When the Levees Broke
by Dianna Ada Harris
It was the time of day when the sky cradled the moon; the type of night when the stars hung heavy and the dark seemed to drip from their light; the night was hot; the kind of heat that swelled in your stomach and took all the water that clung to your rib cage; it was the type of night where mosquitoes boasted of fat bellies and fireflies kept flashing like they were afraid of dark; She sat on a park bench listening to children's high shrills piercing the night, but listened more for his footsteps; He was a cool daddy - that's what they called him; He wore his hair slicked back and his words were just as smooth; they could dance a tango round your head and slide seductively into your ear, tumble down your throat, and grow in your belly, until you were so pregnant with his sweet nothings you couldn't do anything but burst with a silly joy, or love; She rubbed her belly; She was hungry, but the hunger didn't echo like it used to; the baby down there absorbed all the sound and then kicked in response; She was due any day now and her belly hung low just like the stars and she imagined she could reach up and pick one, but the baby kept her down; down the sidewalk she could hear a rhythmic tapping, like a heartbeat, approaching; She clasped her hands to keep the excitement from bursting; He came out from the darkness, letter in his hand, his expression was blank, yet his body language drew you in, like waves to the shore, and you would never resist his magnetism; He didn't say hello; He didn't hug her warmly; He wasn't the kind of lover you read about in stories; She was okay with that; His love was different; She knew it was love every time he kissed her; Why else would he give her a baby?; She never waited for his greeting; She spilled her exuberance like water; He listened to the stagnant air and waited for a pause; He was not here to talk about a baby; He did not care; Women get pregnant all the time; He glanced at her; Her eyes were lit like stars and he remembered why he had first spoken to her - but that was before the baby and the expanding hips; before the rose in her cheeks, before the labored waddle; after swatting a mosquito he focused his attention on her rounding belly and grew weary; this was something he could not do; He had his speech all together; the words were ready to burst into the fertile air and mature; it would be quick; the lifespan of a bug; She would accept it; He would go his separate way; She would understand; He opened his mouth and the heat took all the moisture from the insides of his jaws, and his tongue, and his throat, and his words; they sat dry and fragile like the wings of a dead insect; He expected this to happen; that's why he had the letter; He looked back at her; She was still spilling an infectious joy he seemed to be immune to; He got up abruptly; Her facial expression asked why; He looked at the sky and remembered always wanting to get that high; something was always holding him down; He felt an impulse to run; with his eyes squeezed shut and his arms stretched above him, like he was attempting to grab a star, he jetted into the street; just then a large truck was turning onto the dark street; He froze, like he had done every time before something great occurred in his life; it ran him over; his blood broke from his body and scampered in loops, in a puddle around him; She stood up too fast; the heat of the air choked her and stole all her water, then forced it all the way down her legs.