Page 66 of We Can't Be Friends

“We’re almost back,” I remind the both of us.

He shakes his body, only to remain as wet.

We make it back to our building, an older red brick structure with four floors. There are eight units total, all occupied. I’m the youngest who lives here. Most of my neighbors, like Edith, have lived here for years, two of them for a few decades. Each unit is identical. Two closet-sized bedrooms, a living room that backs into the kitchen, and one bathroom. Original hardwood floors, cabinets, and appliances. The front side of the apartment has massive windows allowing sunlight to pour through in the morning, draping the entire place in this golden haze. I think that’s why I like living there. I know it’s why I live here.

My favorite part? The potentially dangerous metal landing outside the windows. One of them opens outwards, with enough space between the frames for Tucker and me to squeeze through. I’m unsure if it can legally be called a patio or if I should even be out there, but I’ve never gotten hurt or in trouble yet.

I keep a small garden box out there. It only fits enough to have a few herbs and plants, but someday, when I have a house or a bigger apartment, I’ll have an entire garden. Till then, I’ll figure out how to keep the vase of daisies in my kitchen alive.

My kitchen. That has me zipping through the front doors.

I drop Tucker’s leash once we enter the confined and dry lobby. He sprints up the stairs to the third floor with me trailing behind him.

When we reach the set that connects floors two and three, each step progressively becomes softer and squishier.

Watching my right foot as I step onto the landing of my floor, I notice the water seeping out of the carpet around my shoe. The same thing happens when my left foot meets the right. Each step to my door brings up water.

Tuck stands by the door, wagging his tail, eager to be inside, dry, and curled up for the remainder of the now dreary day. He pushes past me, hitting me with his damp tail, heavy with water, which actually kind of hurts.

I rub my thigh.

My jaw drops as I open my door fully.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“No. No, no, no, no,” I groan. Closing my eyes, my shoulders drop in minor defeat.

My entire living room and kitchen are flooded with standing water.

I cover my face with my hands. Taking a deep breath, I remove them, hoping that this is a dream and when I open my eyes there will be no water.

I count to three in my head.One. . .two. . .three. . .

There’s still water.

My apartment is still flooded.

Tucker looks as confused as I feel.

Where is this coming from?

What am I supposed to do?

Where am I supposed to go?

My furniture. Is everything ruined?

What if my landlord doesn’t do anything about this?

Does my renter’s insurance cover this? I know nothing about renter’s insurance except that I have it.

Digging into the pockets of my coat, I pull out my phone and quickly call the person who will know what to do.

“Dad.”

“Hi, freckles.”

“Are you busy?” My lips wobble.

---