The Empty Storm

It had been a long time since I had last spoken with my friend. She was living far enough away that it was difficult to visit her, but not impossible. Something struck me, so I decided to phone her and invite myself over to her house. Her voice sounded weak and sad. I immediately asked her what was wrong and she tried to gloss over her feelings with false affirmations of wellness. She also adamently instructed me to not come over. I took this as her ploy to have me come to her rescue. My intuition was exactly on target. When I arrived at her home almost all her furniture was gone and I found her huddled in a corner crying.

I ran over to her and put my arm around her begging her tell me what happened. She sobbed and confessed that her husband had raped her multiple times and left her and their two children to fend for themselves. She explained all the ugly details so vividly that I pictured the awful situtation perfectly. I was shocked and saddened and furious.

It was late at night and I had left for my friend's house in such a rush that my boyfriend sick with worry followed me. After my friend admitted her tragedy and confessed that she was exhausted and needed to sleep, we heard a knock on the door. When I opened the door Anthony picked me up in his arms and squeezed me tightly with relief.

She looked at us and out the door at the pouring rain. Her shoulders slumped forward and she offered the livingroom for us to sleep in. We slept on a narrow table as the rain leaked through the roof and onto our faces. We held each other closely and listened to the thunder, howling wind, and the rain pelting the roof and the floor. Thinking of how cold and frightening the world can be at times, I looked down at Anthony's hands and wove my fingers through his and felt grateful for him.