By Philip Lear
Steve sees the TV weatherman pointing to a large swirling multi-colored storm system on his display. The different parts of the storm are represented by shades of green, red and orange which all seem to be spinning together. He notices that within that large rotation, like the solar system each part is also moving independently in it’s own orbit. But he doesn’t need a weatherman to tell him what’s going on outside. Unlike the dramatic presentation on TV, the street is gray and wet. The rain’s been coming down in torrents for three days and the puddles look more like little ponds.
He shifts to the local weather channel, which is showing the flooding in central New Jersey. The flooded roads are highlighted in blinking red. He sees that River Road, which is two blocks from his house, is blinking. He remembers how it was in 96’ during hurricane Gladys. He was driving home, looking in the rearview mirror and saw the Raritan River starting to lap across River Road just behind him. The water pressure was flipping the seventy-five pound manhole covers like pancakes. Just thinking about it now gives him the shakes. He wonders if he’ll need the blowup raft this time.
He pours himself a glass of water. It’s cool and soothing and somehow calms him. He runs his finger across the condensation that’s formed on the outside of the glass. How strange to be sitting enjoying a glass of water in the middle of a nor’easter.
Steve’s stirred out of his reverie by the whine of a distant siren. At first pays no attention. In his neighborhood there are all sorts of background noises. There’s the never-ending sound of the traffic on I 287. Then there are garbage trucks, police sirens, planes landing and helicopters. Ambulance sirens are just another one in the mix of noises. But when the siren gets louder he realizes it’s getting much closer and becomes annoyed. When the ambulance comes down his block, he becomes alarmed.
It pulls up next door at the Swenson’s and beeps as it backs slowly into their driveway. Two police cars pull up behind the ambulance with their lights flashing. Steve can’t stand the gruesome scene that’s unfolding and turns away only to see the reflection of the lights eerily dancing on his kitchen wall.
He wants to go and help but doesn’t want to seem like a ghoulish onlooker. There are EMS medics and police there and he’d just be a fifth wheel. Yet he feels guilty for not going out. The medics lift a gurney out of the ambulance and carry it towards the front door.
The Swenson’s, Carl and Gail, an older couple, have lived next door for five years. They’ve been good neighbors. But other than over-the-fence small talk, and friendly waves he really doesn’t know them and now regrets it.
He mopes for a few minutes and then puts on his rain slicker and walks next door and stands on his muddy lawn next to the Swenson’s driveway. He hears lots of chatter coming from the police and EMS radios, though the words are unintelligible.
The Swenson’s have a large white bulldog named Holcomb and it’s barking at the EMS workers as they lift the gurney into the house. Gail is standing there trying to quiet the dog. Steve’s seen Holcomb in the back yard, but has never petted him. He’s not sure if the dog is a pet or a guard dog. The dog still barks at him when he mows his lawn.
He waits for what seems like ages and with each passing minute becomes more anxious. He wonders if Carl is dead and is relieved when the medics lift the gurney out through the front door and wheel it towards the ambulance. Steve sees all the bottles and tubes hanging over it. Carl’s hulking body is so wide that it’s flopping off the sides of the gurney.
Gail is walking beside the gurney holding the dog on a leash. Her face looks taught and gray. She turns to Steve.
“How is Carl?” He asks.
She doesn’t answer, but just extends her hand towards the ambulance. Steve’s embarrassed for asking such a stupid question.
“Don’t worry Gail,” he says. “Carl’s a tough old guy. He’ll be all right.”
“I hope so,” she says.
Though curious about Carl’s condition, he’s afraid to ask what’s wrong.
“Steve, I’m so glad you’re here,” Gail says. “I need your help.”
“Sure, anything.”
“They’re taking Carl to the hospital and I’ll probably be there all night. Can you take care of Holcomb? He doesn’t like being left alone.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep him at my place till you get back.”
Steve’s shocked when she hands him the leash and the key to her house, “His food’s in the pantry and his dish is under the window.”
Gail smiles bravely as she climbs into the back of the ambulance. Steve gives her a tentative wave. The medics close the doors and they pull away. As the ambulance heads up the block, he can see Gail sitting beside Carl.
He stands there with the dog. Holcomb is barking and pulling fiercely on the leash. He’s trying to run after the ambulance, but Steve holds him back. He pats him on the side.
“It’s okay, buddy. It’ll be alright.”
Holcomb twists his head up at Steve and gives him a gentle head butt that Steve finds reassuring.
When they go inside, Holcomb shakes his body to get rid of the water. He’s spraying it all over the carpet and the walls. But Steve doesn’t mind.
“It’s OK,” he says. “I’ll have you dry in two shakes.”
He takes a large towel and starts drying the dog. Holcomb cooperates by holding still.
“At a boy. You’re doing fine.”
When he’s finished drying the dog Steve fills the bowl with water and slides it under Holcomb’s nose.
“Here,” he says. “Drink.”
Holcomb positions himself firmly in front of the bowl and eagerly starts lapping the water. Steve feels gratified that the dog is enjoying the water. He listens to Holcomb’s lapping and finds the sound so rhythmic and natural that it has a magical affect on him. How wonderful, he thinks. Imagine that, just a dog. And as he listens his loneliness and isolation seem to retreat.