My sleep was sound. I was forming a permanent mold of my side sleeping position into my mattress when I heard a faint yet distinct sound of a person calling. I didn’t hear my name, just noise but one that expressed immediate need and attention where the lack of attention would produce only a more urgent and more angry noise where the need still existed. It was not going away. The world was silent otherwise and dark. Though I believe I may have heard the lone drummer walking down the street waking all the women folk in the predawn hours so they could make preparations for breakfast before the fasting at dawn began. It was dark…and still. The noise in the other bedroom finally entered the compartment of my brain telling me it was my child ready for his 3:30am feeding. My brain informed my muscles of the automatic movement needed in order for the baby to eat and I was en route down the hall.
Two steps. Three steps. I stepped onto our hallway rug. It was very cold and felt unusual and I suddenly awoke with a startling realization. Our hallway rug was sopping wet! All my senses went on full alert and I suddenly heard running water in my home. My steps became quicker with each pace searching urgently for the source all the while entering deeper and deeper liquid. Turning on every light switch available to me on the path to the source I soon discovered there was water at every turn in my home. I turned into our guest bathroom and realized the source soon after entering. Masura maksura. A broken pipe under the bathroom sink. The cheap metal which is probably worth a nickel made a clean break all around the pipe allowing the water to fall continuously to the floor.
I immediately ran back to my bedroom to arouse my husband and exclaim to him that there is indeed a burst pipe and the whole house is flooded, with water still pouring onto the floor. With the energy like that of a fireman on a midnight call, he was up strapping on his flood gear ready to hit the scene. After assessing his alertness and orientation was sufficient for the job before him, I answered the screaming baby’s cries and entered the baby’s room. Within moments I heard the sound of water rushing the floors of our apartment being replaced by the household squeegee swishing water around the house. The baby now put back to bed, I had stirred up the anticipation of a bull headed for the red blanket and headed out to our household lake. Picking up our floor rugs, purses, bags, extension cords, blankets and pillows off the floor and out to the porch or bathtub. Wherever they fit. We moved furniture at the same speed a tiger pounces out to its prey. Our brains were working on the same terminal at the same gate residing in seats next to one another. There were no verbal words, only electricity and oneness. We worked fast and the greater portion of the lake was removed within the hour.
The article in our home that suffered the most from our little storm was our salon rug. We had no idea how large the capacity this rug had to hold water. Evidently gallons and gallons, because we squeegeed that thing many times the next day each time bringing out gallons of nasty, linty, brown water from our very pretty light cream rug. Every fan we owned was set up to create a very special wind tunnel in our salon to continue pulling it out. The plan worked.
When Justice woke up in the morning to get ready for school he said to me, “Mom, why is everything in our house in a different place?” To which I preceded to tell the events of just a few hours earlier. “How high was the water mom? Was it up to here?” holding his hand at his waist.
“Honey, it didn’t even cover our feet.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
