|
|
It's Just the Weather
by zahra
Email: (frans_angel@hotmail.com)
Feedback: Like I wanna know what the story is with Darla, i.e. hell yes
Spoiler: Well, if you ain't seen 'Dead End' toofrigginbad
Rating: Not even PG
Disclaimer: If I owned 'em I wouldn't be messing around with this, now would
I?
Dedication: All Lindsey offerings are made to the goddess Lar…to ethrosdemon,
Yvette and Alison for swearing this block would end….and to Paul - Happy
Birthday (I'm not late by my calendar (thanks for the beta too!))
Summary: Lindsey's left California.
Notes: It's amazing what you'll do to kill time when you're waiting for
season three to start.
Improv #25 - lazy, complex, candy, immerse
*****************************************************
It's raining. A pounding, torrential downpour of pollution and acid. Big,
fat drops lazily rolling down the freshly washed windows. Little drops
bouncing and dancing on the rusty railing on the porch.
As he stands by the sink in the small kitchen, he can hear them drumming on
the gray shingles on the roof. Tap. Tap. Boom.
Thunder. Lightning. Gale force winds and monsoon-like sheets of water. A
true Southern rainstorm.
Lindsey's been expecting it. It's taken long enough.
The rain. Coming. Falling. Washing away everything. Almost everything.
He had watched the dark clouds rolling in from his bedroom window that
morning. Had tasted that change in the air as the wind whipped through the
cab of the truck as he drove home from town.
He had watched the dust swirling and sweeping the dry leaves into mini
cyclone formations. The way it does before it rains, the way it always does
in Oklahoma before a storm comes. The familiarity of it had made him smile
in a way that few things have since he left California.
He knew the minute that he left Route 10 where he would end up. It had been
predestined. Ingrained in his brain and imprinted in his psyche that he
would come back.
He would always come home. Always end up back where he started. Where it
all started.
A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find
it.
Oklahoma is a part of Lindsey and it always will be. Underneath the fancy
suits and the flash cars he will always have that slight accent. He's a
country boy. A Hank Williams-listening, guitar playing, cowboy boot-wearing
son of Oklahoma.
Some things never change.
Like his love of thunderstorms.
The flash of lightning. The clap of thunder in the overheated air. He
appreciates the simpleness of such the complex symphony being played by
Mother Nature.
His love of the rain, of the lightshows, all comes back to one thing. Being
invincible. Of nothing hurting him ever. He's never been afraid of being
harmed or struck down during a thunderstorm. The rain makes him feel safe.
A complete absence of fear. Perhaps that's what was wrong in Los Angeles.
It never rains in Southern California.
But the fear. Acrid fear. He remembers it vividly. Not his but his
sister's. Laurie. She would hide under the bed when it stormed, and
invariably he would have to coax her out with promises of rock candy from
the General Store. Promises that he was rarely able to keep but she let him
make anyway. She trusted him and in return he took care of her. Nothing
like Darla at all.
He hasn't seen her since he left Oklahoma the first time. Laurie. But now
the rain reminds him of her. He wonders if she's still afraid. Doubtful.
She has children of her own now, nieces and nephews he's never seen. She
has to be an adult now and not show her fear. Like her brother.
He'll go and visit her soon. See what she's done since he's been away.
The massive crash outside pulls him from his reverie. It's a sonic boom
that shakes the house. If he had better hearing, he could discern the
rattle of loose nails in the wooden slats that keep the foundation together.
It's a small house, makeshift. The sort of house that was meant to last ten
years and will probably still be standing long after he's gone. It's
comforting the way things can last when they're not meant to. How they
survive. Being a survivor is important. He knows that.
The house may be old but it's better than what he grew up in. This one has
running water and electricity. It's the little things that make the
difference here. Like ownership.
This little house has been bought and paid for. Even if he doesn't stay, he
never has to worry about loans and mortgages. About the men in suits coming
and taking away his house. The bank won't foreclose on this McDonald home.
Tearing his eyes away from the kitchen window for a second, he glances down
at the sink. The house it old, but the sink is new enough to have two
basins. Lindsey pours the cold coffee from this morning down one drain and
immerses the mug in the water and suds in the other.
The storm rages on outside and the thunder crashes again. A lone light bulb
above the kitchen table flickers momentarily.
Shaking the suds from him hand, he turns away from the sink and uses a
drying towel to unscrew the bulb a bit. Just enough to disconnect the
circuit but not enough for it to drop out the socket. He just wants to keep
it from shorting out. An old habit learned from his mama to not sacrifice
good light bulbs just because of some rain.
It's dark in the kitchen now but he's able to maneuver easily. There's not
a lot of furniture to contend with. A table here. A chair there. His
biggest luxury item these days is a radio permanently tuned to a faint
signal from a Tulsa radio station.
Accompanied only by the sounds of creaking floorboards, he passes into the
main room and takes his guitar from its eternal waiting place by the front
door. Opening the screen door, he stands in the entryway for a moment and
gazes outside.
The rain is coming down in all directions. He's going to get soaked but it
doesn't really matter. He's alive and free, and he has his guitar. He's
not asking for anything more.
As the aluminum door slams shut behind him, the sound is muted by another
crash of thunder and a spectacular bolt of lightning flashing across the
sky. It's a breathtaking sight. A dark sky illuminated to midnight blue
and purple by the white light.
He hasn't played much recently because he's lacked the drive. But it's back
now. He's found that it comes at the strangest times - his inspiration to
play, but he's learned to just go with it. Whatever it is. Even if it's
just the weather.
-finis-
|
