The Flooded Street

Every afternoon at four, Joel took bread to Mrs. Fuentes. She was eighty-one, used a wheelchair, and lived downstairs. Joel's family lived above her, at the top of the outside stairs. On that June afternoon, his parents were at work. Joel was going down the stairs with the bread when the storm began.

Joel waited on the stairs for the rain to stop, but it only got harder. In ten minutes, the drains were full of leaves, and brown water was running down the street like a river. Soon it was coming over the sidewalk and under the doors.

Joel knocked on Mrs. Fuentes's door. The water was already on her floor. "You can't stay here," he said. "Come upstairs with me." She shook her head. "Joel, I can't climb stairs."

Joel put the bread on her lap and pushed the wheelchair to the bottom of the stairs. He tried to pull it up, one step at a time, but it was too heavy and the stairs were too narrow. The water was rising. Now it was over his ankles.

"Go up, Joel," said Mrs. Fuentes. "Leave me here. I'll be fine." But Joel knew she wouldn't be fine. "Put your arms around my neck," he said. Then he lifted her out of the chair.

Step by step, Joel carried her up the fourteen steps. His arms were burning, and his wet shoes slipped on the last step, but he didn't stop. At the top, he put her gently on the sofa. Then he made her a cup of coffee.

Later, they sat by the window together. The bread was a little wet, but Mrs. Fuentes ate it anyway. Down below, the empty wheelchair was standing in the brown water, up to its seat. Up at the window, Mrs. Fuentes was holding a hot cup of coffee in both hands, and she was smiling.