Rushing River

  We canoed past drowned pick-up trucks and mailboxes that were slowly filling with water. We paddled by stray foliage and leaned into the wind. It was my cat’s first canoe ride, and my second.
  My family had driven up to the Russian River the day before in heavy rain. The river was rising, but no flood warnings had been posted. My mom had spoken to the property manager of the house we were renting, who assured us that there was no danger, but that she’d let us know if conditions worsened. I was fourteen, and had balked at the idea of spending New Years Eve with my family again, hardly dreading the possibility of returning home early. I didn’t want to welcome 2006 in a secluded Northern Californian cabin; I wanted an adventure.
  The night of the 30th, we lit the menorah to a soundtrack of strong winds. We shivered and periodically turned on the TV for flood updates. Conditions had worsened. The property manager called and told us that we would be safe if we left after breakfast. So we played a rousing game of Apples to Apples and went to bed early.
***
  When we stepped outside in the morning, the water was above our ankles. Our neighbors were standing on their raised front porches, staring bleary-eyed at the overcast sky. We had packed our luggage and our cat, Naia, into the car by the time the property manager called. “Leave now!” she said, and we did.
  My dad drove slowly, so as not to create waves. We made it past a dip in the road where the water was a foot high, and breathed a collective sigh of relief. We drove in peace for another quarter mile, until the water level rose drastically. The engine died with a melancholy whir, and the car refused to start again. My dad got out of the car, and the water was above his knees.
  We were parked, for lack of a better word, in an intersection. The road was completely flooded. A stocky man with the requisite pick-up truck kindly offered to tow our car up the hill to dry land. My dad helped him attach the tow rope and the rest of us stayed in the car, backs pressed against the seats.
  Eventually, we all could all get out. “Can I go swimming?” asked Michael, who was a boisterous ten.
  A woman who had been watching from her window came outside and graciously offered us shelter while we figured out what to do. Her family’s house, like those surrounding it, had lost its electricity, so we sat close together on a sofa in the dark. It smelled like cigarettes and the Christmas tree in the corner.
  “Dude,” said a tiny, eight-year-old boy with a buzzcut, to my brother. “Let me show you something awesome!” Michael, who looked as though he had taken in dip in the river, got up from the couch.
  “No you don’t, Joey,” boomed his step-father, a take-charge type in a ponytail and a tank top. “Go stay in your room until dinner.” My parents eyed each other from opposite ends of the sofa, and I twirled my hair in discomfort. Michael sat back down, dejected.
  “Listen to Len,” offered Joey’s mother after a moment.
  Pushing a curtain aside, I could see that the roads were flooded on all sides. “Thanks for letting us stay here while we figure this all out,” said my mom, realizing that we had nowhere else to go. “This is so generous of you.”
  “No prob!” shouted Len. “We got a bunch of folks comin’ around here for New Years.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Spent a hundred dollars on these fireworks, so we should have a heck of a time!”
***
  Len had rigged a system in which much of the family’s belongings hung on ropes from trees in their yard so they wouldn’t get water-logged. The indoor darkness already felt surreal, and dangling canoes clashing against the windows in the wind added to the eeriness. The curtains were drawn tight, and the wood stove in the living room seemed to suck away any fresh air. I was relieved when the mother said, “Let’s take a walk!”
  We trekked up the one dry hill. The Russian River area is gorgeous, and this time of the year the lofty trees were a deep green and the grey, storming sky looked like a watercolor. It felt as though we were the only people around for miles, save for a few rubber-booted neighbors who were rescuing forgotten things from their yards. We passed rustic vacation cabins and larger homes with patriotic paraphernalia in the windows.
***
  Len had stayed home, and when we returned he was smoking homegrown weed in the backyard. My mom ushered us inside, and we sat back down on the couch.
  I checked my cell phone for the service I knew I didn’t have. Not typically glued to my phone, I use it relatively infrequently compared to the majority of my friends. On this plush couch, though, I felt a dire need to talk to one of them, or to at least have a minute of contact with the outside world. The family’s cordless phone had run out of batteries too, severing any possibility of leaving the 707 area code before the Times Square ball dropped. I slowly typed out a few text messages that were lost in cyberspace, and flipped through the novel I had started on the car ride up. I visited Naia, our six-month-old cat who was locked in the kitchen. The several cats the family owned were prowling around the rest of the house, and apparently didn’t like “making friends.”
  I felt bored, but mostly helpless. All that was on the literal and figurative horizon was water and the prospect of enjoying some illegal fireworks with Len’s comrades. I was suddenly exhausted, and fell asleep on the couch.
***
  I woke up to a knock on the door that seemed to rattle the entire house. Len opened the door and greeted two young men. “We’re from the rental agency and we’ve come to pick up these folks,” said one.
  I blinked a few times. The cat-scratched couch had left imprinted little lines on my arms and I felt dizzy. I wasn’t sure whether to believe in these rescuers in windbreakers and rubber boots; the claustrophobia and overpowering scent of the Christmas tree could have been getting to my head.
  “My sister felt bad about telling you guys to stay,” one angelic man said to my mom. “You can stay in our house tonight. There are two boats waiting outside.”
  Boats? I envisioned a maritime adventure, my family braving the rough Russian River waters in blue and white sailor caps. Our saviors would be maneuvering the steering wheel.
  They were canoes, though, much like the ones Len had hung on ropes outside the house. We enthusiastically loaded them up with our luggage and ourselves. Now it was as dark outside as it had been in the house. It was late in the afternoon, and we’d been with Len & Co. since breakfast. We turned to the family who, sketchy family dynamics aside, had really been quite generous and welcoming. My mom gave them our New Years bottle of champagne, which undoubtedly livened the neighborhood festivities. “You guys were so kind and helpful,” she said. “Thank you!”
  “Our pleasure! Too bad you all couldn’t stay for the party!” shouted Len, slapping my dad on the back and ruffling Michael’s hair, which was long at the time, in accordance with the fifth grade style code. My mom hugged the mother, and Michael waved dejectedly to Joey, who had recently been released from his room.
  “Where’s Naia?” asked Michael eventually, when we were ready to embark on this next, wet leg of our journey.
  We had brought one of those pet carriers, but had yet to successfully place our cat inside. She’d sat on my lap in the car ride up. I went back into the house, and tried to coax Naia into the box. She ran in circles around the kitchen while my family paddled in circles around the house. Eventually she surrendered, and I carried the squirming box through the bleak living room and into a canoe.
  “Our house is in a much drier area,” said one of our strapping young saviors. “The property manager felt really bad that she convinced you to stay, so we’re taking you to the only house that still has electricity in the area.” Their words sounded like music.
  I started paddling nervously, fully aware that I was responsible not only for my own safety, but for that of my favorite clothing and cat as well. The wind rocked the canoe and I struggled to make any headway against the current. Soon, I was rowing past severed branches and tips of fences that were just barely poking out of the water. We were in the middle of the road, but four feet above it.
  Naia was undoubtedly whining but the wind drowned her out. I tried not to take the silence as a sign of anything but her contentment. I paddled on determinedly through this torrent of water, shivering. Tree branches and debris formed clumps around the boat. The sky looked wide and the ominous clouds made everything below me seem incredibly small.
  We finally reached an incline in the road, where there was dry pavement. The men helped us lug our canoes up the hill and my dad went back to bring some more of our luggage.
  I stood, cold but giddy, in the middle of the street. I looked down at the underwater town and the empty, lifeless road. There was a bridge a few yards away, and I threw a pebble over one side. It immediately got sucked into the current and drowned in a whirlpool. “Sometimes there are some crazy monster truck rallies around here,” said one of the men.
***
  We got to spend New Years Eve in a comfortable, thankfully well-lit home. We watched the trashy MTV special and hung our wet clothes up to dry. On a new couch, we reveled in our good fortune. The next day, we’d encounter even more of the generosity that had carried us throughout the day. We would get a ride to Novato from one of our rescuers, and my uncle-in-law would drive us the rest of the way, enduring a severe allergy of cats to bring us home. We would slurp free smoothies from an electricity-less corner store giving away their melting goods.
  I had melted as well, in the foggy heat from a woodstove all afternoon. But the kindness of strangers helped us brave a cantankerous storm and we ended up with useable telephones and down blankets. I had gotten an adventure after all, but it was nice to be able to curl up on the sofa and watch a drunk Kelly Clarskon warble out her new top-40 tune.