By M.S.

“Fifty five days.”

“How long?”

“Fifty five days.”

“What are you going to do Miles?”

“Keep digging.”

Miles got up off his chair and walked to the steps of the back porch leaning his hand against a wooden post. He stared off to the horizon. Nothing but brown. Brown dirt - dry and dead. Withered corn – shriveled and crisp on the ground. Brown sky filled with dust and shimmering with heat.

Miles walked down the steps of the porch and to the well. It was dry at least for the first thirty seven feet.

“Are you going to stay and help?”

Jesse wiped the sweat from his face and breathed hard, “No, I think I better be getting back to town – you know, the store and all.”

Already knowing what Jesse would say, Miles had already started to climb down into the well, not waiting for an answer.

Four hours later and Miles could see the sun shining overhead. He sat at the bottom of the well sweating and covered with dust with his back against the wall and his legs out in front of him. His mouth was dry and he could feel the fatigue in his muscles. At least he had gotten another foot this morning – but still no water.

Miles started up the ladder, pulling himself up one rung at a time. After a few rungs he stopped and looked down at bottom of the well. He looked at the buckets, the ropes, the pick, the shovel, and the dry bottom. He looked up at the sky; clear and bright without a single cloud.

“Why am I doing this?” Miles asked aloud. Miles wrapped his arm around the ladder and just stopped with his head against the wall of the well.

Sixty three days. Still no rain.

Miles walked out of the house and on to what used to be his field. He squatted down and picked up a handful of dirt. It absorbed the moisture on his hand and made it feel dry. He let go of the dirt and watched as it fell back to the ground. He stood up and looked back at his house. It wasn’t much of a house, more of a shack with some strips of cloth Miles had put up to make it look like he had curtains. He looked at the well. Forty one feet. Forty one feet and nothing. He turned and looked at the field. The little bits of withered corn seemed to have withered more since the last time he looked.

“Why?” Miles asked as he looked at the cloudless sky and the bright sun. “Just a little rain … just so I know it can.”

Miles paused for a moment, his head hanging low, and listened to the quiet around him.

He picked up his head and looked around again. “Maybe I’ll go to into town today.” Miles thought to himself. Then he thought of all the people in town asking the same questions: Still digging the well Miles? How long are you going to stay out there Miles? Why don’t you just leave Miles? He thought about answering the questions and trying to have a smile on his face. He decided to stay home.

Miles just sat on the steps of the porch that morning staring at the well and the field. At eleven thirty he saw the freight wagon go by. It was only making one trip a week now. Miles saw it was only half full. The horses looked thin. Miles went to the well to dig.

Eighty five days. Fifty five feet. Still no rain. Still no water. Miles still dug.

Ninety two days. Sixty feet. Still no rain. Still no water. Miles still dug.

One hundred and eight days. Sixty two feet. No rain. No water. Miles stopped digging.

One hundred and ten days.

“How are things Miles?”

“Alright.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes.”

Jesse looked at Miles. He was thinner. His eyes were shallow. His skin was tanned. He hadn’t shaved. His clothes were stained brown with dirt. Even his hair was a sandy brown color like the dust of the field, although it should have been dark brown.

“How’s the well coming?”

“Fine.”

“Any water yet?”

“No.”

Jesse stared at Miles for a moment and then said, “You know you don’t have to stay out here Miles. You can come to town and stay with Ann and me.”

“No.”

“Listen Miles,” Jesse caught his frustration, “You can’t just stay out here in this dust.”

“It will rain.”

“Sure it will – eventually. But in the meantime you might as well leave. You’re not making any money out here. You’re running out of food. You look tired. And besides, there’s no water in your well.”

“I’ll dig more.”

“How far? A hundred feet? Maybe a mile? There’s no more water under there Miles. You should just leave.”

“It will rain.”

“Alright Miles, stay in the dust if you want.” Jesse said as he walked off the porch in frustration. “If you change your mind, you know where I am.”

“It will rain.” Miles said to no one.

Miles watched as Jesse left; then he walked out onto the field and looked out into the distance. The sky was clear. As far as he could see, it was clear. For the last four months it had been clear. It was a light blue that seemed to blend with everything around it. He looked for clouds, just some mist in the sky, but there were none. There hadn’t been any for months. He thought he saw one a few weeks ago, but he was sure it was just his imagination. He walked over to the well. Over sixty feet and no water. He had not dug any for the past few days. He hadn’t felt like it. He thought he would try again today.

One hundred and fifteen days. Sixty three feet. No rain. No water.

Late in the morning, Miles sat at the edge of the well and looked down into it. He couldn’t see the bottom, just the smooth sides of the well and the ladder that went into the darkness. The sun was bright in the sky. His shirt was soaked with sweat that turned the perpetual dirt on it into mud. Miles lay down, his legs hanging over into the well, and looked up at the sky.

“Why doesn’t it rain?” He asked as he stared up into the sky.

After a moment Miles sat up. He was quiet for a few minutes. He was sitting. His mind was clear and without thought as he stared blankly. After a while a feeling came over him that he had nothing else to do, so he climbed down into the well.

Hours passed. Maybe six inches of dirt had been removed from the well bottom. The light began to fade. Miles lay down at the bottom of the well. He looked up and watched the sky darken and the stars begin to come out. He fell asleep and began to dream. He was standing in green fields. A breeze was blowing and large clouds floated in the sky. The plants moved in the wind. He felt cool. Then the clouds floated away and the sun began to shine. He started to sweat. It soaked his shirt. The green plants began to wilt. The sun became brighter. Heat reflected off the ground. The plants withered and died. Dust began to blow. He couldn’t see. He tried to find some place to go, but there was no where to escape. Miles woke up. He had had this dream before.

It was morning now. Miles struggled to his feet and stared at the length of ladder. All of him ached. He followed it from bottom to top with his eyes. He grabbed a rung and pulled himself on to it. He paused and looked up at all the endless rungs. He pulled up one rung and stopped again. Miles looked at the bottom. “Why not just stay down here?” he thought to himself. Miles climbed another rung. He looked at the clear sky. He waited a moment to see if a cloud might pass by. None did. Miles continued to climb. After what seemed like hours he finally reached the edge of the well and pulled himself out.

The sun was climbing in the sky. The heat was starting to build. Miles looked at his house. Covered in dust. Tattered curtains hanging in the windows. He looked at his field. Dry and dead. Not one living plant. He looked at the hole in the ground that he had called a well. He thought about the hours of digging. He looked at his hands. Covered in calluses. Dirt under his finger nails. He looked at his clothes, covered in dirt and unable to remember what color they used to be. Miles looked at all this … and then walked away.