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“The death count has reached 27 as Hurricane Richard continues
to storm through the south-western district.” calmly reported
the weather man. The child turned up the television’s volume,
clutching to Mojo, a stuffed monkey his parents had given him when he
turned 3. He looked through the window at the rain being whipped
around by the fierce winds. The lights dimmed and the TV screen went
snowy, then faded as he heard the horrible crunch of a transmitter
ripping free of the bolts that kept it to the ground at the nearby TV
station. Why did Mom have to go to that dumb ol’ interview at a
time like this? he thought to himself. And why did it have to be all
the way up in New York? He walked over to the kitchen and turned on
the battery powered radio. With his dad working in the town volunteer
rescue service, he was all alone in the mid-sized house.
His town was made up of about 35 homes, a TV station, a school, 3
restaurants, and a fast-food burger joint. There was also some
government run buildings, including the power generator and water
treatment plant. As the radio gabbled on about damage reports in the
nearby large cities, he watched the rain pound into the skinny and
tall house that sat alone, across the street. He always caught bad
vibes from that house. It gave off a spooky, haunted feeling, almost
as if it wanted revenge on the people in his town. He looked down the
street and saw his father, dressed in a fluorescent orange vest and
white shirt with tight fitting jeans rounding off the outfit. He was
running over to old Mrs. Harrison’s’ house, his tool belt
and med-kit flapping around in the wind. “Why can’t he just
come home and take care of me? the child thought. “I wonder if
Mrs. Harrison is okay? I could sure go for one of those sugar cookies
she always gives me when I come over.” he thought as he licked
his lips. “I wonder how she always happens to have them ready
whenever I come over? And where does she find the quantity of
ingredients to make them all?” He walked over to the door, and
slowly turned the knob. He ever so slightly opened the door a crack,
and stuck his head out.
He watched as a passing car got stuck in the water backing up from
the sewers. As the wind kicked up, it grabbed the door from his
hands, flinging it as far open as it could, but a chain lock held it
in place. That overwhelmed the child, so he quickly closed the door
and sped over to the couch next to the window to watch from there. By
the time he had grabbed Mojo, sat down, and looked outside, 3 men
were pushing the small car out of the gigantic puddle of brown water,
which each man was boot high in. He had always wondered why people
would want such tiny cars.
The earlier thought of sugar cookies had made him hungry, so he
walked over to the refrigerator. Inside was a bottle of cola, some
onions, a dozen jumbo eggs, 3 tomatoes, a pack of raspberries, two
ears of corn, and some milk. He automatically grabbed the cola, then
decided to take one tomato. He walked over to the small stove and
picked up the salt shaker on his way back to the couch with the view
of the outside world. He put some salt on the tomato and took a bite
while watching the wind fling raindrops at objects and people at
immense speeds. He looked about 9 blocks down the street, where he
could see the way out of proportion “Farm Burger with
Cheese” swaying on top of the Burger Farm’s roof, the
burger joint in his town where all the other school kids hung out at
after class. He took another bite out of the salty tomato. He looked
at the house 5 down from his, where his friend Sam lives. Every
Tuesday, he and Sam would ride with Sam’s mom in their big van
to pick up groceries from the larger town 14 minutes away. They had a
market open on Tuesdays and Thursdays there, although he didn’t
like it there very much because of the planty smell of the vegetable
section. Although he did like it when the stockboy was watering the
plants, because he and Sam could walk by the wave of mist coming from
the garden hose handle, getting a cool, soaking breeze of moisture.
Not that the current weather wasn’t wet enough for him. Outside,
men with snowshovels were shoveling the giant puddle away from the
center of the street.
“Hurricane Richard has gone from a category 3 hurricane, to a
category 2, which brings relief to many cities enduring the harsh
weather conditions.” Squawked the radio. That brought a smile to
the child’s face. He thought that if the hurricane continues to
dissipate, his father would be home soon. “When dad gets home,
he will turn on the gas-powered fire place, and he’ll make us
both some cocoa.” He thought. “Hope it disappears
soon.” He again looked across the street at the spooky old
house, this time paying more attention to the rattling doors and
windows that lined the outside wall. With their sharp, triangular
angles, each window and door looked like a mouth full of sharp teeth,
waiting for you to walk by so it could gobble you up. He just looked
at the house with glossed over eyes as he imagined his parents
walking by the 2nd window on the right, then getting sucked in by the
hungry house. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to get the itchyness
to go away. But as he did so, he could fell his eyes droop down, and
had no control over his head as it sagged onto the pillowy cushion of
the chair.
Soon his view was of pink, orange, yellow, and other bright hues,
shifting around in a swirl. Then of a ballroom dance where woman in
long, frilly dresses danced with men wearing tight, royal uniform,
like the kind you see in so many Disney movies. They danced in great
circles, all the while in-step with each other as the sun and moon
rose and set, and the huge chandeliers suspended above their heads
twirled and shone dim light on to the floor below. As that image
faded away, he looked into his fathers grinning face. He rubbed his
eyes and slowly sat up, noticing that it was very dark outside.
“Hey slugger, thought you might like some cocoa.” said his
father, holding out a mug of cocoa with a giant marshmallow floating
on top of it. “Thanks Dad, I would” he said, smiling.
Copyright, 1999, All rights reserved |
