Hello and welcome to this story,
Our Sky,
The Ocean.
This is a story about sisterhood and about sensing the world in a slightly different way.
It was originally published in The Glass City,
A collection of short stories.
We were waiting for rain the day my sister stopped talking.
We examined the clouds,
Mom and dad talked about the football game that was holding up traffic to I-10,
The talent show,
The neighbors runaway dog,
The sandwich shop opening up on 5th,
And the sad sad state of our garden.
I chimed in from time to time,
Keeping an eye on my sister as she watered the vegetables.
The broccoli and basil leaves were withering up like prunes and the lettuce resembled the tops of our grandfather's hands.
My sister patted the ground and traced the leaves with her fingers as though speaking to them without words.
I was more direct.
Do your job,
I told the sky.
The 20-day drought was right on schedule.
It was the middle of the August and droughts often hit the south this time of year.
Still,
No one was ever prepared.
I nudged my sister,
Come on don't you think it will rain?
When she didn't answer I said,
How much money do you think we'll earn if we help Mr.
Jerry paint his garage next week?
I asked more questions,
So many I don't remember.
My sister smiled,
Raised her eyebrow,
Shrugged,
And tightened her lips,
But she didn't say a word.
She ran with urgency to dinner,
However,
I ran after her.
Are you sure you're okay,
I asked.
She turned back to me with a bright smile.
Why aren't you talking,
I asked.
She examined me with her wide eyes.
They were the same color brown as our kitchen table,
Which dad had stained extra dark,
Only they had flecks of gold at the edges,
And I often wished I had her eyes.
My sister didn't appear ill.
At dinner she ate her corn and mashed potatoes like a champ,
Even licking her plate clean as the rest of us chattered on about this and that.
Toward the end of the meal she winked and gestured toward the door.
I followed her.
The air looked like it was pregnant with moisture.
My parents were talking about who bought the house at the end of the street and why the teenager,
A few doors down,
Got fired from the automotive shop.
They talked about how much the cell phone bill would be and what time they'd be home from work on Monday.
I kept asking my sister,
Why aren't you talking?
A year earlier my sister had closed her eyes and refused to open them for almost an entire day.
She spent hours feeling around the house to get where she needed to go.
After,
When she finally opened her eyes,
She said that she had been trying out a different way to see.
My sister slipped a watermelon candy into her mouth and handed me one.
As we sat out back she felt the dry earth around the vegetables.
It's like sand,
I said.
The sky is like our ocean.
My sister sat on a patch of dirt and began to carve a message with a small stick just by her legs.
Try it,
She wrote.
I closed my lips.
I traced my finger over the wrinkled lettuce and looked up at the sky.
Together we waited.
I could hear my parents talking about this and that but after a while I began to hear the wind too.
Then the whoosh of cars nearby.
I began to understand.
The first drop of rain hit my arm and made all the little hairs stand up.
The next drop landed on my cheek.
My sister and I leaned back and closed our eyes listening to the world absorbing each drop.
