Halfway to a Hundred

5: Rolling

I should call for somebody.

For Mama.

For Daddy.

For Connie.

For somebody.

But I don't have time for that.

If I hurry, I could catch Connie before she goes too far away.

So instead of calling for somebody, I just climb up on the bed, reach for the window, and climb out.

A sudden gust of wind catches me off guard and I lose my grip on the thin window sill. I fall from the window to the ground below, the breath getting knocked right out of my lungs.

I scramble to my feet because the ground is so hot, but I almost immediately lose my footing on the loose sand.

When I'm finally able to suck in a breath, I choke on the sandy air.

I start to cough and my eyes begin to tear up--half because I'm scared and half because of all the sand.

All of my instincts are screaming for me to get back inside, and I know I should, but first I have to find Connie.

I can't see though. I try to squint open my eyes but even with them barely a crack open I feel like sand is going to get in, and it's so bright it stings anyway.

So I just call her name.

I hear nothing but the howling wind and the sound of the sand scraping against the house.

My arms, my face, my feet, are burning.

I get to my feet, stick my hand to the side of the house, and feel my way around the house, calling out Connie's name.

At first I can't behind to think why she'd leave the house, and then I remember last night.

The fever.

She was delirious.

Which means she could have left at any time after midnight.

"Connie!" I scream at the top of my lungs, and start to run.

A gust of wind knocks me back off my feet, but as I'm trying to get up it continues blowing, so that I fall again and roll over.

I try to get up but the sand under my hands and knees slides away, and I instantly begin to roll again.

I'm going down a hill, but it's so steep I can't even slow myself down by digging my hands into the loose sand.

By the time I reach the bottom, my brain feels like mush, my arms are sore, and my legs are burning.

Another gust of wind blows a bunch of sand into my face and I start to cough again.

Maybe Connie rolled down here, too.

I call out for her again, but I realize have almost no voice left.

I have to get back to the house to find Mama and Daddy so that they can call the police and organize a search party.

All I know for sure is that the house is up the hill so while I try to gather my thoughts I begin trying to crawl back up the hill.

It's hopeless. Every time I think I'm getting somewhere, I hit a particularly loose area of sand and I slide back down to the bottom. Every time I stop to breathe or try to blink, wind blows half the hill loose and I tumble back down to the bottom.

After about ten failed attempts, I fall to the bottom and start to cry, this time because I'm afraid I'm going to die out here.

But I can only cry for so long before the heat and sand remind me that if I can't get to my house, I need to at least find someone else's.

I begin to walk away from the hill.

If I can find another person's house, I can wait it out until night, when it cools down more.

People would go outside at night during the dry season, except it's still windy, with the same force as during the day.

I pull my shirt up over my nose and mouth to try to keep the sand out, and thankfully, it helps a little.

I'm already sweating buckets, and I can feel my face, arms, and legs burning under the scorching sun.

I walk aimlessly for what feels like years, alone with nobody but the wind, until I decide that maybe I should turn back to the hill.

At least the hill is near home, and if I scream loud enough, somebody will hear me.

But as I turn and start trudging back the direction I came, I hear a new sound.

Something high-pitched, and rusty.

Like a squeaking door.

Or a child's voice.