Late Summer Rain

Chapter One

Six months.

That's how long it's been since the rain fell from the sky. That's how long this drought has been going on. The small shower which lasted an hour those distant six months ago, barely helped our lands. My grandfather's fields that once bared wheat, corn, and various other agriculture was empty, dry, dead. Everything was dead and our animals were starved. 

This drought has taken it's toll. Our small town was forgotten, it seemed. The first two months, news reporters brought their cameras here, catching a glimpse of our dry plains, and questioning the locals. But, soon after that another story caught their attention and the hope we held, went out the window. Our water was controlled. We couldn't use it unless deemed necessary and no one objected to that.

Why would we? It was the only thing, the only viable thing we had to survive. We couldn't afford to waste it. My grandfather, Harry, had brought up the idea of leaving here, possibly forever, or until the drought would break but, my grandmother, Ruth, didn't allow it. They grew up here, together. Fell in love here, together, and raised their family here, together - my dad. My dad, I was always a daddy's girl. I would follow him all over the ranch, while he performed his daily duties. He would take me on his horse, Midnight, to this small creek. We'd throw rocks and watch fish but, that was all before the land was deprived of it's vital resource - water.

My mom was beautiful from what I can remember. I didn't spend much time with her, it was mostly only early mornings and evenings. She'd tell me stories of princesses and princes, faraway places that held love and happiness; fairytales, she'd tell me fairytales. Her long blonde hair always glowed around her face, her brown eyes reminded me of chocolate, and her long, slender fingers were almost always placed on the keys of a piano.

They were in love, I think. Even from my six year old eyes, I could tell. They were the princesses and princes in the stories she'd tell me every night  and this was the faraway place that held love and happiness. This was the fairytale. I lived in a fairytale.

But, stories never have happy endings, or at least mine don't. Reality came crashing down on me, fast and hard. It was the same routine, a day like any other, or so it felt. My mom had tied my blonde pigtails up, decorating them with strings of red ribbon. She was singing her favorite song and I hummed along since, I didn't know the words but, the small moment crashed. My grandfather came rushing in, carrying a bloody and limp man. My mother rushed over quickly and I sat still in the chair, gripping my teddy bear tight against my chest.

Who was he? Hysterical sobs came from both my mother and my grandmother, and I sat in confusion. I held my teddy with one hand and gently walked over to the severely injured man.  Tears poured helplessly out of my mother's eyes and I came closer, the blood that covered the man's face and hid his identity from me, was clearer. I could make out the features, his eyes shockingly green, as they locked onto my own.

My dad.

His bloody hand, that was free from my mother's tight grip, slowly rose and was placed lovingly onto my cheek. He weakly pulled me into him, kissing my forehead. I dropped the teddy from my hand and tightly wrapped my arms around my dad. His grip on me was loosening slowly. I pulled back, looking into his eyes, remembering my dad for the man he was to me - not this man covered in blood, dying.

He kissed my cheek, softly - weakly, and pulled me to him once more. His heavy, labored breath covered my face. He drew in another ragged breath and let it out.

His voice was low, "Baby, don't cry, " He shushed with a light chuckle, wiping a tear from my cheek, "I'll always love you. Don't ever forget that, forever and always." I held on tighter and not soon after, his grip on me wasn't there.

He was gone.

I lost my dad at six years old. My hero was forever gone. My mom was too.

No more were the nights she tucked me into bed, telling me stories. No more did she put my hair into pigtails. She didn't associate with me. Ruth took care of me. I'd see glimpses of my mother in the morning, just coming home. She'd yell and stumble around the room. She had started to drink, to ease the pain, I guess. Ruth always had Harry distract me from it. all. He'd take me outback and swing on the porch swing, talking aimlessly about types of animals.

But, I'd seen it. She had became a drunk. She drowned her sorrow with alcohol and forgot about me. I don't know if I reminded her of him but, my six year old self always felt to blame. My eyes matched his, and he always said we shared the same dimply smile.

Then one afternoon, I was sitting on the front porch when a police car pulled down the long entrance to the ranch. It was Sheriff Fenson. He said that I was getting big and then asked if Ruth or Harry were inside. Ruth came out of the house, along with Harry, and they told me to go upstairs and play.

Later on, I heard the car leaving our property and Ruth called me downstairs. The look in her eyes was familiar to me. She had held the same look when my dad had passed away. They both sat me down and explained there had been a crash. My mother was drunk driving and went off of Old River Road Bridge. She died on the scene.

That was all before the drought, all before today.

That was all the past.