Thunderstrike

Thunder exploded through the house as Cole, Simone and I hide under the oak dining room table. Simone peeked over the flat surface, through the remnants of the dinner my parents had left behind, to glimpse out the bay windows at the turbulent sky. She squeaked as the lightening ripped through the darkened clouds and illuminated the mauve walls of the square room. Cole and I hid our heads under our arms and waited for the show to be over.1

Sebastian Bennett stood in front of the middle bay window and watched the fanfare explode over the trees. As the lightening flashed Bastian’s (called only by the three of us) profile was outlined and I could see the way he held his head, proud and arrogant. His short black curly hair stood up in places as the electricity sizzled through the air. His t-shirt took on a deathly pale of white as the thunder and lightening battled on. His blue jeans paled to a faded color of a washed out sky in late summer. His long nose looked crooked as I gazed at his face from behind my fingers. His dark eyes reflected the lightening bolts as the zigzagged through the dark blue and black colors of the sky. Big black wondrous orbs glowed under translucent lids that held long thick lashes. The light from the charges could not show me the freckles that sprinkled his hollow cheeks or the dry chapped lips that he held open in amazement, but I knew that they were there. Or maybe it was horror, I could not tell from under the table. His thirteen your old arms were crossed over his chest, as if challenging the storm to strike.2

Cole grabbed the back of Simone’s oatmeal colored sweater to pull her back down beneath the heavy table. Simone Manning fought against Cole as he pulled harder. Her ebony fingers held tight to the edge until her fingernails turned white. Her black hair hung in ringlets down to the middle of her back and was pinned up out of her face. She had such a hard time keeping it out of her eyes. Her eyes were wide and reflected the same light as Bastians. Out of all of us she was the only one whose skin was healthy and flawless. Acne had not touched her face. She cried out in alarm as Cole managed to get her hands free. Her cut off jean shorts landed on my hand as she hit hard on the freshly waxed hardwood floor, covered only by the mauve and periwinkle paisley area rug. One black sandal flew off and landed at Bastains Nike hightops.3

Julian Cole Carpenter III (Cole to his friends and Julian to his parents and teachers) still held on to Simone’s sweater with a deadly grip. Cole’s black knuckles turned white as Simone wiggled under his tightening clutch. One hand was still covering his eyes. I would have laughed if I wasn’t so scared. His blue-black hair was spiked and bleached blond at the tips, and was a metaphor to his feelings about the storm. A stick figure had more on than this boy, all skin and bones. A deep charcoal color pierces into your own heart and they just hold you there. The blood red t-shirt and black jeans hung loosely on his frame. When we teased him we called him Bones. He hated it. When he smiled which was a lot his pearly whites showed the gap in the front that required braces. He was fighting his parents wholeheartedly, not willing to give into them about the railroad tracks they wanted him to wear. He said that braces would give people more to tease him about and we agree. High cheekbones held the blue and purple bags that circled his tired eyes.4

In the background the thunder boomed on stronger and heavier than before. Bastian still stood by the window, the brave one of our bunch. Simone, Cole and I hid under the table not budging. I felt foolish sitting here with my hands covering my blue eyes, peeking only when the thunder and lightening had dissipated for the time being. My chubby fingers pressed down tight when the thunder struck. My long stringy hair intertwined with my fingers giving the lightening a shimmering glow to it. With it hanging down in my hands and over my shoulders I trembled when the thunder struck again and again. The lilac tank top I wore could not keep out the chill that had penetrated the air of the house. And like Simone I had on cut off jean shorts that had faded with time and wear.5

Thunder rumbled again and Bastian jumped back as a sliver of lightening stuck the old elm tree that stood in the front yard of my two-story country house. The elm had been there longer then my parents and I had lived here. It held memories of swinging with the few friends I’d had, along with picnics with parents and relatives, watching the stars appear one by one in the vast night sky, and of waiting out a sudden rain storm. (more mild than this one). The great elm burst into flames as I peeked between my now sweaty fingers. Flames licked at the dying leaves that hung from the upper gnarled branches. Simone and I jumped up from under the table as Cole scooted farther under it, if that was possible. We hurried closer to the window enthralled with the colors the fire gave off. Orange red flames whipped around and engulfed the thicker limbs, as the yellow tips licked the singed branches above. The fire spread swiftly to the lower extremities of the elm.6

Bastian, Simone and I stood rooted to the floor, rapped in the spectacular vision that showed itself to us. The burning of the elm to us, young and innocent thirteen year olds, was like a sign. A dark omen of things yet to come.7

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Lets go back to earlier that day. Back to when the day was new and the thought of a storm was the farthest things from our minds.8

The day started balmy enough. The sun streaked through the gauzy white curtains of my bedroom, and landed at the foot of my single bed. My toes tingled from the warmth of the rays as I wiggled them underneath the blankets. I stretched my meaty arms over my head and smiled as the birds outside my open window sang a sweet song.9

At that moment I believed it was going to be a wonderful day. Nothing was going to go wrong. Simone and Cole were going to meet me at Corner market a nine o’clock and Bastian would come if he could get out of his piano lessens early. If not he would meet us for lunch at my house. The prospect of spending the day with my three best friends was better than ice cream sundaes for dinner. The time we spent together were the most joyful times of my childhood.10

Lurching up for the knit purple and white throw I headed for the bathroom. Along the way I flicked on the stereo that stood near my bathroom. The soft sounds of ‘N Sync began flowing out of the speakers that stood in each corner of the room. Peeling off the purple nightshirt I threw the beige shower curtain back. If you haven’t noticed by now purple is my favorite, my signature color as I like to say. Turning on the water I let it flow until it was hot enough.11

With the shower done I flipped off the water and stepped out of the enclosure reaching for the white cotton towel on the way out. I wrapped the soft towel around my plump body as I wiped the steam off the mirror that hung above the sink. Staring out at me was Sydney Beth Wallace. But everyone calls me Ney, I hate the name Syd. My stringy hair hung wet on my shoulders. Freckles dotted my freshly scrubbed skin as my newly required breasts (lumps if you must get personal) peeked out from my towel. I stood brushing my chestnut locks with the comb I fished out of the drawer to my left. I was disappointed with the looks that God had given me and I blew my bangs upward in disgust.12

Mom and dad had not approved makeup yet so I put on some deodorant and sauntered to my dresser underneath my second story window. Pulling a newly laundered lilac tank top out from the third drawer I walked over to the stereo and turned up the song that was playing. I pulled on the same jean shorts I had worn yesterday, twirled around the room singing and walked out of the room. 13


***14


“Sydney!” Turn that music off!” Reid Wallace called from the bottom of the stairs.15

I rolled my eyes in contempt and follow with, “whatever you say dad.” Sometimes parents can be so difficult.16

With that done I skipped down the stairs and ran out the back door yelling, “I going to the corner market.” I left without waiting for a response. I let the back door slam shut as I ran down the path heading towards town.17