The Well

2

The sun was just sliding past its zenith when I spotted our house. In the distance, the road leading to our porch shimmered like something boiled then poured out. I walked slowly, careful not to let any water slosh out of the sides of the bucket's lid. The bucket's weight was manageable to me, but I knew Austin would need to pause often if he were the one carrying it, would stop to look at the boiling road as he wiped his face. 

That is, if he even still wanted to carry the bucket at all. 

Some clouds parted, allowing the sun to strike my skin as if it meant to puncture it. But I was grateful for the heat. It burned away most thought, left nothing but the echoing impression of itself. All images of Austin melted away. I concentrated on balancing the bucket, on simmering in the heat. 

When I made it back, Mother briefly met my eyes before turning to Austin. "Why don't you play outside for a bit?"

He nodded, though his absorbing eyes never left the full bucket, and his arms didn't stop their constant swinging, forward and back.  

"Go on, now," Mother said.

The screen door swung shut behind him. I lifted the bucket and moved past Mother to set it down in the corner of the kitchen. 

"Cameron."

I knew she wanted to talk, could hear her wheelchair creaking behind me, but headed straight to my room and clenched the door shut. It would be cooler with it open--I still felt the sting of the sun on my skin--but I needed this moment alone. 

The creak of her wheelchair paused outside my door. Rather than knocking, she navigated further down the hallway. I heard her own door close soon after, and sighed in relief. 

I thought of Austin, pictured him with the bucket. Pushing it away. Holding it close. Knocking it over. When sweat started to pearl at my hairline, I moved to open my door. It wouldn't do to waste any more water than necessary. 

A dry, warm breeze flowed into my room in response--along with the sound of Mother humming, for she had opened her door as well. She was humming an old rain song, from the time before. Her gruff voice floated atop the breeze. 

My throat complained after the walk, its roughness unmistakable. I let the sound of her humming dull me into a sweat-soaked haze as I swallowed, finding little spit. 

Not yet, I thought. Not until it's unbearable. 

I hummed the rain song as well, under my breath, so low my chest barely moved. When I tired of humming, I let my lips move along to the rhythm soundlessly. 

Austin was whistling, outside. I stood up, peeking outside my bedroom window. He was flapping his arms as he whistled, eyes trained toward the sky. 

I couldn't contain my laughter. It hurt to laugh; I felt like I was on the verge of coughing instead. Still, I let laughter rock me for a few minutes. I kept my eyes trained outside, watching Austin crouch into the dirt while looking up. He was so absorbed by his undertaking, he didn't even notice me watching. 

Moments later, Mother's wheelchair creaked toward my room. She paused in the doorway, holding my eyes. I couldn't help it; I was still smiling. 

"Austin again?" she asked quietly.

I nodded, pointing toward the window. "He's out looking for birds." I lowered my voice. "He looks like an idiot. Wanna see?"

She shook her head. "He's wasting energy," she said. But a small chuckle fell from her lips before she wheeled herself away.

I went back to the window. He had moved out of sight. A brief tightness shrunk my chest until I heard his distant whistling, coming back around the  side of the house.