The High Water Mark

The sunlight glistened and twinkled on the surface of the raging brown water as it roared by. The Mississippi was riled up and showed no signs of calming. Jefferson Waddle wasn’t interested in evacuating. He’d surrounded his property with sandbags and bricks and dug out a long trench to divert any water away. He sat in an aluminum folding chair on his rickety porch, smoking a cigarette, watching the water flow. He remembered back in 1937 when the waters had come then. His father and mother had made due and by God, he was going to do the same. Come hell or high water.

Jefferson’s house wasn’t much more than a three room shotgun shack, surrounded by thick Memphis forest. He’d managed to live there with his wife and four children since before he could actually remember. It just seemed like he’d always lived there. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d had a different view than the one from his small front porch. All that was missing these days was his children and of course, his sweet Marie. The children all moved off the land a long time ago. They got married and went to school and made something pretty respectable of themselves. Jefferson couldn’t complain about them, he loved them dearly. His youngest, Claire, had offered to let him stay with her family in some suburban maze but Jefferson just couldn’t leave and politely declined.

He didn’t want to leave the ground where his sweet Marie was buried. He’d made sure to set her grave on one of the high hills on the property. So there was no threat of any flood waters or other natural events sullying ground he considered sacred. It went in the face of family history not to be buried in McCarver’s Field but that was just something his ancestor’s would have to deal with.

Marie had named the hilltop Mercury’s Feet because of how fast it made you run when you ran down it. She bet Jefferson that a person running down that hill, wearing wings on their back would be lifted off the ground with such velocity they wouldn’t land for three counties.  He hoped she’d got her wings.

Jefferson chuckled at the memory of Marie running down her hill. He flicked his cigarette toward the flood waters and stood up slowly. His knees and back cracked and he slowly turned toward the front door. The waters flowing past his house didn’t seem too threatening right now. He was mighty sore from all the sandbagging and trench digging he’d done for the last three days and he just wasn’t a young man anymore. Perhaps a quick nip of whiskey would calm his aches and maybe a short nap would help pass the time.

Jefferson went into the cool shade of the house.