Free Finding Someplace by Denise Lewis Patrick

asked.
    â€œOh, it’s…” Eritrea hesitated, like she couldn’t even find the right words. “It’s just bad !” She ducked back in, shaking her head. “Everything is underwater.” She wound her scarf around her waist and tied it. In seconds she was back atop the crate, so that half her body was outside. Pushing up on her elbows, she wiggled up and out.
    â€œI got it. Next!” Eritrea looked down, her braids swinging.
    â€œOkay, Miss Martine.” Reesie nodded.
    But Miss Martine gave Reesie a little push. “You go on first.”
    Reesie shook her head. “Oh no, ma’am! If my daddy ever found out that I left this attic before you, I’d be grounded for life!” She gave Miss Martine a little shove back. “You go.”
    Miss Martine slowly climbed onto the trunk. Dr é and Eritrea reached down for her arms. They pulled and Reesie pushed until Miss Martine was sitting on the edge of the hole, her legs dangling. For a minute she seemed to be having a hard time catching her breath, but then she eased herself out. While the others got Miss Martine settled, Reesie collected the radio. She took the last meat pies out of the cooler and put them into the grocery bag.
    When Dr é finally called, “Ready?” Reesie handed everything up to him. She focused only on avoiding splinters as she lifted herself out. Eritrea caught her arm, and she felt a weird physical sensation when her Chucks touched the shingles, just like the one time she’d been on a skate ramp with Junior.
    Reesie crept carefully toward a short metal pipe sticking out of the roof, eased her arm around it, and slowly looked around. She’d figured that once they were out of the tight house and even more cramped crawl space, she would feel relieved. She’d thought Dr é was their rescue. But now, in the open air, in ninety-degree heat, she began to shiver.
    What had happened to her neighborhood? Where were the front yards and the fences and the porches and chairs? Her stomach heaved. She’d lived here all her life, but nothing looked familiar. It was a river of rooftops and treetops. Telephone poles, thick as young trees, leaned every which way, trailing wires.
    And it looked like the water was still coming.
    â€œThis is sure nuff some wicked mess,” Dr é said as the entire side of a house floated past.
    Chairs and bicycles and other personal belongings followed, taken by the current of the floodwaters. Reesie could make out a colorful flat thing tangled in tree branches close by, and realized she was looking at the top of an SUV.
    For a few long minutes nobody said another word.
    â€œWhat do we do now?” Eritrea said. She and Miss Martine were huddled next to the old brick chimney on the slope of the roof, just below Reesie.
    â€œWe wait.” Dr é sighed. He sat with his legs dangling off the edge.
    â€œMy daddy knows where we are. He’s coming,” Reesie said. She’d always believed her father could do anything, but she was worried. It was already afternoon—sooner or later it would be dark. How could he possibly find Miss Martine’s house then? What would happen to them if he didn’t?
    There was no rain. There were no cars, no crickets. No faint voices or pounding beats of speakers floated in the air. It felt as if the only life left in New Orleans was there, on top of this little house on Dauphine Street.
    Miss Martine told them stories about New York, and tried to encourage them until her energy faded. Eritrea kept fiddling with the radio, but she couldn’t get it to work again. Reesie had parked herself right at the peak of the roof so she was as far away from the water as she could get. She stared at the changing sky as the afternoon passed and the dusk started on its way.
    â€œIt’s almost night,” Reesie announced to no one in particular, flicking the flashlight on. Her birthday skirt was underwater. And Ma