Monday, August 29, 2005

Warn them

I reach my brother, Jason. He's only one block north of my parents. Warn them, I yell across the faint, dying connection. Maybe he hears every third word. I tell him that I love him, and the eye wall is coming. I plead with him to tell our parents. Warn them. Somehow. Then hide. For his life.

He yells that he loves me, too. Then we both fall silent. Neither of us says goodbye. And we hang up.

Alone, I wonder if God had heard my one prayer. Among all the millions of other coming his way this morning.

Now I'll step outside. And pretend I'm not howling behind my eyes. That my stomach isn't trying to crawl up my throat. That I don't think they are all dying. I'll just smile and welcome Katrina's darkling approach.
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