Payton
A red and gold leaf floats across the room, seemingly weightless,
before settling onto the carpet between my spot on the couch and the TV.
I glance at my open patio door where another gust of wind brings the
scent of promised rain, but instead of getting up, I tuck my legs underneath
me and pull my fleece blanket up to my chin, careful not to tip the bowl of
popcorn resting on the cushion next to me.
A storm is coming.
Payton
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵,𝘪𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶…
I snuggle further into the corner of my couch.
Payton
𝘩𝘶𝘩..𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘰
I remind myself, inhaling deeply through my nose, willing new memories to replace the old.
This is my home.
I’m safe here.
The low rumble of distant thunder calms me further.
No matter how much they tried to beat it out of me, I never lost my love
of violent weather.
I never understood why I was supposed to be scared of storms. Didn’t
understand why it made me different, or wrong, or stupid––like they
claimed.
It wasn’t the violence I craved, it was the change. The washing away.
The cleansing. That smallest sliver of hope that a wave might crash through,
dragging away the old, leaving something new.
And maybe that’s why I still like them. There’s still that spot in my
chest, deep inside of me, that wants to be sucked up into the sky, whisked
away from it all, and dropped into Oz.
As if summoned by the wind, the woman on screen opens her front door
and the world around her morphs from black and white to color, and I let
the familiar sense of nostalgia wash over me
The sounds of the nearing storm keep filtering in and out of my
awareness, even as I sway my head to the familiar songs
My hand is halfway to my mouth, popcorn between my fingers, when
the dull noise of groaning metal drags my gaze to the patio, the sliding glass
door open wide
The gauzy curtains I installed last year are flowing eerily with the
breeze, but the streetlamp outside is burnt out, so I can’t see beyond my tiny
balcony
I’ve never really trusted that balcony, it’s as shabby as the rest of this
building. But I figured it’d take more than a little inclement weather to
knock it down
I give myself a mental gold star for never bothering with furniture out
there as I lick the salt off my fingers
Another roll of thunder, closer this time, draws my attention back to the
balcony.
And the man standing in my open door
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