This month's prompt:
Rainy Days - by Absolute Write
Write wherever the prompt inspires you. It can be fiction or non-fiction, all wet or high and dry, mushy mud or hard-packed earth. If you want to go with snow, hail, boiling hellrain, biblical frograin, or some other kind of precipitation, knock yourself out. So, here's mine:
I removed my Oakleys and said, “So, what do you think?”
“I don’t know. I think we should consider a rain check.” He always sides with caution.
I tried not to show my disappointment, but my voice sounded a bit whiny, even to me, “We always do this. Come out, it’s gray, we head home, and it clears up.” I felt his eyes on me while I studied the late summer sky.
The Shell Point Fish Camp deckhands had our boat tied to the docks, awaiting our arrival an hour beforehand. I felt bad that we’d be telling them to put it back in storage. Thanks for nothing, right?
I heard Tim sigh. Then he said, “Fine, we’ll take her out for an hour. But first sign of bad weather, we head back.”
I agreed and gave him a huge hug.
We climbed into our maroon and white Q4 run-a-bout and took off. The water was smooth as glass, but I expected to reach the saltier mass and all its choppiness soon enough.
Two miles out, Tim pulled to the left of the channel, dropped an anchor into the 8-foot deep water, and retrieved a beer from the cooler. I baited one of the fishing poles we keep stored on the boat and then heard a mumbled curse. Before I could cast my rod, Tim was readying the boat for take-off.
"Let's bring her in."
“You don’t see that?” Tim pointed to the east. What I saw looked like an innocent hazy mist, but only for a few seconds. The encroaching wall of rain moved closer at a pretty quick speed and whirring winds and splatters of dime-sized raindrops hit us like a freight train.
Immediately we both moved to grab the aluminum poles used to frame up the waterproof, cloth cabin roof. Tim unzipped the compartment to unleash the cover and the wind pulled it from the opening and whipped it into the open air.
“Hurry up! I can’t hold this side up much longer!” I yelled into the wind, but I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was trying to screw in the bolt to hold up the opposite end. The aluminum pole wasn’t heavy, but the wind blew with such force I was losing stamina fast.
Then the lightning started. I saw the electrical bolts strike next to the boat and my stupid ass was holding up an aluminum pole. “Fuck this shit!”
I let go because we were both soaked to the bone and neither one of us wanted to become a conduit for the electrical frenzy happening so close by. Tim gave me a look that told me if we weren’t getting ready to die, he’d kill me for talking him into taking the boat out. I didn’t care. If I was going to die, I wanted to say goodbye to my friends and family.
I grabbed my blackberry and huddled under the partial dashboard to keep my phone dry. The boat rocked violently in the storm while I posted my status to Facebook, “If we get out of this alive, I promise, God, I will never go out on the water when the sky is gray!” Then I cursed myself for being Agnostic.
The lightning bolts crackled down into the body of water around us while Tim navigated the boat back toward the inlet at a creeping 10 miles per hour. All the while he was steering, he held onto his hat as the wind beat into his face. The sky had gotten so dark, but I could see the frown lines between his brows and along his mouth when the lightning flashed and lit up the area.
By the time we docked the boat, the storm had passed. Our bruised egos kept us from speaking to one another. We drove home in silence and it was killing me. So I spoke up.
“That was some Gilligan’s Island shit, huh?”
After a brief moment, we both laughed. We stopped at a local pub and ordered a pitcher of ice cold beer. Life was good.
Check out the other participating Rainy Day bloggers!
pyrosama You are HERE!
J. W. Alden
ronbwriting - (link to this month's post)