Posted in Storytime

The Storms: A Short Story

The rain was hitting the windshield forcefully as she gripped the steering wheel. It was nothing but a small, midnight storm, but the rain was unforgiving as she sped down the empty freeway.

She reached over and cranked the radio up, hoping that it would at least drown out some of the noise. She could feel her heart beating furiously in her chest as she gagged down the remnants of the McDonalds fries creeping up her throat.

Storms were always scary to her, no matter how small they may have seemed. The fear brewed in her chest and it always felt like an elephant was sitting on her lungs.

It has been this way ever since she could remember. As a child, she would cuddle with her stuffed animals at night as the storms would thunder across the sky. The rain would drown out all other noise of the house, terrifying her that monsters could creep up without her noticing. The lightning would crack and she would jolt, gripping her animals closer. Everyone in the house would be fast asleep oblivious to what was going on outside, but her little eyes would remain wide open.

A sudden splash of water from a passing car takes her back to the present. All she wanted was to get to him, but the only way there was though the storm.

She softly hummed to herself and separated her mind from the situation, letting her thoughts unwillingly settle on the past again.

Her life had always been a series of ups and downs, with the down being significantly debilitating. Her mental state always seemed to be in crisis mode with sirens constantly ringing in her ears warning of the trouble to come. Sometimes it swept her so close to the edge she didn’t know if she could take anymore. But from every time she would find her way, usually in the form of a lesson being learned the hard way.

She learned quite quickly that not everybody is going to like you. Not that the bullying she suffered bothered her really, but rather when she learned a friendship was toxic and nothing more than a mental game to them. She wanted to hate those people for what they did to her, but hate was never something that she possessed for another human being. She saw that each person had their own battles to face, whether it was wanting to be popular, needing a punching bag, wanting to be smarter, or being jealous of what you had.

She always forgave them. Not because she was weak, but strong enough to know that not one single human being in existence is perfect. Which some of them falsely believed in their own perfection with every word they spoke.

She would remove the toxicity of those so-called “friends” from her life like the venom from a snakebite, but it would always leave scars that never perfectly healed.

But on one occasion, she let a perfect friendship go for the stereotypical reasoning of friends becoming more than friends, then both watching it crash and burn in a fiery glory. But now she sees it more like the birth of a star than destruction because both have grown a little from it and distanced themselves so it is nothing but a mere blip of light in the night sky.

He would cross her mind every now and then. But never did she feel hate for him. Just fear that when she sees him again, she’ll fall right back to where she was before. The girl that fell for a boy she could never have. He’ll always have this little place in her heart, one that sometimes aches, but still remembers all the good they had going, whether it was as friends, or more than that.

The familiar signs on the road gave her a sense of comfort as she pulled off the freeway. When resting at the red light, the rain seemed to hold back a bit, lightly tapping on her windshield.

When she pulled up on the dark driveway, the rain had all but gone and only the sound of light rumbles echoed in the distance.

She leapt from her car, flying to the front door where he was waiting with that ever-glowing smile and his barking sidekick by his feet. She ran, arms outstretched, until she collided with him, nearly knocking him over.

When she embraced him, it was a beautiful feeling. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and breathed him in. She ran her hand again the cotton of his shirt as she felt him wrap his arms around her waist. Not a word would be said between them, but a lot was said by the way they held each other there in that moment.

“I’m sorry you had to drive through that, babe. Don’t worry, the storm’s almost gone,” he says, pulling his head back and looking into her glistening eyes.

She smiled, and again rested her head against his shoulder.

A sense of peace washed over her, because for the first time in a long time, she knew she wouldn’t have to face the storms alone.

 

 

 

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Posted in Storytime

“The Spot”

The wind whipped through the open car windows as I sped up the car. The rusted stoplight was the only thing between me and the park and for once, it was actually green. As I pulled into the lot and threw the car into park. I sat for a few moments in silence, listening. Under the rumble of the engine, I heard kids near the jungle gym yelling and laughing, skateboards thumping over the sidewalk cracks, car doors slamming, and drones buzzing in the air.

Even though it was lively, it wasn’t anything but an ordinary park with a jungle gym, a baseball field, and soccer fields scattered about. For a Monday night, it was pretty packed though. Most likely due to the hint of a long overdue spring day in the air.

I turned the engine off, got out of the car, and began my short little walk to “the spot”. “The spot” being the end of a rickety bleacher on the farthest baseball field. It’s nestled along the edge of the trees and brush that separated the park from the golf course. It must have been my lucky day for when I rounded the corner, “the spot” was clear of the bustling crowds.

The bleacher creaked as I climbed to the top row and plopped down, letting my feet dangle beneath me. I craned my neck back to the sky and closed my eyes. Letting the warmth of the evening sun spill over me.

I remembered the first time I found “the spot”. I was in middle school and just had a fight with my parents and I needed to cool down a bit. I jumped on my bike and made my way through the winding bike paths at max speed. Letting the anger course through my blood and pour into my feet as they furiously peddled the bike forward. I went as far as the path would let me and right at the end of it was the old bleacher at the last baseball field.

The path unceremoniously cut off right before the brush and I came to a screeching halt. I tossed my bike into the grass, huffing and puffing until I calmed down enough to sit down on the bleachers. When I leaned back and looked towards the sky, the sun peaked out from under a cloud and the sun’s rays filled my eyes. I closed them and felt the rush of warmth across my already heated face, but yet it felt so soothing.

The anger used to boil inside of me like a pot on the stove, and with just one wrong move, I would erupt. It used to be the way I dealt with the world when I felt it collapsing in on me. My mind tended to swallow me up in the thoughts of imperfections, germs, and not living up to the expectations put upon me. In my mind, I lived in a world that I had no place in. A square peg in a round hole.

I always compared my soul to that of a hot air balloon. How rare they fly across the sky these days, but it always seemed to fit. The hot air is produced by the flame and collected in the balloon which makes it push upwards towards the sky. The warm air trying desperately to escape from the constraints of the fabric, but never does. That’s like my soul, trapped in a body with nowhere to go. I can feel it pushing and shoving inside of me in desperation until all I can do is scream.

But in that spot. On that little rusted bench, leaning back into the sunlight. I no longer feel the struggle of being trapped in a body and world that doesn’t understand that my imperfect soul is the pearl of my being. That I do not pretend to be perfect, but try my best to do right. That I am kind by nature, but refuse to walk on eggshells for those who do not understand the reality of being a human being. That I am happy, but sometimes have those moments of sadness.

The sun’s ray’s melt into my skin and comfort the agitated ambiance inside. Like a little reminder that happiness can be hard to find sometimes, but is always there, lying in the crevasses of life. Like the sun on your face, the smell of fresh air, the soft rustle of trees in the breeze, the taste of crisp, cold water, and watching a child score their very first soccer goal.

Those little moments while sitting in “the spot” always brought me back and reminded me that the goal of life is not to become happy, but to choose to be happy. Even if the only source of your happiness that day is the rusted old stoplight was, for once, green upon your arrival and your favorite spot was open. Happiness is a choice. So pull out that saw and hammer and start building that square hole for your square peg soul, because the world isn’t going to do it for you.