Hydrogen, Oxygen, and that 17 Percent

There is perhaps no greater feeling of helplessness than staring at water pouring out from under your sink with no real idea how to stop it. Of course, terror also comes in the form of being awaken out of a dead sleep by frantic pounding on your door, which happens to be created by the neighbor below you, desperately trying to inform you that your apartment is leaking onto his. Just for kicks, add in the fact that your husband was expected to return on a business trip earlier that evening, but his plane was delayed until midnight due to some bad decisions by a few terrorist organizations, and you are stuck all alone in your indoor pool of an apartment.

Last Friday God was testing me. I know this because earlier that week I actually noted that I was due for a good test. My life since the wedding has been nothing but joyful and serene. Every morning on that therapeutic commute to work I found myself wondering what I did to deserve the luxuries I have in my life: my friends, who are more than I could ever ask for, more than I ever dreamt of finding; my family, who truly show me what living is about; and, of course, my husband, who amazes me daily with his intelligence and determination. These people make me a better person, they fill me with joy, they are more than I deserve. Sitting there in my car each morning, overcome with thankfulness and awe, I couldn’t help but wonder when my next test would come.

August. It was August.

It’s amazing how much emotion you can detect simply from the vibrations created by a fist knocking on maple-laminated plywood. The intensity of the knock, the speed with which it is executed: a knock can read as clearly as a child’s voice, a baby’s wail. Friday’s was the kind of knock one comes to dread. It’s likely that everyone will experience this kind of knock at least once in their lives. It is the kind of knock that causes you to hesitate—if only for a brief moment—and prompts you to question whether you may be better off not knowing what lies on the other side.

I opened the door to see a pale, confused face. Before I could even focus, he pointed straight toward my kitchen and to the fountain that used to be a home for cleaning products, recyclables. The water had already crept out to the carpet like an emigrant; hoping for more promising opportunities, a better life for its children. Heartlessly, I flew towards it with contempt.

Relieved that I now knew of the problem, my neighbor scampered off to take care of his own water woes while I shoveled the bleach and forgotten cleaning brushes out of the way, discovering the source of the flood to be a disconnected icemaker line. As I crouched there under the sink, hand clenched around the copper pipe clogging the leak, I started to cry, realizing I had no idea how to get myself out of this mess. I cursed the compression valve for failing, I cursed the floor for not being more water resistant. I cursed the refrigerator because, well, I didn’t really know why but I was sure it had wronged me in some way over the years. Though my tears blurred my vision, they, in a way, allowed me to see more clearly. They clarified how much I truly rely on Cale, how much of my life rests on his patience, his knowledge of inter-working parts.

Kneeling there unable to move my hand from the pipe I actually realized this was my test I was waiting for. I thought about all the things that happened in my life, all the good and the bad. I thought about my family, my wonderful home, our material things. I thought about Mimi, about leaving for college, about the car accident. I thought about Randy. I realized true gratefulness would shine through even in hard times, and that even in this situation, with the overwhelming helplessness, the overwhelming anger, that I truly was grateful for everything. Even for the flood. Overcome with emotion and clarity, I fumbled for my cell phone, confident I would pull myself out of this situation. I dialed the emergency maintenance line, stanzas of hope ringing in my ear. Then promptly dropped it in the water.

As if cast as a real-life commandment, my neighbor returned and helped me shut off the water. Tide cleared, I cleaned the kitchen, soaking up the remnants of the leak, wondering if the water regretted its hasty escape, whether it would have been happier as a frozen body in someone’s drink. Like a US Border Patrolman, I created a barricade of towels blocking the water from traveling across the carpet. Perhaps drowning its final hope for freedom. I sat down, finally satisfied that I had done all I could do, and waited for Cale to return home from his trip, undoubtedly tired and unready for the drama that would soon unfurl with our apartment management.

They say that 17% of people that die in car crashes never knew what hit them.

As I sat on the couch staring at the kitchen, I thought about being in that car that careened off the road, that truck hit head on. I thought about the remainder of the victims, of the 83%. Did they panic, or cry out? Did they try to change their course, redirect their path? Did they see it coming? I wondered if they ever saw their moment of clarity, illuminating for a brief second all they had to live for. Did they thank God for everything in their lives; for the good, the trying, the tragic? Were they humbled by the world, by their relationships?

I wondered if that 17% had ever felt the comfort.

[callie].