The Storm

They followed the others feet through the darkened theater and into the brightly lit hall.  As their eyes adjusted to the light they could see the swarm of people ahead of them.  The air became fetid with nervous breaths, nervous sweat and nervous stomachs.  Every spoken word seemed to add to the already heavy air, heavy mind, and heavy hearts.  Snatches of conversations wormed their way into their ears and they became five years old and soothed with the words of their mother saying that everything was going to be fine, they became fifty and anxious because of texts from home saying scary words like flood, tornado, missing.  They inched their way through the press of bodies and found a spot on the wall.  The carpeted wall offered a modicum of support and they sank their bodies eagerly into the nubs somehow believing that this would keep them upright, this would hold them together, and this would be their safety.  From here they sank slowly to the ground; not because their legs were trembling, rather the lower they got, the safer they felt.  They were small here, inconspicuous, nothing.  They would have stayed there too if not for the tremors.  The crowd’s anxiety was pulled down into the popcorn-littered floor and it served as a conduit passing the fear from person to person.  Desperate for air that was not rank with the fear around them they stood and pushed their way to the front.  It was cooler in the front and the first deep breath of cleaner air wiped the fugue from their brain.  They no longer took the fear of those around them; they cleansed their lungs and their thoughts and knew they would be fine.  They would not die; not here of all places.  They remarked on how if death did occur here they would haunt this place in a most unhappy manner.  Laughter and warmth flowed through them and it carried them up and out and to the door.  

The rain assaulted them with biblical proportions: it fell, it poured, it submerged and drowned.    They were soaked within their first two steps; running through the ankle high water.  Splashing, soaking, drenched and soggy they waded to the car.  The car that was parked so far away they wondered if they had passed it until there it was, suddenly, right in front of them.  Refuge.  Safety. Comfort.  They poured themselves into the car and sat, breathing heavily, wiping the rain from their face in order to see.  Windows fogged as the car purred to a start.  The windshield wipers furiously attacked the rain off of the window as if repulsed and unable to swish it away fast enough.  The lightning lit up the sky in flashes brighter than any sun and the thunder dropped down right on top of them.  They were no longer scared; they felt safe within the small confines of the car.  They headed home and they knew would get there despite the rising waters and threatening storm.  They imagined alternate endings to the movie that was never finished and the miles clicked away faster than before.  Soon they were turning into their neighborhood, onto their street and then with purpose, into their driveway.  They ran through the door and shook the last bits of fear and rain from their hair.  They stood there soaked as their clothes dripped onto the floor and their words dripped of determination.  They were home, they were safe and they were grateful.