April 5, 2023 - “The water waves at us and we see where all the rain went” by Elizabeth Lerman

If the ground’s wet, there’s a gator, she says, when I ask about the beach. She sits in the driver’s seat smelling like something you could eat. She likes warm, baked scents, ones with vanilla so she has sweetness seeping out of her pores. I can’t remember the last time I smelled of anything other than myself, of skin, really, of saltwater and sweat. Sweet home Alabama, she says, pointing to the state’s sign. After Daphne the land opens up, the water waves at us and we see where all the rain went, watch Mobile Bay bend and bellow with the road, calm by the time we reach the other side, but the fog is thicker than ever and we pass the battleship next to the bridge without noticing. Welcome to Mississippi. Distance is doing us good.