When the Rain Came

by LP Kersey

          From the sea, Jeremiah felt it in the air, the faint aroma of distant damp earth and swelling clouds. The promise of rain, which usually leads to a good catch. It had been nearly a year since the last rain and about half as long since he and his crew caught enough for their small port town. With each passing year, they were forced to work with less, and less. Only reports of a scorned sea seeking vengeance on every sailor, denying them a single catch, claiming lives and vessels. 

          Two months ago, Jeremiah foraged out with a crew of nine men against the advice of what was left of the council. Everyone had scattered like ashes to the wind, in search of safety, resources, and sane people. Anywhere away from the result of an angry planet. It once never rained in Southern Cali while New England had its fair share. Now Cali got all the rain while New England grew scarce. Mother Earth responded to humanity with a violence of her own. It was a bout with her anger that caused Jeremiah to return with only a fraction of his crew. He recalled his father’s words, “when the storm howls, the sailor doesn’t shout at the waves. He adjusts his sails.” Jeremiah caught the right wind in the right sail. The sky was dark, clouds heavy but offered no rain, only the waves poured down on them. When he lost the six souls whose families he’d known all his life, he let the wind shove him west, back toward home. He’d lost his best friend on the journey and his brokenness was made unbearable by an unrelenting sea. On day three, the sky opened up, the sun peered through, and Jeremiah lowered his nets. Fishing, even if nothing is caught, calms the soul. After his loss, fishing was the only thing that made sense.

          As his trawler pulled into the port, Jeremiah felt the weight of returning with fish in place of the lives of crew members. The sacrifices didn’t make sense. Why would the sea take those he traveled with when they had done nothing but honored her all their lives? He and those that remained found themselves welcomed only by a handful of community members. It was nothing like the good old days when the whole town would turn out for the return of a ship. Now, they were received with dread. A return called for the survey of loss of life and bracing for the disappointment of yet another empty haul. A few people walked aimlessly near the dock, barely glancing in their direction. As Jeremiah stepped down, his foot landed on the dock, and he felt it. Doubtful, he paused. There it was again. Another drop. The rain began to fall. First a slow drizzle, then a steady pour. Jeremiah held out his hands, cradling it like precious stones. It was real. He began walking down Abacus Court away from the dock, then onto Eutaw. There were a few cars that stopped, in awe of the rain as well. Not many cars were left in town. Most had packed up and moved away. But now as he inhaled the scent of moistened metal and listened to the quiet pitter patter against New England concrete, his soul, for the first time in over a year, felt light.

          “Yall made it back!?” Mr.Ebon Wright said as he pulled his cart along.

          “Some of us, yes sir. I see you made it back too.”

          “Y’all catch?” He paused. 

          “Yessir, we did.”  

          Mr. Wright paused, then gave a nod. “So did I. We all did good. We’re gonna be alright. It’s gonna be alright.”

          Jeremiah took note of the produce and bags of grain Mr.Wright had ventured across state lines to acquire. His cart wasn’t as loaded as previous times, but it was more than they’d seen in a long while.

          “Shake off that sadness, son. Today deserves a praise. You brought the rain in with you.” Mr.Wright said walking on. 

          He was right. They had gone from being a minority, descendants of the free blacks of New England, to now the last standing community. They had weathered many a storm, near famine, as the world unraveled, they remained, here at their home by the sea. And today, there was food, there was rain, and there was reason to celebrate. His father’s boat had delivered him home. Jeremiah raised his hands in something that resembled hope and surrender, letting the rain and polluted humidity wrap around him. Grateful for life, no matter how stormy. He thought of his father’s words, “The sea is calm when the heart is, too. Even the angriest sea knows it must rest at last. You just gotta outlast.”