The Tempest

The Tempest

There are special moments when you suddenly discover a unique ability to see the world in a different light.

I found myself in just such a spot recently – and it began with an innocent mistake.

“Henry,” Elisha called.

I, of course, answered promptly having learned that lesson early on in my marriage. “Yes, dear. What is it?” This was a stage one answer, automatic without brain engagement.

“Blah, blah, blah, bathroom.”

I heard the sounds but, until a key word was said, I happily floated along still focused on the game. Bathroom? Stage two kicked in at this point. Was I supposed to do something? The seat! I was supposed to fix the seat! I wracked my brain and relaxed as I remembered that I’d already finished that.

“Sorry, dear. TV was on. What’d you say?” In stage two, you actually listen to what’s being said. No action – such as actual thinking - is required yet.

“Henry, you never listen to me!” she said with more than a trace of pique in her voice.

In retrospect, this is where my enlightenment began. Thunder is more than a sound, it has a face and a voice. “Honey, I fixed the seat hours ago,” I threw out hoping that was the question.

Silence. One-thousand one, one-thousand two… and my attention went back to the game. Still, some part of my brain was still processing. Something clicked.

“I’ll get to the light…” I started to say when I heard the warning siren go off.

“Heeeeennnnnnrrrrry!”

It was too late. I heard the unmistakable sounds of water and felt the rush of air being sucked toward my wife as she refilled her lungs.

Damn! I forgot to put the seat down!

I cringed as the storm arrived.

Notes

Word Count: 295

An entry for May 5 "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"  [13+]
Prompt: Write a story that take place during a storm.

Some storms are man-made and nature pales before their fury

Thank you for taking time to read my words. I would appreciate it if you took a moment and left a comment. Your reaction, impressions, criticisms, - yes, even praise are all equally welcome.

Ken