River Will Find a Way

by Sam Blumenbau

I dropped my phone in the river. I dropped the fish too. I’d thought it an even trade, phone for trout, but the river took both. I fished out my phone, it was wet, but still worked, the screen slashing random icons as the water conducted how it willed. It called my mom.

“Greggy? You ok? I’m at the store, I just lost your father but I can talk if you need it. What’s up honey?”

The river hung up, bored. Opened the bank app, scrolled, wired money. Somewhere far, to a man named Jordan, or a woman, neither actually. I dried the river off on my shirt, regained control.

When I got home, the landlord called. Insufficient funds, not for Jordan, but the rent, I’m to be gone by the morning.

The River Jordan has come, snaked around the earth, travelled far on $2,338.76. I find its waters in my path as I’m pushed out of my apartment. It does not dry up when I try to cross, like it’s meant to, but swallows me, like it did the fish, and delivers me to the wilderness.

Sam Blumenbau is a writer living in East Tennessee.