Weather

The storm brings an early close to the day. Vendors at the Weston farmers market pack up their wares in haste, wind chuffing the tops of the sun canopies and tugging at the poles and tethers.

I pull into my long gravel drive just as the skies burst and fat drops of rain hit my windshield. I park my truck into the garage, apples bumping about in the back as our forward momentum stops. I take a deep breath before tugging my keys from the ignition with a shaky hand.

Rain pummels the earth in sheets creating rivers in the dirt between the garage and the house. I run full tilt, drenched through before I reach the kitchen door.

Inside, I shrug off my coat and jeans, leaving them in a puddle by the door and pad to my bedroom. The sheets and blanket lay crumpled at the foot of the narrow bed. Pulling on warm sweats and a dry shirt I ponder how it was that after all these years I still hate storms.

I was eight when the stream swept me away, lightning split the sky and my dad screamed for me as he ran along the bank. Tree branches and pieces of lumber raced me to the bridge where I was finally washed ashore. If my dad hadn’t been there and pushed the water from my lungs, replacing it with the gift of his breath I would not have lived.

Tears run down my face, mimicking the cascade of rain on the windows.

Thunder rumbles, rattling the glass in its pane. I shudder, wondering how I’ll weather the night.

Making Room

 Kara was tired. Of everything. Last week she quit her job. The week before, she kicked Romeo to the curb. Not literally. Just figuratively. Though literally kicking his lazy, lying ass would certainly have been satisfying.

Each day she carted more stuff from the house to the garage until there was no room for even the smallest spider to weave its way through. She’d have to rent a truck and haul it to the Goodwill soon.

She stepped back into the house and surveyed the sparse furnishings. It was junk. Every last bit of it. Crap. Garbage. Worthless.

Kara pulled the broom from the closet and began to sweep. Dust bunnies scurried for cover and expansive clouds of dust bloomed before her. Soon her eyes teared and her nose began to run. She sneezed and swept even harder.

She remembered being called worthless. By her mother. Her pop. Her teachers. She used to believe them. But that was behind her. Once she decided to regain control and direct her own life there was no stopping her. She was invincible. Stronger than Wonder Woman, though dressed in much more modest attire.

Cleaning this hovel was a lost cause. So why was she bothering? With her newfound confidence she could go anywhere and be anything.

Kara plucked her purse off the table and strode out the door. After a few steps she paused to look back. This isn’t right, she decided.

She marched forward, picked up a corner of the house and hurled it away. It landed in a heap, now just a shamble of weathered boards, useless furniture and twisted metal. A single flower poked up from what had been her bedroom window.

The smile started slow, a mere twitch of the lips, then grew to light her eyes and tickle her stomach. She flipped her hair and turned toward the road, eager to see who she would become.