Rex woke as he always did. There was no zest propelling
him and his throat was parched. Though
to be fair, the dry mouth was more ethereal these days, a ghost. Haunting him
and reminding him of when everything changed.
He’d start off the day, the same as all the others,
thinking of the good times.
Rex made his way downstairs. He recalled how in times
long gone by, he’d make a pot of coffee, drink half of it between he and
Margot, and then throw the rest away. Afterwards, he would rinse out his coffee
mug and not even blink at the fact that he was letting more clean water trickle
down his drain then some people in other parts of the world would get in a
week.
Today, like every other day, it was prepackaged
Gatorade, the lemon lime kind. It seemed like that’s all those good sams ever
sent in their care packages anyway. How
come never grape or Strawberry, would that kill ya for Christ’s sake?
Still, he cracked open a bottle and slugged it down. To
Rex it tasted bitter.
He leaned against the counter. From his point of view
he could make out what had once been a flourishing testament to human
ingenuity. Miraculous, a small paradise
in the middle of the desert. Now it was dirt, barren. Even the brown grass had
disintegrated long ago.
An attractive pool with a sun faded blue slide, made to
look like a mountainous water fall sat dormant in the middle of the yard.
Looking at it now it was hard to tell if it had ever been touched by water at
all. Now it was just big, gray and empty. Rex felt he could relate.
Entering the garage he approached a plastic storage tub
that was nearly as tall as he. It was a translucent white and about a third of
the way filled with liquid. A decal affixed to its front displayed a faucet
with a glass underneath it, covered by a large red slash enclosed in a circle.
Marching back inside, he headed upstairs.
There was a double sink in the bathroom he entered,
though Rex didn’t fuss with the knobs. He sat the bucket on the counter top.
Rex then deliberately reached for his toothbrush nearby. Peering down into the
bucket, he gingerly let the bristles touch the surface of the water. Toothpaste
was next.
While Rex brushed, he reminisced again. Margot.
Her memory came and went like a familiar name overheard
in a conversation within him. A huge part of him wanted, needed to remember but
another part felt only regret and guilt. I
should’ve went. It should’ve been me out on the road.
Consciously, Rex didn’t want to think about the murder,
the people that had stopped her, or the water they took. Subconsciously though,
it was always there, just below the surface of this husk he now called a life.
This of course wasn’t the first time Rex had relived
this memory, nor would it be the last. The only finality related to it, was the
fact that he no longer cried while visiting it, he simply couldn’t afford the
tears.
Without rinsing, Rex spit and plucked a limp washrag
from between the two sinks. He dunked it in the water and after it was
saturated reached for a sliver of soap on dish. Efficiency described the way he
washed; light soap, quick passes only to the chest, navel and underarms. He
rang out the rag, gave himself a quick rinse in each area, and then set it
aside.
Full bath would have to wait
until the first of the month. The tank in the garage was low. He left the bucket on the
counter to be used in case he wanted to freshen up in the evening. Lead by example.
Rex dressed for the office; painter’s pants and long
sleeved tee, and broad brimmed hat. He
hoped he wouldn’t have to go out in the field today. Desk work was boring but
the outdoors meant more heat, and the need for more water. As long as everybody showed up. It was such a weak crew now. Though
how could anyone be strong knowing they were only one H₂0 binge away from death
or dishonor?
In the downstairs mirror, Rex fished in a ceramic bowl
for his keys.
Memories of the Minnesota fishing trips of his youth
called for him. These at least were old, tired memories, fatigued from years of
use, and he was able to turn a corner in his own head and evade them.
Instead, Rex pulled another object from the ceramic
bowl by the door. Deftly, he held the object up, clipping it to his shirtfront.
It was a laminated card bearing Rex’s face in a small
square.
