikhil,” I say quietly, not wanting Alan to overhear. “You can’t do this.”
His eyes meet mine, his gaze hard.
“Stay put, Alan,” he says. “I’ll be right there.”
He turns away, and I follow after him.
“You don’t have to do this. There are rescue teams,” I say. “People who are actually trained for these situations. We just call them and…”
“They won’t come out.” He’s brisk, in both tone and movement. Still walking away, but at least he’s responding to me now. “Emergency services will be slammed,” he continues. “Maybe they make it in time, but I don’t think they will. Not with the rate the water’s rising…”
“Why can’t someone else go?” My voice comes out high and screechy. I hate it. I hate how desperate I sound. How desperate I feel. Alan needs help. I get that. I want him to be okay. But I also want there to be another way. Some alternative that means Nikhil won’t have to leave. That means he can stay here. I don’t let myself examine why I want that so much. Why the idea of him going out in the middle of this storm terrifies me. Why it makes dread spread through my body, turning my insides ice cold.
“There’s no one else, Meena,” Nikhil says. He stops for a second, grabbing a key chain hanging in the hallway, then he takes off again.
He comes to a halt in front of the side door that leads to the garage. He flips the thumb-turn lock and wraps his fingers around the handle.
“Nikhil…don’t go,” I say, giving it one last attempt. “Please.” My voice cracks halfway through the word.
He goes still, and for a second I think I have him, but then his shoulders rise and fall dramatically. In time with a loud exhale. “I have to. But I’ll be right back. You’ll be safe in the closet. It’ll be okay and—”
“I’m coming with you.” The words slip out of my mouth, soft and hesitant. Because I’m not going to sit here quietly while Nikhil risks life and limb conducting some grand rescue. If he won’t stay back where it’s safe, I’m going with him.
“I’m coming with you,” I repeat, firmer this time.
And finally, he turns around. His brows are knit, three strong, deep lines cutting across his forehead. “What?”
I say it again. “If you’re going, then I’m coming with you.”
